by Marie Landry
I met his eyes; his expression was almost shy, uncertain. It was a change from the quietly confident, self-assured Nicholas I’d seen all night. I couldn’t imagine what he might learn from me, but I was certain I would learn a lot from him. “I’d like that.”
“Great.” His face broke into a relieved grin that had my own lips twitching in return. He looked at his watch again and said, “I should probably get you home so Daisy doesn’t start worrying.” He met my eyes again and said in a rush, “Not that I want to leave. It’s just that I stole you away from Daisy before she’d really had a chance to spend much time with you and now I don’t want to add to that by keeping you out late and worrying her.”
That boyish smile had returned to his face, and I suddenly wondered what he and Daisy had talked about at the house while they waited for me to come downstairs.
“It’s all right, we’ll have lots of time to spend together,” I said casually, faking a confidence I certainly didn’t feel. His words earlier implied he wanted to spend more time with me, but I wanted to be sure he meant it.
“Lots of time,” he echoed, his smile softening. He took my hand and brushed his thumb over my knuckles. His touch lingered for a moment, just long enough to send my heart kicking into high gear again at the strangely intimate contact.
When he released my hand, he finished his root beer before digging in his pocket for a few loose coins that he put on the table. “They hate it when I leave them a tip, so it’s like a law of friendship that I have to do it.” When I laughed, he echoed it, seeming pleased. “They’re saving for a trip to New York City this fall, so I figure this is my way of helping them out. All their tip money goes into travel savings.”
He slid from the booth and waved to get Maggie and Vince’s attention. I stood slowly, the feeling from earlier today returning—Nicholas really was too good to be true. He had to be. Guys like this didn’t really exist, did they? But here he was, standing in front of me, enveloping his friends in a big hug before turning to me and taking my hand. His hand felt solid and real—warm and strong, with slightly rough, calloused fingers. Maybe I should live by my own words and learn to just go with things. After all, he had Daisy’s stamp of approval, what more could I ask for?
“I’m sorry we didn’t get more time to talk tonight, but we’ll hang out soon, okay?” Maggie said, giving me a hug, which I returned with my one free arm since Nicholas held tightly to my other hand.
“I’ll look forward to it,” I said, holding on for a second longer, enjoying Maggie’s embrace. I’d never been much of a hugger because there was no one to hug other than my dad on the rare occasion. But I was learning that I liked the affection and closeness—Daisy’s hugs that felt like she’d never let go; Nicholas’s hand in mine or his arm around me; sweet, pretty Maggie, who hugged me like I was her best friend in the whole world, even though we’d just met.
We said our goodbyes and left the diner, stepping out into the fresh night air. Even though we’d only been in the diner for a little less than two hours, the temperature had dropped several degrees. It was a clear night though, and the wide-open sky was alight with a million twinkling stars, something I didn’t get to see in the city.
As we pulled up in front of Daisy’s house a few minutes later, I found myself wishing the drive had been longer. We hadn’t really spoken much on the way, but the silence hadn’t been uncomfortable. I just enjoyed being with Nicholas; he made me feel relaxed in a way I had previously only experienced with Daisy.
After he put the truck in park, Nicholas flashed me a grin and told me to stay put as he hopped out and made his way around to my side. “You don’t have to walk me to the door, you know,” I said as he took my hand to help me slide from the truck.
“Sure I do,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Giving my hand a playful tug, we walked slowly up the porch steps. When we got to the door, Nicholas turned to me and took my other hand so we were facing each other. Even though he’d held my hand frequently throughout the night, the feel of my hands in his sent electric shocks radiating up my arms.
“Emma, I really like you,” he said, those beautiful eyes of his never leaving mine. “All I want to do right now is kiss you…”
I gulped silently, afraid that if I opened my mouth the uncontrollable butterflies in my stomach would flutter right out through my lips. Finally I whispered, “What’s stopping you?”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward, his dimples winking at me. “Well, I’m hoping that you feel the same way about me,” he said, squeezing my hands, “and if you do, I don’t want to rush this. I know that you’re here for reasons that are really important to you, and I don’t want to get in the way of that by pressuring you or making you feel uncomfortable. I want us to get to know each other before we take things further, if we even do at all.”
