Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Rowdy
The Bluejay Café is still lit up with white lights and decorated with greenery left over from the holidays.
I comment on it as Bianca delivers my second bowl of chicken noodle soup.
“Here you are, sir,” she chirps proudly.
“That’s the stuff that takes off the winter chill,” I tell her.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Bianca beams at me.
“Speaking of which, why do you guys still have Christmas decorations up? It’s the middle of January,” I tease.
Bianca shrugs. “Angela likes to leave the green boughs up because it’s, you know, wintry. And before you know it, I’ll just have to take the pre-tree back out to decorate for Valentine’s Day, so she said to leave it up and just take the festive ornaments down.”
“Whoever heard of a Valentine tree?” I say with a good-natured smile.
She laughs, “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of cute. Angela says this whole town could use a nudge in the right direction, romance-wise. Maybe she’s right.”
“Next thing you know, we’re gonna have a Founder’s Day Tree, an Earth Day Tree…”
“That one makes sense, though,” laughs Bianca. “How would we decorate an Earth Day tree?”
“With a bunch of little trees,” I say.
“Rowdy, you’re nuts,” she says, swatting my shoulder.
As she walks away, my eyes land on a person who seems frozen to the spot, watching us like someone who’s either about to have a panic attack or ask for an autograph.
“Are—are you, um, Rowdy?”
Long, wavy brown hair frames the prettiest face I have ever seen. Midnight blue eyes. Paint-crusted jeans. A tee-shirt with holes in it.
I know who this is.
Instantly, my world turns upside down.
I know every single person in this town who lives here, except one. And now, I do know her.
“Yeah. And you are?” I have to make sure.
The woman’s throat bobs.
“I’m Riley Hutchinson. Someone said you…wanted to meet me?”
Her hands are clutched together nervously.
A pink tongue darts out to lick her lips, and she blinks rapidly. She’s nervous. And it occurs to me finally that it’s not a great idea to be asking around town about a woman by name. She must think I’m a creep.
Looking at her nervous face, I realize that I can be a lot for some people, and it hits me like a brick.
I give her my most disarming, genuine smile.
“It’s true. I would have slid into your DMs, but you don’t have any social media. So I’ve been creeping on you the old-fashioned way by asking people about you.”
This makes her laugh a little.
I push out the opposite chair with my foot.
She blushes. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“It’s not what you think. I just want to talk to you about your paintings and how much they mean to me,” I assure her.
In fact, my wanting to meet her is about the paintings and what they mean to me.
But it’s also the other thing. By hanging the paintings up at my house, and staring at them every day, and slowly getting to know her through our mutuals in town, I have quietly become obsessed with all things Riley Hutchinson in more than just a friendly way.
I feel a deep, unfounded connection that has never hit me with anyone else.
But it’s too soon to tell her all that. She looks about as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I’m not about to spook her with my true feelings and mushy declarations.
Slowly, she sinks into the chair across from me with her lips anxiously folded between her teeth. Her eyes are not what I expected. They are the darkening sky at the edges of her paintings.
“Oh, I didn’t think…” she starts. “I… I mean, Daphne said you’re a big fan, and when I heard your name, I knew that was you. I don’t mean to say you’re a fan—that sounds really conceited. It’s not like I’m some big, important person. What I mean is I’m really…”
She swallows again and blushes deeper. Her eyes look up at the ceiling as if calling on some deity to save her from drowning. I can’t stand that she feels this way, but at the same time, it’s freaking adorable.
“No. I am. And you are.”
Riley shuts her mouth and tilts her head with a confused look on her face. “You are what, and I am what?”
I try to look casual, cool, and calm, and take a big spoonful of the delicious chunky chicken noodle soup.
“I am a big fan. And you are an important person. To me. And to my dog Panini.”
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
I have to fight the urge to lean across this rickety little table and do the same with the hair over her opposite ear.
The thought of touching her face, brushing my fingertips over her hair—I never cared what she would look like, but now that she’s here, sitting across from me, I’m overwhelmed by how pretty she is.
Stunning. Ethereal. Old dead guys wrote epic poems about this kind of beauty.
And I’m dead sure that I’m not hiding any of these thoughts. I’m losing my cool here.
As soon as I take my next bite, one of those thick noodles gets stuck right at the back of my throat.
I cover my mouth and try to cough it up.
“That’s so sweet of you to say, thank you—are you okay?” Riley leans toward me.
