Every Yesterday (Boot Creek)

by Nancy Naigle

  She walked up the street and over to Bootsie’s Bouquets to pick up Mom. They’d walk over to Bella’s together from there.

  Just as Megan crossed the street, her mom walked out of the store, looking at her watch. “I was getting ready to go ahead and walk over without you. Thought maybe I got the plans mixed up.”

  Megan knew better. It was her mom’s way of putting her on notice for pushing the timeline. Mom always liked to be early. Poor Daddy had gotten the brunt of that passive-aggressive behavior when Megan was a kid. Now she was the sole recipient.

  Lucky me.

  “We’ve got plenty of time. Come on,” Megan said, hooking her arm through her mom’s. “How are you this morning?”

  “Good. I have an order of flowers coming in this afternoon. I’m trying a new place. Can’t wait to see how they look.”

  “That should be fun.” And just as she lifted her gaze from the sidewalk, Noah came walking toward them wearing a car-show T-shirt that showed off well-defined muscles she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Megan?” The beginning of a smile tipped his mouth as he lifted his chin. “Good morning.”

  Mom tugged on her arm. Megan knew she was dying to know who the good-looking man calling her name was.

  “We are bumping into each other all over the place,” she said to him as they got within just about six feet of one another.

  “Sure are. Am I going to see you today?”

  Why did she find him vaguely disturbing? Like she wanted to see him, but didn’t? “I was thinking I’d text you when I’m on the way.”

  “Looking forward to that.”

  “Noah,” Megan said, trying not to screech from the pressure her mom was applying to her bicep, “this is my mother. Everyone calls her Bootsie. She owns the flower shop next door. Noah is in the wedding.”

  “Hi, Bootsie. Very nice to meet you. Noah Black.” He offered a nod.

  Mom tittered like a schoolgirl. “You must be the one from California? You’re too tan to be the Eskimo.”

  He laughed politely. “Yes, ma’am. I’m the Californian, by way of Tennessee anyway.”

  “What part of Tennessee? I love Nashville. Country music is my favorite.”

  “I grew up just outside of Nashville. In Franklin, home to lots of the biggest country music stars.”

  “You’re so lucky.”

  “Well, I haven’t been back in a long, long time.” Noah said. “I’m surprised we didn’t meet the other night. I can see the resemblance between you two. Megan obviously gets her good looks from your side of the family.”

  “Thank you,” Bootsie said.

  Megan watched her mom nearly coo at the compliment. “We’re off to meet some friends. I’ll catch up with you later,” she said, steering her mom forward before she tried to invite him along.

  “Sounds good,” Noah said.

  Megan forged ahead.

  “He is delightful.”

  “He’s nice.” When Megan glanced back over her shoulder, he was standing there, watching her walk away. A little tinge of excitement raced up her spine.

  “I think he likes you.”

  “He lives in California.”

  “But he’s cute. You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Bootsie exhaled a long sigh of contentment. “Well, I think he’s really very good looking. You could do worse.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Why her mom wanted to always fix her up with someone was beyond her. Look how bad her marriage to Dad had ended up. Why would she want that for her daughter? Of all the people who should understand why she wasn’t hot to trot to get into a relationship, you’d think it would be Mom.

  They stepped inside Bella’s to see Flynn and her grandparents already seated at a table. The white tablecloth looked pristine against the dark wood of the walls. The table was set with perfectly matched china and goldware. Very elegant. A three-tiered porcelain tray held an assortment of bites to eat along with the requisite tea.

  One level was nothing but scrumptious looking pastries in an array of colors—lemon yellow, strawberry red, an amazing carrot cake, and brownies with a dark chocolate glaze the color of Noah’s eyes.

  Noah’s eyes? Stop.

  She glanced over at Flynn who was staring at her. Megan hoped she hadn’t just said that aloud. She smiled and grabbed a lemon bar and held it to her nose, inhaling the citrusy sweetness.

  Like her candles, each delicious nugget she picked up teased her with appealing aromas—herbs, fruits, and chocolatey sweets. She inhaled the tangy lemon and burst of sugar, maybe even a tiny hint of lavender, before nibbling the tasty bite.

  Sweets and savory sandwiches were passed around the table as they chatted. Bootsie and Flynn’s grandparents filled in most of the conversation. As they started getting deeper into a conversation about the economy and the local mill closing down, Megan leaned over to Flynn and tapped her on the hand.

  She looked up.

  “What do you think of the groomsmen?”

  Flynn’s features became more animated. “I think they’re great.” Her brow wrinkled. “Don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Megan shrugged. “Of course, I mean they are all really different, but nice. I . . .”

  “What?”

  “They’ll be gone at the beginning of the week. I don’t know. I was just wondering if you were kind of interested in Ford? I mean, he seemed to be interested in you, but he lives in Alaska. That would just be crazy, right?” Or even if it was just California.

