I didn't realize until I looked toward his front door that he was watching me approach. I glanced up, and there he was, sitting on the porch with his legs dangling off the edge. By now, I was accustomed to him not smiling, so it didn't shock or offend me when he remained serious even when I smiled instinctually at him.
"You look…" he hesitated as if searching for the right word, "different."
"Don't ever tell a girl she looks different," I said, coming to stand in front of him. "She'll jump to all sorts of terrible conclusions about what you mean."
"But, I don't mean anything terrible," he said.
"Then don't say the word different to describe how I look."
"Well, I'm not gonna say what I was really thinking," he said. His front porch was about level with my chest, so I had to look up to see him from where I was standing. I stood there and took him in. He was dressed casually in cargo shorts and a T-shirt, but he knew how to dress and groom himself, and he looked fresh and nice. It was all I could do to not just stand there and gawk at him. His eyes were the most wonderful things I'd ever seen. They were icy blue like those wolf dogs I'd seen in pictures. He reminded me of a wolf, actually. Not that he had wolf-like features besides the eyes, because he didn't—there was just something slightly dangerous and unpredictable about him. Not that I was scared of him, because I wasn't.
"Beautiful," he said. The word came out by itself and so dryly, that it took me a second to realize what was going on. "I wanted to call you beautiful, but different seemed like a better choice."
We continued to stare at each other, both of us wearing serious but otherwise unreadable expressions. I remembered how the word beautiful sounded coming from his mouth. I thought of the sound of his deep voice saying it, and the fact that he was referring to me, and I felt like I wanted to melt into a pile of mushy goo right where I stood. Had he really just called me beautiful? My knees were literally weak. I flexed my thighs just to make sure I could support my own weight.
Several seconds passed, and I wasn't even sure if my voice would come out right when I said, "Different is never a better choice than beautiful."
(Another pause as he stared at me, still not smiling.)
"It is when I'm not trying to make friends," he said.
"You're too late for that," I said. I held up the bag that was in my hand. "I've brought you dinner twice now. That officially makes us friends. Plus, you left your gate open for me," I added.
"And we caught frogs," he said.
"We went froggin'," I corrected. "It's like goin' fishin', only it's goin' froggin'."
"I guess I'll learn your jargon eventually," he said.
"Not if you don't talk to any of us," I returned. We paused and stared directly into each other's eyes for several long seconds. Something exchanged between us, but I wasn't sure what it was.
"I'm talking to you right now," he said.
I felt too overwhelmed to know what to say next. I lifted the bag I was carrying. "I brought dinner."
"I appreciate it," he said, getting to his feet. He crossed to the steps, and I went to meet him there. "I'll give you some money for this."
I shook my head and let out a huff as I began climbing the short staircase to his porch. "Paying me back for dinner would only take away from my kind gesture," I said. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that." I stopped once I came to stand next to him, and we gazed at each other again. I wanted him to smile so desperately that I felt the urge to tickle him just to see him do it.
"Why are you here?" he asked in a quiet tone like he was wondering it and it came out.
"I wanted to bring you dinner," I said, lifting the bag again. "They make good chicken salad at Ty's, so I brought some of that with bread and a few tomatoes. I thought boudin by itself might be too heavy, plus I wanted you to have leftovers."
I was definitely babbling, and I stopped once I realized what I was doing. I abruptly halted and stood there, waiting for his response. "What are you doing at my house, Alex? What do you stand to gain by coming here?"
I felt defensive at his question. Sheer nerves made me say that what I wanted was him. "You," I said. "I mean, I don't know, nothing. I'm not trying to gain anything."
"I told myself nobody would come through this doorway," he said, putting his hand on the doorframe of the front door as we came to stand beside it.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean just what I said," he said. "I told myself when I moved in here that no one besides me would ever walk through this door. I think I expected you to leave a bag with me like you did the first time, but it seems like you're thinking we're gonna eat together." He paused and sighed. "I've only been living here for a little while. It seems kind of early to fail at my attempt at solitude. That's why I'm wondering why you're here."
"I thought Cole's been here."
"Not inside."
I had totally thought we would eat together.
I had it all planned out in my head.
It was the first time it hit me that Jacob thought I was going to bring food and leave. I felt slightly embarrassed, but most of all, I felt bad for him that he actually thought he would go the rest of his life without having anyone come in his house.
I shook my head at him as I came to stand right next to his front door. "It's better if you go ahead and break it now," I said. "Just go ahead and end that right here. The longer you wait, the harder it'll be."
"What are we breaking?" he asked, looking a little confused.
"Your promise to not let anyone in here," I said, pointing at the door. "That's ridiculous. I'm not gonna be able to let you do that."
"That's sort of the vibe I'm getting," he said.
I nodded. "Yeah. I planned on eating with you," I said, doing my best impression of a regretful face.
"Are you not scared of my dog?"
I shook my head, continuing to stare at him. "No."
"Are you not scared of me?" he asked.
