“You look beautiful, by the way. I forgot to tell you that this morning.” He smiled shyly. “Like a perfect white orchid.”
And just like that, she was a goner. Stupid her.
Naomi managed to slip out on her pseudo-date without Vi knowing because Sam had already swooped her off for a romantic night of Bingo.
As she drove to meet Eli at the appointed time in front of the diner, she wondered just how much of a “date” this dinner really was. She glanced down at her outfit. She’d exchanged her white sundress for a gauzy peasant skirt and form-fitting emerald blouse. Was that overkill? He’d only mentioned getting together to finish their festival discussion.
She pulled up and he was waiting for her in the same drool-worthy outfit he had on earlier. He sauntered up to her door and she rolled down the window.
The scent of him—soap, a subtle woodsy aftershave, baked goods—drifted into the car as he leaned in. “Hello.”
She inhaled. “Hi.”
“I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”
She glanced at the dash clock. She wasn’t late. “Really? Why?”
His eyes never left hers. “Because I’d angered you. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t make me mad.” Well, maybe a little, but she got over it. Hurt and embarrassed was more like it. Again, she got over it. Especially as she anticipated spending an evening looking at him.
He reached over and brushed his thumb across her cheek. Quicker than she could react, he drew it back and inspected his finger. “Something on your face. Got it.”
Her fingers traced the spot that was still warm and tingly from his touch. “Oh.”
He smiled. “Shall we?”
“Shall we?”
“Go to dinner?”
“Dinner.” She shook her head once to clear it. “Right. Sounds good.”
He stepped back to wait for her to step out. When she didn’t, he peered at her quizzically. “Aren’t you coming?”
“The diner?”
“Well, it’s just about the only place to eat around here and I don’t have a car to drive anywhere else, so . . .” He shrugged apologetically.
She grimaced. “There’s a great little steak place the next town over. Hop in.”
His face lit up like the Fourth of July as he ran to jump in the passenger’s seat. “Thank you.” He grinned at her. “That is the one thing Sharla has limited me on preparing, and I have to say I’ve been dreaming of a good steak.”
She backed up into traffic and laughed. “Glad I can be of service.”
They drove in silence for a while, Eli staring out the window like he was seeing Arizona for the first time. She suddenly realized how little she really knew about him. “So, where are you from?”
He glanced at her, startled, almost as if he didn’t know how to answer the question. But as she averted her eyes back to the road, she wondered if she had imagined it. He shifted in his seat. “Here and there. But I just moved from New York.”
“Wow. I’ve always wanted to visit New York. What’s it like?”
“Crowded. Loud.”
She shot him a quick glance. Somehow she’d known, or at least suspected those things, but she’d expected him to extol the virtues of his home state. Surely there was something good he could share with her.
When he didn’t continue, she frowned. “That’s it?”
He turned thoughtful. “Sometimes. But not always.”
She sped up and passed a semi-truck. “Would you tell me about it? We have ten minutes until we get to the restaurant.”
“Well . . .” He rubbed his chin with those long, graceful fingers. “From my apartment, within four square city blocks, you could walk and literally experience seven different cultures of people. Smell all the delicious foods they cooked. See the children play in the streets, hear their laughter.”
Naomi glanced over and his eyes were closed as he relived the memory.
“The women’s colorful clothing was so, so beautiful—wool and cotton and silks as soft as water. There was music playing often and some kind of festival or fair to enjoy almost every weekend. The city fairly vibrated with energy.
“It was a true community where all of God’s children lived together in harmony the way He intended. And it was beautiful.”
Well, hot damn. She’d been expecting some touristy description of the Statue of Liberty or maybe some local hot spots. Not that eloquent dissertation. She swallowed. “You make it sound lovely.”
“Oh, it’s not me. It’s the people. I was just honored to meet them and be a part of that life. If even for a short while.”
She digested his words—the haunted quality to them. As if he were painting a picture of something he’d witnessed, cherished even, but not as something he lived. Like someone who had lovingly observed a living piece of art and wanted to be a part of it. Heartbreaking.
She drove on until they reached the restaurant and parked. Sudden awareness crawled through her like a million hot pinpricks. She dropped her head as her heart sank to her feet.
She’d been drifting through her life the same way.
And it was time to stop.
His warm hand clasped her shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
She peered up into his face as the shadows began to play across his features. Had he become just a piece of artwork in her life? A pretty something to be admired from afar but never allowed in?
Sure, he may be in town temporarily. And, yeah, maybe he was a meddlesome pain in her bakery’s ass. But he was sweet and sexier than anything to hit New Destiny in years. And he was gazing at her like maybe, just maybe, he felt a little bit of the same.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m good. Let’s eat.”
“Super!”
And with that, he hopped out of the car and was inside the restaurant before she could blink.
Well.
