by Bria Quinlan
He gave me such a look of pure disgust, I wanted to point out that I was not the one afraid of tiny, fluffy creatures whose most dangerous aspect was the fact that they might cuddle you to death.
And, honestly, if I had to pick a way to go, cuddle death doesn’t sound too bad.
“I think I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, getting a kick out of teasing him for once. “Because there’s four of them. I’m not sure I can protect you. If she only had three, I know I could take them all, but four…geez. Four is almost like a platoon.”
Sage looked at me as if I were nuts.
Maybe I was a tad crazy, but I wasn’t stuck on someone’s stoop because there were cute animals that—
“Awwww. Look at that!” I pointed, and he turned to see a three-year-old who had rushed over and thrown himself down with the puppies. “Kids these days. No fear. No fear at all.”
“All right. That’s it.” Sage stomped down the stairs, his steps slowing for a moment at the bottom, before he crossed the sidewalk to where the woman stood talking to the boy’s dad as tiny dogs climbed all over him. “May I join you?”
The kid looked up at Sage, obviously wondering why anyone would ask to play with dogs. You didn’t ask. You just did it. Especially if you were three.
Sage lowered himself to the ground, his head pulled back as if he were afraid someone would bite off his nose. From the look Sage got from the kid, my money was on him.
Sage reached out, curling his fingers in so no one could bite them, and kind of shuffled his hand across the back of one of the dogs. He nodded to himself as if he’d just cured cancer.
Then, he stood, wiped his hands off, and walked back to the stoop, glancing over his shoulder as he went.
“That wasn’t so bad.” He smiled up at me where I stood two steps up.
He looked so darn cute and proud of himself that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that was the weakest display of daring I’d ever seen.
“See?” I said. “We haven’t even left the building and our get-to-know-you night’s already a success.”
“Date.” Sage pointed to the right and fell in step next to me as I headed down the sidewalk.
“What?”
“Date. Tonight is a date.”
I tried not to panic at the words.
“No. It’s not.” I was not on a date. No. I wasn’t going from no boys allowed to dating. Too big a jump. Not gonna happen. “We’re just hanging out. Getting to know each other.”
Sage opened his mouth, then shut it, proving that, as compared to his behavior in regards to tiny dogs, he was smarter than the average bear…if bears feared things they could squash with one paw.
After half a block, he decided to open his mouth after all.
“So, not a date?”
“No.”
“Hmmm…” He walked along beside me and, after a moment, took my hand.
It had been a long time since I’d had my hand held. I couldn’t remember the last time. Troy obviously hadn’t been a great hand-holder, or I’d remember. But Sage? His hand felt just right. Mine fit in his comfortably, the calluses on his fingers just grazing the back of my hand. Not too tight, like he was trapping me, tying me to him.
“But, I can hold your hand, right?”
Well, if he’d asked first, I’d probably have had to say no. But this was nice.
“Okay.”
“And, I still get to feed you and make you laugh, right?”
“Well, yes. I mean, we’re hanging out.” Because that’s all this was.
“Okay.” He nodded to himself again, as if he were doing some complicated math in his head. “And, at the end of the non-date-hangout I get to kiss you good night?”
“Oh.” Oh.
I tried to come up with something more than oh, but even my inner dialogue was failing me.
Sage smiled, a sly little grin that said he knew very well that oh wasn’t no.
And as much as I tried to keep it in check, my heart gave a happy little hop. Down, heart. Down. I glanced back at him. Nope. There would be hops.
22
Sage
Sage lost himself a moment in the feel of her hand in his. He slowed his steps just a bit and took a deep breath.
First dates.
He hadn’t been on a first date in too long to know if this was normal. Maybe the warmth that spread up his arm from their point of contact was what everyone experienced on a first date.
He glanced at her just as she was looking up at him.
No, this was special.
It had to be.
If this were normal, then people would be happier in relationships. Divorce wouldn’t be such a huge business, and people wouldn’t be so discontent in their daily lives.
That thing that everyone was always talking about finding? Sage was pretty sure he may have just found it. It wasn’t a grand explosion, it didn’t move the earth beneath him, it didn’t cause the earth’s rotation to stall. It was the simple joy of holding the hand of a pretty girl. Not just any pretty girl.
Emily.
Maybe there wasn’t a lot of power in just saying her name. Another person might overhear Sage’s thoughts and shrug with indifference. But to Sage...it was Emily.
He sucked in a breath and held it. “I was thinking, if you’re good with it, I’d like to make you dinner? My parents are still outta town. And I know how early ’90s teen movie that sounds, but I promise nothing untoward will happen. I'll make dinner, hopefully provide somewhat charming conversation, and then bring you home.”
She thought it over and he waited. Wow, he was so bad at this. Dating was stressful, he’d never realized that before.
“Well, you don’t seem like the murdery type,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I suppose I could trust you this one time.”
Sage grinned and opened the passenger door of his truck. He helped her in with a hand, then jogged around to his side.
“So,” she asked, watching him curiously from her side of the truck. “What are you going to make for dinner?”