Yes, I was scared of him. I was extremely scared of him—just not in the way he meant. I was scared of ending up with a broken heart, and rightly so, because for whatever reason, I was already emotionally involved.
I shook my head in answer to his question. "No," I said.
Chapter 9
I was standing right next to Jacob on his front porch. The next logical move would be for him to open the door and invite me inside, but I could tell it was hard for him. I had really been looking forward to hanging out with him, but I didn't want to push the situation and make him feel uncomfortable. He had just asked me if I was afraid of him, and I told him I wasn't even though that was slightly untrue.
My heart was about to pound out of my chest as I stood there on the shady porch, staring into his blue eyes. He had on a dark grey t-shirt, and the contrast made them seem even brighter. He had a bit of a cleft chin; I could see a little indention under his stubble. I glanced down when I realized I was staring. I smiled and held the bag out to him. "I can just leave this with you," I said in a resolved tone. The statement came out casual and nonchalant. I was really impressed with myself for faking it so well when I would have been disappointed to leave. As badly as I wanted to go in his house, I didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. "Seriously," I said, smiling at him, and giving the bag a shake to make him take it, "I don't mind leaving it."
He took the bag from me since I was basically forcing him to. I could tell he was about to say something, but I spoke again before he had the chance. "Thank you for opening your gate," I said in a tone that indicated I was leading up to my farewell statement. "And thank you for not calling me out last night in front of my cousins even though you never said I could come by."
I had already turned as I was speaking and I smiled and waved at him with every intention of leaving. I continued to smile like I wasn't disappointed at all.
"I'm sure I'll be buggin' you again sometime, don't worry," I added in a light, non-committal way as I walked away.
I can't lie; I was reall
y hoping he'd stop me. I walked across the porch thinking surely he'd tell me to stop, but he didn't. I was on the pavers that led to his driveway feeling frustrated and hurt when I heard him say. "I guess you can come in." I glanced up to find that he was now standing at the side of the porch, watching me. I wanted to run right back there at the first mention of an invitation, but I was just too stubborn to do that. Plus, I guess you can come in wasn't necessarily a heartfelt invitation.
I smiled at him. "It's okay," I said sweetly. "You've never met the side of me that can take a hint, and I'm determine to show you she exists."
He hesitated, but I could tell he wanted to say something, so I just stood there. "You're gonna make me beg now aren't you?"
I let out a little laugh. "We both know that's not gonna happen."
He held up the bag. "I've got too much food here," he said.
I smiled and shook my head at him. "No you don't," I said. "But thank you for at least making me feel like I could have stayed if I wanted to." I smiled at him and put my fist to my chest, like his gesture was good for my heart before turning to head to my car.
"Alex," he said once I was looking away. The sound of his deep voice saying my name made my gut tighten and my breath hitch. I turned to regard him over my shoulder, and he stared at me for a second before saying, "Stay."
"It's really okay," I said.
"I know it is. That's why I'm telling you to turn around and walk back up here."
"What if I don't want to anymore?" I asked. Why had I even said that? I should have just ran up there the second he agreed. I didn't breathe as I waited to hear what he'd say.
"But you do," he said calmly and confidently. "So stop acting like you're trying to drive off, and get up here."
My heart was beating so quickly I had a sensation of my ears being stopped up. I wanted to run back up the stairs, but my instinct as a stubborn woman, or Cajun, or both was to drive away just to prove how little I cared.
"Please don't make me beg," he added, seeing my hesitation.
"Would you?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Probably not, but I'd like for you to stay."
I continued to stare up at him, weighing my options and thinking about everything that led up to this. He said he'd like for me to stay, which was probably hard for him. Considering how cold and distant he had been at first, a statement like that was basically begging. It was good enough for me. I dropped my keys back into my purse and walked up the steps yet again.
Jacob met me at the door and we stood there in a similar position to the one we had just been in—only this time, his hand was on the handle as if he might actually open it.
"I won't tell anybody you let me in here," I said.
"Good," he said. "I have a reputation to protect."
He opened the screen door, and went around it to open the front door. He stepped inside far enough to hold both doors open for me, and then he glanced at me as if telling me to come in.
"We wouldn't want anyone to think you'd gone soft," I said.
"Nope," he agreed as I walked past him.
Larry had been in the house, and he came up to greet us, but didn't bark or even seem all that interested. I only glanced at him for a few seconds before taking in my other surroundings. Mr. Breaux had designed the house with an open floor plan, and I marveled at how spacious it was when I stepped inside. The Breaux's had a ton of furniture in it, and Jacob had done just the opposite.
There was a seating area toward the left near the kitchen, but the bulk of the living room was open, and seemed to be converted to a workshop of some sort. There was a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit on the back wall that was covered in wood—and not just like Home Depot wood, either. There was an array of textures and colors all organized along the wall. It made me wonder if he was some sort of tree scientist or something.
"I try to keep most of the sawdust outside, but I do a lot of the finishing in the house, and obviously, I store some of my wood in here. I like how it smells."