He may have given her the finest rear view in four states, but gentleman certainly wasn’t on his list of attributes, either.
Chapter 11
Naomi sat back in her chair with a sigh. Dinner was fine. Delicious, actually. It should’ve been a fabulous time except for two things: The little girl two tables over who stared at them to the point of discomfort, and the fact that every time Naomi tried to engage Eli in conversation, he became engrossed in his steak like it was manna from Heaven.
The few words she’d gotten out of him prior to their meal’s arrival were fine. They established they would both provide basic coconut cream and banana cream pies for the tossing event at the festival and they were comfortable letting another committee handle game booths. He particularly liked the idea of a dunking booth once she explained what it was.
“Someone sits suspended above a tank of water, waiting to fall in when someone hits a target? Fascinating.” He grinned one of his million-dollar smiles. “Sounds fun.”
“You’ve seriously never heard of a dunking booth?” She was perplexed by this guy. He was a chef from New York that could whip up the most exotic dishes and seemed to have the most beautiful insights into human emotion, but at the same time, seemed to be lacking in the most basic human experiences. Yet he’d mentioned a pie toss. He’d obviously experienced some things.
He glanced down and his cheeks turned a soft pink. Was he blushing? “Um, I was raised a bit sheltered.” He peered up at her, his eyes silently entreating her to let it go.
She did. Why push him for his ghosts when she didn’t want to exorcise hers?
She flicked a glance to the wide-eyed girl. She was cute, but kinda creepy in the way she pinned Eli with her worshipful stare.
Naomi turned back. Eli appeared oblivious. “Well, the dunking booth will be a lot of fun. Especially when the dunkee taunts the dunker until they hit the targ
et.”
“Taunts?”
“Yeah. You know, tease ‘em. Try to make them miss. Like how Tony Childers always teases his buddy B.J. about his golf swing, or how Vi is always on Miss Martha about how her vanilla buttercream is sweeter. Stuff like that.”
He tilted his head. “And you think this tactic will work?”
She smiled. “Maybe. Wouldn’t you smack that target for all you’re worth if someone questioned your fancy little petit fours or whatever?”
He full-on belly laughed, and her heart lightened watching his face relax like that.
And now, as much as she was enjoying her filet, she’d give anything for even a smidgen of that camaraderie back. Because once dinner was served, she’d actually become invisible. Story of her life.
She sighed and picked up her wine, letting the rich, full-bodied bouquet roll across her tongue. But the enjoyable moment was short-lived as she glanced over. Eli’s preschool admirer was still staring, backward in her chair and up on her knees for the best possible view, adoration clearly etched on her little face.
Then time slowed.
The little girl’s chair tipped a fraction, and she righted herself quickly. But not before her foot bumped the table, tipping a water glass on end. She lifted huge, fearful eyes to her father, whose face automatically morphed from laughter and grins to utter disgust.
He rose from the table, his body vibrating with anger, his face blooming a purple-red. His booming voice carried across the restaurant as he chastised his daughter for her clumsiness and stupidity.
The little girl hung her head as fat tears began to stream down her face and she seemed to shrink into her chair.
Naomi’s mouth went dry and the steak she’d just consumed weighed a thousand pounds in her stomach. She wanted to hurl something at the man’s head as vicious memories came barreling back full force.
Screaming.
Berating.
Pain. Oh, the pain.
That poor baby girl.
Before she could think, or act, or speak, Eli was out of his chair and at that table. The man shifted startled eyes up to Eli’s face as the hateful words died in his mouth.
“Who’re you? What the hell do you want?”
She couldn’t make out Eli’s softly spoken response. She only saw the little girl turn wide eyes up to him in awe as he subtly placed himself between her and her father as they exchanged words.
Eventually, the father’s face lost a fraction of its ire and he sat reluctantly. As Eli made his way back to their table, the girl’s eyes never left him.
He sat and offered Naomi an apologetic smile before turning back to the little girl. She tilted her head and waved. He waved back.
Naomi stared at him as he finished his dinner, obviously unaffected by whatever had just happened. Finally, he sat back and pushed his empty plate forward with a satisfied moan. “That was exquisite.”
“Exquisite.” She tried out his word. That was one way to put it. She eyed him over the rim of her glass. “So, you gonna tell me what you said over there?”
He flicked a glance to the girl and her father, who were now leaving. “Oh. It was nothing. I simply reminded him that his daughter was a priceless gift from Heaven and that he should be mindful of how he treats his treasure. After all, how a father treats his daughter impacts her for the rest of her life, especially in her relationships with men. That’s all.”
That’s all?
Oh.
My.
God.
She realized in that moment that she was going to have to rethink her idea of sexy. Navy SEALS and firefighters be damned, his willingness to quietly yet boldly stand up for the weak was hands down the sexiest, most noble thing she had ever seen.
Where had he come from?