His thumbs traced lazy circles on the backs of my hands as he spoke, and the butterflies calmed slightly. I had never felt such a strong desire to know somebody. I’d spent so long ignoring most of the people around me, never really getting to know anyone—myself included—but now I wanted to know Nicholas better than anyone knew him, and there was no doubt in my mind that he would end up knowing me better than anyone else ever had or ever could.
After a minute, when I still hadn’t said anything, he released one of my hands to touch my face. “Do something with me tomorrow. Anything.” He said it so passionately and with such anticipation in his eyes that I felt my knees buckle.
“Okay,” was all I could say. Somewhere in a distant part of my mind I thought, I guess this really was a date. Or maybe a pre-cursor to a date?
“Great! I’ll pick you up at noon and we can go from there—spend the whole day together or just a few hours, whatever you want.” He brought the hand he still held to his lips and kissed it lightly, an almost giddy smile overtaking his whole face and lighting it up like the stars lit the sky.
I knew in that one glorious instant that Nicholas was going to make my life very interesting. I felt as if a fragment of the old me broke away that night and disappeared, and I was really beginning my new life.
CHAPTER 4
The next day as I waited for Nicholas to pick me up, I was just as nervous as I had been the day before. I distracted myself with thoughts of the conversation Daisy and I had when I’d arrived home. She’d been waiting for me, and had ushered me to the couch before bringing me a cup of steaming hot chocolate. We talked for hours, and I told her I could see having a really special relationship with Nicholas, either as friends or something more.
“You’re hoping for something more, aren’t you?” Daisy asked, inching closer to me on the couch, her eyes dancing. When I ducked my head and grinned, she poked at me, her fingers finding my ticklish spots and coaxing a giggle from me.
“Okay, yes!” I admitted, swatting her hands away. “But I’m so completely new to this that I’m just happy to have him as a friend…for now.”
“For now,” she repeated, wiggling her eyebrows. She turned serious then, asking me what sort of things Nicholas and I had talked about, and telling me what a great guy Nicholas was.
Now I stood on the front porch, shading my eyes from the dazzlingly bright sun and thinking there was something about Daisy and Nicholas that made me open up in a way I wasn’t used to, but that was actually refreshing.
When I saw Nicholas’s shiny black truck turn into Daisy’s driveway, my breath caught in my throat and a grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. Most of my nervousness melted away as I walked slowly down the front steps, watching Nicholas as he got out. His dark blond hair reflected the golden light of the sun and his tanned face returned the wide smile I now wore.
All I could think was how gorgeous he looked in his short-sleeved blue button-up shirt with the collar left undone to reveal smooth skin, and the bottom untucked over his jeans. The hat he’d worn the day before was gone now, and the sight of his beautiful, thick hair had my fingers itchi
ng to touch it.
I came out of my reverie when Nicholas approached me and bowed gallantly, saying, “Good afternoon, Miss Ward. Isn’t this a lovely day?”
I laughed loudly, then clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the ensuing giggles. “I’m sorry, nobody’s ever bowed to me before!”
He chuckled quietly, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Nobody’s ever shown enough respect to bow in the presence of such beauty?” he said in a mock shocked tone, clucking his tongue. “A shame.” He took my hand and kissed it, something that surprised me as much as it had the night before, but that I hoped became a habit.
“I thought we could have a picnic in the park,” Nicholas said, sauntering over to the truck and opening the passenger side door to pull out a large woven picnic basket. When I speechlessly nodded my agreement, he closed the door and said, “Great. We can just walk, it’s not far.” He shifted the picnic basket to his left hand and linked his free arm through mine.