I nod, but keep gagging and trying to breathe, and I can feel the tears stinging my eyes. People are starting to stare.
“Are you choking?” Riley asks.
I shake my head and mouth I’m fine, waving her off.
At the same time, my eyes are bugging out of my face, and it’s starting to get difficult to breathe.
I’m a nice guy, but I’m stubborn, and I don’t know when to ask for help. To my chagrin, Riley sees the panic in my eyes.
“Here we go.” She says it calmly, then gets up and comes around to stand behind me. At first, I think she’s going to run for a doctor or something ridiculous like that, but then I feel her arms reaching around my front.
Her fists connect beneath my sternum, and she gives a hard, quick thrust upward.
One, two, three, and it’s done.
The noodle rockets out of my throat and splashes into my soup.
I take a deep breath and let it out. I’m vaguely aware of other patrons and servers clapping and cheering in relief.
Riley’s paint-smudged hand squeezes my shoulder, and she leans in like she’s examining my face.
“All clear now?”
I look up at her and nod. “You’d better let me buy you lunch.”
She looks thoughtful, then says, “I don’t think I could eat after watching you shoot noodles out of your mouth.”
Appreciating her sense of humor, I stand up and pull out my wallet, slapping down a $20 bill on the table, equal to about a 50% tip for Bianca. She earns it every day with my stupid commentary.
I call out, “Show’s over, folks!”
People laugh, but I ignore it. “Come on,” I say to Riley, grabbing her hand and cruising outside to the street.
Everyone is staring at us holding hands, but I don’t care. The restaurant is packed, and there are loads of out-of-towners on the sidewalk. We had snow last weekend up on the mountain, and some ski enthusiasts are still hanging around.
Holding Riley’s hand feels like I just learned how to breathe for the first time.
I feel energized.
Outside, she lets go of my hand, and I feel lost all of a sudden. There’s something about her calm presence that makes me want to home in. Be present.
But I resist that urge to grab her hand again. I almost feel itchy about it.
“I want to thank you properly. Let me buy you a doughnut or something,” I say.
I gesture with my chin to the Four and Twenty Bake Shop.
Riley agrees, and we go inside the popular bakery with the weird-ass name.
At the counter, Evelyn greets me with a wide smile. “Hey, Rowdy. The usual?”
“Yeah. I didn’t get to finish my second bowl of Bianca’s chicken soup.”
Evelyn’s eyes go wide. “I heard you almost died.”
What can I say? Word travels fast in Songbird Ridge.
I take this opportunity to gently circle my arm around Riley’s shoulders. Does she look a little jealous? I’m probably reading into it. But still, I feel like including Riley in the conversation and letting the whole room know she came in here with me. “If it weren’t for Riley, I would have.”
Riley looks downward and mumbles, “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Evelyn curiously seems to agree with Riley when she says, “Truly, there are about two dozen people at the Bluejay who would jump to save your butt any day, Rowdy. And by the way, thanks for helping me with my freezer. It’s working so much better now.”
I respond that I’m glad to hear it, but I feel the need to keep including Riley in the conversation. “You have to try Evelyn’s peach pie, Riley. It’s amazing.”
Riley twists her mouth thoughtfully, and it’s awfully cute. “I am pretty hungry. I’ll take a slice of peach pie and a couple of those white chocolate truffles, please.”
We take a seat by the window, and Riley looks flustered. “You don’t have to tell people what I did. Evelyn’s right; there are lots of people in there who know the Heimlich. Especially that server who seems to like you a lot.”
She bites her lip, and it does something to me. Something stronger than how I felt as we held hands. Her full bottom lip puts thoughts in my head about kissing. Savoring. Sucking.
Deeper, more intense images invade my brain as I stare at her mouth, temptation becoming harder and harder to resist.
“Bianca and I graduated together. I pretty much only see her at homecoming reunions and when I eat at the café. She’s like a sister to me. Just so you know.”
We share a quiet moment, and I hope I’m being clear enough.
Finally, Riley says, “Do you…have…”
“A girlfriend? No.”
“A wife?”
“No.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly. “The reason I ask all these intrusive questions is that, well, I have a favor to ask you.”
I laugh. “Uh-oh. You don’t need your electricity rerouted, do you? Because I charge $100 just to show up. Unless we’re friends. Are we friends? If you say yes, then you get a friend rate.”