"What do you do with this?" I asked, looking around for clues.
"Whatever I'm in the mood for," he said from behind me as I took it all in. "I do a lot of kitchen stuff—bowls and cutting boards, but I make some furniture, too. Mostly small stuff since I like to work with expensive wood."
He pointed to a little stool that was sitting in the middle of the floor. It was creatively shaped with a kidney bean shaped seat that had perfect little indentions for a human butt. The wood and the design were both beautiful—like something I'd see from a local artisan at a festival. It was so inviting that I couldn't help but go try it out. I sat on it, testing it for stability and comfort.
"You made this with your own two hands?" I asked.
I must have seemed comically confused or impressed because he smiled at my reaction. It wasn't a big one, and he did his best to stifle it right away, but for a split-second, he smiled. I saw it. I wanted so badly to make it happen again that I repeated myself.
"You made this?" I asked.
He nodded with a serious expression, but I could tell he liked that I liked it. "You could sell this, you know."
"I know," he said, "and I do."
"You do?" I asked. "How? Where?"
"The internet."
"You do?" I asked again. I must have looked shocked, because he smiled again at my reaction—it only lasted a second, but it was there—two smiles in a row. They were tiny, but they happened.
"Yes, I do."
"Did you really make this?" I asked, leaning over to run my hand along the leg of the stool. It was beautifully handcrafted and I was honestly impressed.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"I want one," I said, looking up at him. "I want one just like this. Can I order one right here, or do I need to go through your online store?"
He shook his head, wearing that same hint of an amused smile as he took off toward the kitchen with the bag of food from Ty's. "You can just take that one," he said with his back to me.
"Nooo," I said, constantly checking it out, and wanting more than anything to put it in my car and take it home.
"All right, never mind," he said as he pulled plates out of the cabinet.
"What?" I said in total disbelief. "You can't give up that quick. I was just saying 'no' to be nice. You should come back with something about wanting me to have it, and then I'd reluctantly agree and we'd come to terms on a fair price."
"Oh, so that's how it works?" he asked. He opened the bag and started setting food onto the counter.
I walked toward him slowly, watching him as I crossed the rooms.
"I'd have to charge you an arm and a leg to come to a fair price on that one," he said, "because it took me forever."
"I can tell how much work you put into it," I said as I came to stand across the kitchen island from him.
Mrs. Breaux loved to cook, and her kitchen had been designed with that in mind. It was spacious with tons of counter space and top of the line appliances.
He looked at me once he had taken all of the food out of the bag. "That specific one took me forever because it was the first one I ever made," he said. "I make similar stools in less than half the time now."
"And you were gonna sell it to me, just like that? You can't sell the first piece you ever made. It's special."
"I was gonna give it to you," he said.
Again, the gooeyness hit me in my gut and my knees. My blood felt warm at the thought of him giving me something significant like that. I wanted to believe he would give it to me because I was special to him. I really did wish that was the truth, but my hunch was that he was just a generous person. I looked him in the eyes, smiling a little.
"I'll pay you for it," I said. "But I'd be honored to have your first piece if you decide to let it go. I know right where I'd put it."
"Consider it yours," he said.
Without permission, I walked around the kitchen island and began making myself at home. I started by washing my hands. I opened a nearby
drawer and was happy to find dishtowels. I was still drying my hands on one as I came to stand next to him at the island.
"I'll make our plates if you want."
"I want," he said, leaning casually against the counter to let me take over. I proceeded to slice a tomato and make a chicken salad sandwich for each of us. Larry stayed at my feet for a minute, but he gave up once he figured out that I wasn't going to give him another sausage. During the preparation I needed things like extra plates and a knife, and I dug in his drawers and cabinets without even asking. I found what I was looking for right away because he used common sense as to where he put things. He watched me curiously as I worked like he was amazed that I wasn't asking permission and even more amazed that he was actually okay with it.
"I'm leaving for Lafayette tomorrow," I said as I stashed the leftovers in his fridge. There were barstools on the end of the island, and I pushed our plates in that direction so we could sit down. Jacob followed me and sat down, but didn't say anything in regards to my statement about leaving for Lafayette. "My sister goes to college over there," I said as he sat down. "I'm going with her to help her get settled for the semester. I'll be back Wednesday night."
I watched as Jacob took a bite of the sandwich. The muscles in his jaw worked as he chewed, and I laughed at myself inwardly that I even loved the way he looked when he ate.
"I guess I was just telling you in case you missed me while I was gone," I said.
He glanced at me. "I might."
Chapter 10
Jacob and I mostly just sat there and ate our dinner without making too much small talk. I had the tendency to ramble a little bit when I was nervous, so in the interest of not overwhelming him, I made an effort not to mention every thought that crossed my mind.
"When'd you get into working with wood?" I asked, after letting him eat most of his food in silence.
"My parents used to send me to about three different camps every summer," he said. "That's where I met your cousins."
I nodded since I already knew that, and he continued.
Loved Bayou (Martin Family Book 1) Page 6