Chapter 29
PAIGE
“How is Rob?” I ask Jordan after he tells me a little about his longer-than-usual work day. We’re sitting on the edge of a concrete water fountain just outside a Red Robin restaurant on Jordan’s twenty-fourth birthday. The sky is a myriad of oranges and pinks as the sun slips away, and Jordan entwines his fingers in mine as we wait for Mrs. Miller and Dan to show up.
“Rob’s doing much better after today,” Jordan says.
“Why, what happened today?” I ask.
Jordan’s smile is soft. “We had a serious discussion about the future of the company.”
The future of the company? The way Jordan says it almost sounds like the word change . But I know Jordan, and change isn’t something he encounters lightly. If ever. At least not these days. My interest is thoroughly piqued. I’m about to ask what exactly he means by The Future of the Company when Dan and Mrs. Miller walk up.
“Hello, you two,” Mrs. Miller says as she and Dan approach us hand in hand.
In the two weeks since the gala, I haven’t seen Mrs. Miller. And I have a sneaking suspicion that Dan has everything to do with that.
Mrs. Miller embraces Jordan, wishing him a happy birthday with a kiss on the cheek, then she hugs me next. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but her hug seems more firm than usual, more all-encompassing. She doesn’t let go for a long while, and when she pulls back, she looks at me with so much depth and warmth that I feel I might choke on the emotion that wells in my throat.
“I’m so glad you two finally figured things out,” she says.
Heat presses against my eyes as I feel the happy tears start to form. “I am, too.” But the words are no match for the absolute acceptance I feel from Mrs. Miller and the way she’s looking at me. Because she’s looking at me like…like a mom looks at her daughter.
I couldn’t imagine a world more perfect than being a part of her family.
“What’s good here, Jordan?” Dan asks after patting Jordan on the back.
Jordan looks affronted. Red Robin is Jordan’s birthday restaurant of choice and has been since the boy got teeth. “You’ve never been to Red Robin? Dan, let me introduce you to the world of Clucks and Fries and the best Oreo milkshakes.”
A little while later, we’re seated in a bright-red booth and passing our menus to the waitress after ordering our food.
Jordan, Mrs. Miller, Dan, and I jump into a fascinating discussion on how baseballs are manufactured after Dan spots a large art piece of red, white, and blue baseballs making up an American flag on one of the walls. In a matter of minutes, we find out that Dan is a connoisseur of learning how things are made. Jordan and I even throw out some curveballs to test his knowledge on things like how bristles are put into a toothbrush or how mattresses are mass-produced. Dan knows it all.
By the end, I’m convinced Dan needs to start a podcast. Either that, or he’s got a really good shot at narrating documentaries, because his voice sounds like Mr. Carson from Downton Abbey minus the British accent.
We’re halfway through our food when the air vent above us decides to turn Arctic. Mrs. Miller shivers in the seat across from me. All at once, Jordan starts to stand, no doubt to aid his mom, when at the same time, Dan leans over to Mrs. Miller and says, “I’ll go get your sweater from the car.”
Dan exits our booth, heading to his car, and Jordan sits back down. A look of relief crosses his face, followed by the cutest little pout. He looks like a boy who’s been told his pie placed second at the spring fair.
I pat his knee twice under the table. “I am so cold,” I say wistfully. “I wish I had my jacket.”
Jordan looks at me with a boyish smile on his face. “On it, my lady.”
I shake my head, smiling as he scoots out of the booth and runs to fight my dragons.
“Good,” Mrs. Miller says. “While I’ve got you alone, we need to talk about something very important.”
While her words sound intimidating, the mischievous smile on her face tells me I have no reason to worry. She probably wants me to play a part in some birthday surprise for Jordan. I raise my eyebrows, completely intrigued. “Oh, yes, please,” I say before taking a sip of my water.
“What kind of engagement ring would you like?”
The water halfway down my throat bubbles up as if it, too, wants to be a part of this very out-of-the-blue conversation. “Mrs. Miller!” I blurt out. “Jordan and I…. We’ve only been…”
“Only been dating each other for years.” She raises an eyebrow as if daring me to challenge her on this. “Please. The only change between you two is that now you both know how the other feels, and you don’t act like you’ll be poisoned if you touch each other. So it’s only a matter of time, and when that time comes, I want to make sure Jordan doesn’t mess it up.”
“Mess what up?” Jordan asks, scooting into the booth and passing me my jacket, followed shortly by Dan, who mirrors us on the other side of the booth.
I start to put my jacket on. Jordan’s fingers skim the back of my neck as he gathers my hair, pulling it out from under my jacket. Goosebumps instantly spread over my skin where his fingers graze my neck.
“I was just talking to Paige about what kind of engagement ring she’d like,” Mrs. Miller deadpans.
My eyes go wide as I shrink into the booth. Oh, please, no. Suddenly, I feel like a clingy dryer sheet of a girlfriend.
Yes, Jordan. After two weeks of dating, I am talking to your mom about our nuptials. Would you like to wear a cravat at our wedding or maybe a sprig of greenery on your lapel? No, no, no. At this rate, I might as well confess to almost buying some textured drapes I saw online this week that I thought would look nice in Jordan’s living room.
I’m pondering how I would rather trade places with the crumpled napkin in my hand when I feel Jordan’s arm wrap around my shoulder, pulling me out of my spiral. “Mom, stop scaring Paige off.” He gently squeezes my shoulder before reaching for his drink on the table. “Besides, she doesn’t need to tell you about the ring she wants. I’m pretty sure I already know.”
Jordan takes a bite of a fry, oblivious to the fact that my lips gape at him with all the charm of a grouper fish. “What do you mean you already know?”