I stared at him in amazement as we began to walk. I had never met a man like Nicholas. In fact, I had never even heard of a man like Nicholas existing outside the 19th century or earlier. He was like a character out of an old romance novel—charming, handsome, chivalrous, and kind. As I watched him, he turned to wink at me, and I was so glad that he was a real person of flesh and blood, and not just a character born of someone’s vivid imagination.
It wasn’t long before I recognized where Nicholas was leading me, and I was touched at the sweet gesture of returning to the spot where we met. We settled ourselves on a blanket on the hilltop facing the busy park. “Best spot in the whole place,” he said smiling at me.
I grinned as I watched Nicholas unpack the picnic basket. With a little flourish, he produced a variety of sandwiches, a bag of grapes, a pair of shiny red apples, a large metal thermos, and a container with chocolate chip cookies.
“Very impressive,” I said, accepting a plastic cup of iced tea that he poured from the thermos. “You thought of everything.”
His mouth curved into a pleased smile and he tapped his cup against mine. “I wasn’t sure what kind of sandwiches you liked, so I made everything I had on hand. I hope you like at least one of them.” He took the lid off the container and held it out to me.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I said, laughing in disbelief. I peered in at the sandwiches—tuna, egg salad, and what looked like ham and cheese, all made with lovely multi-grain and seed bread—and picked one of the egg. “These are the most beautiful sandwiches I’ve ever seen,” I told him as he handed me a plate and napkin.
I thought of the sandwiches I used to grab on the run at school—plain white bread, insubstantial slices of meat, wilted lettuce. Even the sandwiches my mother used to make for my school lunches when I was little were always stingy amounts of peanut butter or cheese spread. I would look at the other kids in class with their sandwiches overflowing with gooey peanut butter or slices of deli meat, and wish I had a mother who took more care with my lunches. Took more care with anything having to do with her only daughter.
Pushing those thoughts from my mind, I smiled at Nicholas and shifted to settle in beside him against the tree trunk. We ate in silence, listening to the birds singing or calling to one another, and watching them swoop around in an endless game of tag. Children in the park below did the same, chasing each other across the lush grass or around the play equipment, their laughter and cries of happiness floating up the hill.
When I popped the last bite of sandwich into my mouth—they were as delicious as they looked—Nicholas held out the container of cookies.
“They’re still warm,” I said, taking one and pulling it apart to eat it in bits.
“Yeah, I made them just before I picked you up.”
I sputtered over a bit of cookie and nearly choked. “You made them? This morning?” I asked incredulously.
As he reached out to rub my back, Nicholas’s easy laugh had the butterflies in my stomach making a return appearance. “Yep. I love to cook and bake. I learned at an early age because I was on my own so much, so now it’s just second nature. How ‘bout you, do you cook?”
I blinked at him, still recovering, and then took a sip of my iced tea. “I haven’t really had much practice. My mother wasn’t much of a cook so we ordered in a lot. The most I’ve cooked for myself in the last few years was macaroni and cheese from a box, or frozen pizza.”
Nicholas laughed loudly, a wonderful sound that brought an even broader smile to my face. “Well, we’ll have to fix that. We can spend a day in the kitchen sometime and I’ll teach you to cook a proper meal.”
“I’d like that,” I said, blushing without really knowing why. Then I realized the reason: he was making plans for us. He was really serious about us being friends. I got the same feeling as the night before when Nicholas, Maggie, and Vince had been talking about their summer plans and had included me. It was an odd and almost surreal sensation, but at the same time it felt right.
“Great.” He brushed crumbs off his hands and leaned back against the tree trunk. I watched his face as he scanned the cloudless blue sky, his lips curving into a slight smile as his gaze followed the path of a kite being flown by a child down below.
For the next few hours, we sat in the shade of the huge oak tree, alternately enjoying that wonderful companionable silence and talking about our lives. I learned that after graduating from high school and then completing courses in engineering, building, and architecture in college, Nicholas was hired on at a local construction site that built low-income homes in the area. He thought it would be temporary, but enjoyed it so much he’d been doing it ever since. He liked working with his hands, and it pleased him to know he had a part in giving people a place to call home.