“Who raised you?”
He blinked at her, his eyes suddenly veiled. “My father.”
“And he taught you all that? About fathers and daughters?”
He picked up his water glass and took a large swallow. “Yes. And much more.”
“Sounds like you have a wonderful father.” She tried not to be jealous.
“The best.” So why did he seem so sad about it?
“That’s nice,” she replied dumbly, preoccupied with her own swirling thoughts. “And I’m sure that little girl appreciated your help.” A hundred painful moments when a gorgeous savior would’ve been an answered prayer filled her mind.
He shrugged, obviously trying to blow it off, making her find it all the more impressive. She wanted to press him about it, but their waiter interrupted and presented him the bill. He stared at it a moment, then lifted dark, apologetic eyes to her. Something in her stomach began to churn uncomfortably. Duh. She should’ve known. This wasn’t the Middle Ages. People went Dutch all the time nowadays.
She reached for her purse. “How much is my half?”
“Uh . . . I’m not . . . well—”
She glanced up from her bag. He’d gone pale and hadn’t moved to even check the amount of the bill. “Is there a problem?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t have my wallet.”
She’d heard that one before. Problem was, the sheepish expression on his face said he really meant it. “Oh.” Remember the little girl. Remember the little girl. “No problem. I’ll get it.”
His brow furrowed. “My wallet?”
Huh? “No. The bill.” She picked it up and barely glanced at the total before taking out her sadly battered credit card and plunking it down.
“Thank you, Naomi. I will pay you back.”
The little girl’s big eyes haunted her and reminded her of the ones that used to stare back at her in the mirror for years. “No worries. You don’t have to do that.”
“Drop me off at Sharla’s and I can get some money. I know precisely where I left my wallet. It’s by my keys and paychecks on the dresser. I just don’t think to grab either since I so rarely need them.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut as she processed what he’d said. “You never carry your wallet?”
“No.”
“And your paychecks?”
“They’re at home.”
“All of them?”
He nodded. “Well, I did go to the bank and cash one so I’d have money for necessities. Miss Maude was very nice even though I didn’t have an account.”
Yes, she was sure the gray-haired busybody was plenty nice when the good-looking new cook came waltzing in with his paycheck. “So, you don’t need money?” Was sexy McCook rich, too?
“Not much. I don’t have my car at the moment and Sharla provides me a place to stay. All I need to pay for is food and occasional personal items.”
“No bills? Credit cards? Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She tried to imagine the freedom in that as she finalized the bill and they made their way out of the restaurant. At the car, she knew better than to wait for him to open her door, so she got in and started the engine. Several seconds later, after she’d adjusted the radio and A/C, he still hadn’t joined her. She leaned over and peeked out the passenger window.
His face was upturned, outlined by the yellow-hued streetlight, as he studied something far above him.
She tapped the window with her fingernail. “Eli?”
He didn’t respond.
She shifted and got back out of the car to see what had him so enraptured. She turned her attention skyward. An electronic billboard?
“What is a Noah’s Ark Drive-In?”
She waited while the sign cycled through an attorney’s office, a construction company, the local florist, and a dog groomer. Then she saw what must have captured his attention. A giant rendition of Noah’s Ark advertising the
drive-in movie theater that had a big boat playscape for the kids and cheap Saturday night movies for families.
“It’s just a drive-in with a Noah theme,” she explained.
He shot her an inquisitive glance. “Drive-in?”
Seriously? Where was he from again? “You know, drive-in movies?”
When he stared at her blankly, she explained the premise of driving your car in and parking to watch a movie on a giant screen with the old time speakers in your windows, which had recently been replaced with the radio station.
“Really? There’s such a thing?” He grinned.
“Um, yes.” She glanced up as the sign cycled again, then back to his face. “You’re telling me you never took your high school girlfriend to make-out at the drive-in?”
A mixture of confusion and regret crossed his face. “No.”
“Don’t get out on many dates, I take it.”
“Never.”
“Never, as in it’s been a long time?”
“No. Never as in I’ve never been on a date.”
Her jaw hit the top of the car, she’d have sworn it. How had a guy who looked like that avoided getting snagged by a woman all this time? Well, that certainly explained a lot of things.
Monk? No.
Antisocial? Seemed to be borderline sometimes, but not really.
Gay? Gasp. Say it ain’t so. Such a sad waste to womankind.
As his eyes seemed to be drawn back to the sign like flies to a bug zapper, she sighed. He’d said he was sheltered, but this was crazy. Maybe his dad was some kind of religious zealot or something. Maybe it was a cult or commune thing. Amish? She eyeballed him trying to picture him in suspenders and a beard.
But how had he not spread his wings and experienced life on his own as a man? She tamped down her questions and eyed the fine specimen before her. She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again. What the hell? “You wanna go?”
Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) Page 9