His eyes connect with mine, and suddenly, I feel like we’re the only two people in this booth, in this restaurant, in this world. He gives me the faintest of smiles. “A princess-cut diamond, with blue sapphire gemstones on both sides.” His voice is low and soft. “You want a thin band, but you’re not sure if you want gold or white gold because it depends on the current trend. Considering you wear more silver jewelry nowadays, I’d say you prefer white gold.”
“How did you know that?” I ask, shocked by how perfectly he described the engagement ring of my dreams.
“Senior year. We were at Miles’s house with Missy, and you two started making Pinterest boards on your phones. You told Missy you pinned your ideal engagement ring, and that’s when I went and sat next to you. I made sure I got a good look over your shoulder.”
I wish we were as alone as I feel right now because all I want to do is kiss him thoroughly. I know he’s told me he’s liked me for seven years, but I’ve spent those seven years thinking he didn’t like me back. I’m finding it difficult to totally undo that belief system in just two weeks. But this—this is undeniable proof that Jordan has wanted me as long and as much as I’ve wanted him.
Something warm and whole passes between us, and his fingers find mine underneath the table.
“Apparently, my son is a romantic,” Mrs. Miller chimes in.
Jordan straightens and faces his mom and Dan, an amused smile on his face. “I’m told my romantic side resembles a squirrel.”
I roll my eyes. “A cute squirrel,” I correct.
“Good girl,” Mrs. Miller says. “Keep him humble.”
At the end of the night, Jordan drives me home and walks me to my porch. I stand in the circle of his arms, wishing I didn’t have to sleep, eat, work, or do anything that isn’t with him. Because when I’m with Jordan, I feel complete.
But fortunately, we don’t have to part just yet, because I still have something up my sleeve. “Are you ready for your birthday present?”
“Mmm. I’m pretty sure I have all I want right here.” He smiles down at me.
I let go of him and reach into my jacket pocket. I’ve been wildly excited to give Jordan his present, but suddenly, a bout of nerves rocks my insides. What if Jordan doesn’t like what I got him? What if he doesn’t even make the connection between him and his present?
I push past my nerves and hand Jordan the two rectangular pieces of cardstock. He pulls the papers closer, reading the fine print, and his eyes instantly light up.
“Are you serious?” He chuckles, amazement in his voice.
Relief washes over me, and I laugh. He likes it.
“Paige, how in the world did you get tickets to Penny for Crows?”
Penny for Crows is an indie band that had a one-hit-wonder in the second half of our senior year. Their explosive fame was short-lived, but Jordan and I fell in love with their album. In my mind, this band equals Jordan because this is the band that plays “Winter of You,” his song. The song that no matter what I am doing, I will drop everything when it comes on, just to turn the volume up and think of the man who’s held my heart for years.
He smiles. “I can’t believe they’re playing in Colorado.”
“I’ve been tracking them this year, and when I saw that they were finally coming here, it seemed too good to be true.” For a moment, I bite my lip nervously and point to a line on the concert tickets. “The only thing is that the concert is in Aspen.” More than a three-and-a-half-hour drive away.
I pause to read Jordan’s reaction, and for a moment, I see it. The fear, the guilt. It reaches his eyes just enough for me to notice it. “I know that’s a bit farther than you are used to going. I even called them to see if they would perform in other locations in Colorado, but they said no. But I made sure the tickets are completely refundable, and we definitely do not have to go if you feel uncomfortable traveling that far, and…”
“Paige,” Jordan says, cutting off my ramblings. He runs his hands through my hair until he’s cradling the back of my neck. “This is perfect. I can’t wait to go with you.” His lips brush softly against mine.
“Are you sure?” I search his eyes to see if they still hold the look of concern I glimpsed earlier, but they are smiling at me.
“Very sure.”
I let out a relieved breath. “We’ll finally be able to hear your song in person.”
Jordan’s thumb brushes my cheek, and his lighthearted gaze slips away, replaced with something deeper, more intense. We’re barely touching, but when he looks at me this way, our devotion to each other seems to wrap around us, connecting us in ways that feel inseparable. The sounds of the summer night seem to dim as my heart beats loudly in my chest. For a moment, I think he is going to say the three words I’ve been waiting years to hear. Because those words are in his eyes, in his actions, and everywhere but coming from his lips.
But too soon, the moment is gone. I toss aside the wilted hope inside me and wrap my arms around Jordan’s waist instead. He’s not ready for that step. But he’s here despite his internal battles, and that’s huge for him. Jordan wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I lean against the warmth of his chest and listen to his heart beating in a steady rhythm. Then I start to wonder. I wonder if he’s holding back from telling me all he feels because he’s still unsure about making things work between us.
Jordan tightens his hold around my back, easing the unsettling feeling inside me. “Thank you, Paige,” he whispers. When he pulls back, so much warmth fills his eyes that it feels like I’m taking the first sip of hot chocolate on a cold night. “What can I do to deserve you?”
“Mmm.” I make a show of pondering his question for a long moment, then I say, in all seriousness, “There is something.”
“Name it, Devons.” The playful glint is back in his eyes.
“How about you tell me what my song is, and we’ll call it even?”
“Oh, you play dirty.” Jordan laughs. “But no. Not a chance. You’ve made it too fun for me.”
I let my arms drop from him and sigh. “Then I guess you don’t deserve me,” I say, turning toward the front door.
One of Jordan’s arms snakes around my waist, stopping my retreat. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I didn’t say I wasn’t up for negotiation.”
I twist around in his arms, smiling up at him. “Then negotiate.”
“Gladly.” His lips cover mine, and I swear Jordan must be a master negotiator because by the time our lips part, I completely forget what we’re negotiating.