“Building homes for families who really need them is such gratifying work,” he told me. “I’ve had countless people tell me how much they appreciate my contribution in making their dreams of owning a home come true.”
It hit me then how genuinely good Nicholas was. He was kind, caring, thoughtful, and selfless. I admired and respected him, not only for those attributes, but also because he had accomplished so much at such a young age. I wondered where I would be at twenty-two, and if I would be as proud of myself as I was of Nicholas.
“My dad’s a builder, too,” he said. “I learned my love of it from him. He was always building something, and when I was about six, he let me help. Small jobs at first, just sanding and hammering a few nails, but it didn’t take long for him to trust me with bigger jobs. Mom hated it when Dad let me use the electric saw, but he knew I had a steady hand.” He looked past me, his eyes clouding slightly.
“What is it?” I asked, drawing his attention back to me.
He shook his head as if to clear it, and met my eyes steadily. “My mom died of cancer when I was eleven,” he said quietly. “I’m so used to everyone around here knowing, it just kinda hits me hard when I have to tell someone who doesn’t know.”
“I’m so sorry, Nicholas,” I said. I felt awkward, unsure of what else to say, so I reached for his hand and held it between both of mine.
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he squeezed my hands. “It was a long time ago, but sometimes it feels like yesterday.” He looked down at our entwined hands and a lock of hair fell over his forehead, making him look younger somehow. “Anyway, my dad and I still live together. A few years back he was offered a position as one of the heads of the building company we work for. The company builds homes and offices all over the province, but within a year of my dad being promoted, the company had grown so much they expanded and started branches all over Canada.”
As Nicholas spoke, he turned my hand over in his and began idly tracing patterns in my palm with his fingers. It made sense now why his hands were so strong and why his fingers were calloused. At times, I found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying because of the oddly intimate gesture and the way his touch sent my stomach fluttering.
“Dad
’s gone a lot,” Nicholas continued, his fingers straying to my wrist. I wondered if he could feel my pulse throbbing under the skin. “I don’t mind living on my own most of the time, and we talk nearly every night when he’s away. After my mom died I learned never to take my dad for granted, and when he got this job it made me appreciate our time together even more. Probably sounds pretty cheesy.” He cringed slightly, looking apologetic. “And I just realized I’m talking way too much.”
“No, not at all,” I said quickly. “I like learning about you and your family. I’ve never had friends to share things with or had anybody open up to me like this.” His eyes softened around the edges, crinkling in a small, warm smile. “And I don’t think it’s cheesy at all that you love your dad so much and get along so well. In fact, I’m a bit jealous. I’ve never had that kind of relationship with my parents.”
“Never?” Nicholas asked, his brows drawing together.
Just when I thought he couldn’t be any cuter, his look of concern made my heart melt. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t say never,” I said slowly, thinking back to my childhood. “When I was much younger I was daddy’s little girl. But as I got older, and my mother got harder to deal with, I drifted away from my dad. My mother controlled him so tightly that I felt like he was her puppet, saying and doing the things he thought she wanted him to say and do. My mother and I are very different and I always knew some part of her resented me for that. I think she believed having a daughter would be like having a carbon copy of herself, and when I didn’t live up to those expectations, she was disappointed. It was obvious she wanted a daughter to do girly things with—shopping, manicures, pedicures—and there’s nothing wrong with those things, I just never had any interest in them. That’s when I tried to make it up to her by doing well in school. I’d hoped it would have an impact on her, but no matter how hard I worked or how well I did, it was never enough. Never mind the fact that while half my classmates were getting into trouble doing stupid things, I skipped the whole teenage rebellion thing. There were times when I think she would have been happier if I had rebelled, because I would have been more ‘normal’ in her eyes.” I was speaking quietly, but I hated the bitterness in my voice.