Sage reached for the knob on the radio and flipped it on, filling the cab with the quiet background vocals of Tom Petty. “I have a dish.”
“A dish?” she repeated, sounding as if she were trying to hold back a laugh. “Like a signature entrée?”
He glanced over and tossed her a wink. “All guys have at least one dish. Don’t you know that?”
She let out a small laugh. “No. I didn’t know that. So if I ask Officer Max what his signature dish is...?”
Sage exaggerated a grimace. “Now, see, I don’t know #OfficerMax well enough to know if he would tell you his signature dish. But you could ask.”
She laughed louder that time. “#OfficerMax? Is that what you call him?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s how we were formally introduced. On Twitter. I’m a loyal follower of all things #OfficerMax.”
“You’re a dork,” she said, her voice trembling with humor. She covered her smile with a hand and looked out the window.
Sage grinned, pleased with himself. He didn’t mind being a dork as long as the payoff was a relaxed and happy Emily.
When they pulled into his driveway, his stomach tightened with apprehension. Hopefully his awesome idea wouldn’t backfire big time. He parked the truck by the side door and hopped out, hurrying around to her side. She’d already had the door open, but she allowed him to offer a hand and help her down. He kept hold of her hand all the way to the house, releasing it only to unlock and open the door.
He showed her through the mudroom and into the open-plan kitchen. She sucked in a soft breath and he grabbed her hand again.
“Your house is fancy,” she said, voice strained.
He squeezed her hand and nodded. “My dad would love to hear you say that.”
She glanced at him, a soft frown drawing her eyebrows down in question.
“When my dad bought this house, it was so dilapidated. He got i
t for a prayer and song. He’s spent a decade turning it into this.” He pointed at the cupboards and the filigree carved into the trim. “All of this. Counters, too.” He ran a hand over the dark granite, feeling that sense of pride that he always did when he could show off his dad’s work. “He purposely found a house that needed more work than it was worth, and turned it into the house he wanted it to be.”
Next, Sage showed her the rest of the main floor. The living room, formal dining room, the bathroom. He explained how his dad even did the plumbing and wiring.
They paused at the bottom of the wide staircase, more of his dad’s custom designs carved into the banister.
“The bedrooms are all upstairs,” he said with a head tilt that direction, continuing to lead her back to the kitchen.
“Is that where your apartment is?” she asked.
“Nope. My apartment is above the workshop out back. And don’t even ask if you can see it. This is a first date.”
“Not a date,” she said automatically.
Sage just shook his head. “Even more of a reason to not ask to see my place. Way too presumptuous. Can you sit here to give me a hard time, please?” he asked, gesturing to one of the high-backed stools at the granite bar.
She hopped onto the seat. “I still don’t know what you plan on making.”
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out two beautiful T-bone steaks. He turned around and held them up for her.
A laugh bubbled out of her. “Steak is your signature dish?”
“Hey.” He tried to look offended. “Do you know how easy it is to wreck a steak? And I have a side dish, too.” He opened the pantry door and pulled out two sizable potatoes.
“Meat and potatoes; I should’ve known.”
“I’m about to blow your mind,” he promised.
While Sage prepared the steaks for grilling and sliced the pineapple, they talked. Easy. Open. Relaxed. He’d never really had this before. Again, he was struck with the knowledge that this wasn’t normal. Not in his world. He’d had girls he liked and girls he was just friends with. Something different happened with Emily where she was both. He was attracted to her, he loved her laugh, he liked to hear her talk, he wanted all of those things. Except more.
“Did your dad do your apartment, too?” she asked, twisting the lid off the water he had handed her.
“No. Actually, I did my own apartment. Took me four years, but I like how it turned out.” He rolled the potatoes in tin foil.
“So carpentry was just part of your life, not necessarily your dream,” she observed.
He nodded and reached into the spice cabinet for the black pepper grinder. “Dad was a single parent all of a sudden and he had to make some big decisions. He was bringing me to job sites with him before I was even a year old. I literally learned to walk next to a running power sander.”
“But the music is where your heart is,” she said softly.
He lifted his eyes to connect with hers and smiled. “Yeah. But I’m glad I have a trade. It means I’ll have a job if this music thing never amounts to much.”
“You’re producing an album for a major rock band. I think it’s safe to say the music thing is amounting.”
“I think it’s safe to say my every dream is coming true. It’s also safe to add if I suddenly wake up and it’s all gone, I’ll be devastated.” He shook his head and took the plate of prepared steaks in one hand and the plate of sliced pineapple and tin-foiled potatoes in the other. “Would you please be my lovely assistant and open the door for me?”
She hopped off her stool and followed him through the dining room to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the back patio.
Again, it was another beautiful piece his father had created with his own two hands—stone patio with a gas grill built into stacked river rock off to the side, and comfortable furniture his mom picked out decorating the stonework.
“Who’s your gardener?” she asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs as he set the plates down and opened the grill.
“My mom. She won’t let anyone else touch her lawn.” He lit the gas, put the potatoes in first, and closed the lid. He turned his body and rested a hip along the side of the stacked stone, giving her his full attention. “What got you into photography?”
Her smile changed again. Bright and hopeful. He was cataloging all of her smiles. She had about a zillion. And he loved each and every single one. He wondered if she knew how expressive her face was. Every smile conveyed something different, and the more time he spent with her, the easier they were to read. He liked that.
She spoke of her photography, slowly at first, and then with increased confidence, even passionate excitement, when she spoke about taking pictures with Zelda.
“And, I mean, you get to capture the truth. No one can rewrite your vision with photography. It’s just really…true.” She let her hair fall forward, blocking his view for a moment. “It’s your truth. No one can take that.”
Sage glanced at her, hiding from him behind a screen of blonde hair, and realized Emily could do anything she wanted with her life. But she had no idea. Her clarity in her art told him everything he needed to know about what she was capable of. He hung out with artists for a living. And now he was falling in love with one.
Sage added the steaks to the grill, then the pineapple. When they were finished cooking, they went back inside where he set the bar with plates and napkins.
“This is the part that’s going to blow your mind,” he said, opening the foil on the potatoes.
He sliced open the skin of the spuds, added a dollop of real butter, a sprinkle of brown sugar, and topped it with the grilled pineapple. Then he presented it to her beside her grilled-to-perfection T-bone.
“There’s no way that’s healthy,” she said it like he was adorable.
“It’s a date, beautiful. It’s not about being healthy.”
He rounded the counter to take a seat on the stool beside her. “What?” he asked, when he caught her staring at him.
She shook her head and glanced away. “Nothing. Uh, thank you. This looks delicious.”
He nodded once and dug in. He didn’t know about her, but he was famished. Getting ready for a date with a girl who was in denial about being on a date was calorie-depleting.
It didn’t take long before he was shoving the last bite into his mouth, a little ashamed that he had eaten so fast. One glance at Emily’s plate and he no longer felt guilty. His eyes darted up to her face in time to see her hide her full and still-chewing mouth behind her napkin.
“That was really good,” she said. But her mouth was still full, so it came out, “Law wah ooly gooh.”
Sage threw his head back and laughed. She finished and swallowed, and set her napkin down.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes dancing. “That was quite fulfilling.”
Sage reached up and tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Thank you for giving me a shot.”
Her smile turned shy as a faint blush touched her cheeks. He hadn’t dropped his hand from her hair. Instead, he gently twirled a lock around his finger, watching the way it shimmered and reflected in the light of the setting sun.
“Would you be interested in dessert?” he asked, his voice low.
“Uh, sure.” A breathless quality in her tone had Sage’s eyes drop to her mouth. He had already told her he was going to kiss her at the end of the date. Would it be wrong to kiss her now?
Suddenly, the side door to the house crashed open, followed by sounds of a struggle in the mudroom. Sage let go of Emily’s hair and stood up, ready to take her hand and rush her out the front of the house.
But no, it wasn’t any kind of an intruder. That would have been better than what actually happened next.
Sage’s parents came stumbling through the doorway of the kitchen, their hands all over each other, their mouths fused together. Awful, wet kissing and moaning sounds filled the room.
“Hello?” Sage yelled, to get their attentio
n and make them stop doing whatever it was they were doing.
His parents stopped making out and turned their heads slowly to take in Sage and Emily sitting at the bar. His mom detached herself from his father first, immediately running her hands down her overly rumpled clothes.
“Hey, Sage, baby,” she greeted with a smile, ignorant of the fact that her lipstick was smeared all over her mouth. “Who’s your friend?”
“Are we just going to ignore what happened here?” Sage asked, incredulous. Awkward embarrassment coursed through his body. No guy wanted to catch his parents making out, but no guy especially wanted his parents making out in front of the girl he was trying to woo.
Emily slipped her hand into his and he glanced down at her shaking body.
“You’re laughing,” he deadpanned. “At this, my life. It’s making you laugh.”
She turned her crimson-red face into his chest to hide. He cracked a smile as his empty hand came up to cup the back of her head.
“Are you on a date?” his dad asked, looking around the kitchen.
“Uh, I was,” Sage answered, hoping his dad would read the tone. Dad just grinned. Of course he did.
“Don’t give me that look,” his dad said, ignoring the tone entirely. “How was I supposed to know you were on a date? You never date. This is great, actually. Happy for you.”
“I can make coffee,” Mom offered. “Would anyone be interested in some coffee?”
Emily’s shaking continued and Sage hoped she was laughing and hadn’t switched to crying. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her back, holding her to him protectively. Her arms encircled his waist and she held on.
“No, thank you, mom,” Sage replied, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Bea,” his dad said, taking his wife’s hand. “I think they want to be alone.”
“Oh, oh yes, of course.” His mom lifted her eyebrows and smiled as if she were in on some big secret.
His parents left the kitchen and went into the den. Sage didn’t move until he heard the TV turn on. He took a deep breath and pulled Emily away from his chest by cradling her face in both hands.