  Flynn picked up her cup and took a sip of tea. “That’s just geography. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen no matter what. I’m going to enjoy the moment and not even think about it. Just let things happen. Kick a few doors open. If it’s right, they won’t slam back on my hand.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Why not?”

  Why not? Good question.

  “Is this about me or about you?” Flynn asked, casting a direct challenge.

  Megan stuffed a tiny quiche in her mouth to keep from having to answer. Unfortunately it was spinach and some kind of weird cheese that was more pungent than tasty. Thank goodness Flynn’s grandmother pulled them right back into the conversation. Perfect timing.

  She hadn’t been here but a couple of times before, but Flynn was very close to the family who owned the place. He’d been a chef in Asheville, North Carolina. A big deal. But Megan was more the pizza-and-beer type. She could only do so much of this pinkies-up tea stuff, despite her mother’s wishes.

  An hour was about the length of Megan’s sit-still span, and that had passed about twenty long minutes ago. She kept waiting for a moment where she could gracefully exit, but the conversation seemed to drone on without anyone taking a breath.

  Finally, Bootsie stood. “Oh, goodness. I’m having so much fun that I’ve lost complete track of the time. I have a shipment coming in. You will forgive me, won’t you?”

  Her mother looked panicked. But for once, Megan did want to thank her.

  “We all understand,” Megan consoled her. “I’ll walk you back to the shop.”

  “You don’t have—”

  “I don’t mind at all.” She shoved enough to cover her mother’s and her own tab into Flynn’s hand. “Should be enough for the tip too.” She stood and pushed her chair in. “It was so great to catch up, and Flynn, I’ll see you tomorrow at the spa.”

  “You sure will. I can’t wait.”

  Megan waved and herded Bootsie right out the door.

  “Slow down, Megan.” Bootsie said, half out of breath. “We’re not in that big of a hurry.”

  Megan slowed down, and then it came: “What else do you know about that handsome Noah? I can’t stop thinking how nice he seemed,” Bootsie said.

  She had half a mind to lie and tell her that he was out of prison on probation. That would shut her up. “Don’t know much about him. Just that he’s a car guy.”

  “Like your dad.”

  That’s all she said, and Megan wasn’t sure if that was m
eant to be good or bad. But since she didn’t drone on and on trying to talk her into pursuing him, she was perfectly happy with whatever it meant.

  She kissed her mom on the cheek. “Have a good day, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Bootsie unlocked the shop and took down the “Be Back In Thirty Minutes” sign that had been hanging in the door for the past hour and a half and probably would be back up in a little while when Bootsie took her lunch break. You could set your watch by Bootsie’s lunch hour. Hungry or not, she’d take that break.

  Megan walked back to her place and loaded up a box with paints and brushes. She grabbed a box of chalk, a couple of pencils, and a sketch pad out of a drawer on her workbench.

  She carried the box to the front door, and then set it down while she put on her hat. Checking herself in the mirror, she went back to her bathroom and applied a little mascara, which led to a little foundation and a little blush too. Some lip gloss and she was finally satisfied, if not regretting that she even cared.

  She texted Noah, and he responded right back.

  Megan: Sorry it took so long. Still need help?

  Noah: Come on over. The guys went out to lunch, but I’m here.

  Megan: Need me to bring anything?

  Noah: Just your smile.

  Can’t paint with a smile. She shoved her phone back in her purse and carried her box of supplies out to the car and put it in the passenger seat. An unexpected swirl of excitement coursed through her as she got in her car to head over to Jackson’s house. Probably just the thrill of being part of the surprise.

  But as she pulled into the driveway, that swirl picked up speed when Noah walked out. He’d changed out of his jeans into a pair of cargo shorts and a black T-shirt. A T-shirt that fit him just right. The logo, silver-foiled California Dreaming Restoration, had her doing a little California dreaming too.

  “I brought some paints and stuff,” she said as she got out of the car.

  “Great,” he said. “Can I carry something?”

  “In the passenger seat.” With guns like that he could carry her stuff anytime.

  He walked around and got the box then led her inside.

  “Billy’s room is going to be the one at the end of the hall.”

  She followed him, and then stood in the doorway with him. An empty canvas. The walls had been primed and painted a soft buttery yellow, giving the room a sunshiny look. Blue painter’s tape still covered the power outlets and wood trim.

  “Is it dry?”

  “Yeah.” He tugged a piece of blue tape from the switch inside the door. “I was getting ready to put the plates back on.”

  “Well, let’s figure out what and where we’re painting. No sense in having to tape things up twice.”

  He stepped into the room. “True. I was thinking we’d just paint that one wall. I’m going to put the bed right here.” He looked like an airline attendant showing passengers the lighted exits as he motioned where the bed would go. “A dresser here.”

  Megan agreed. The wall he’d pointed to would be the focal point of the room. “Great. Did you have something in mind? I was thinking maybe a gas pump like the one in my house, and then we could do a sign with the prices that also includes a section with chalkboard paint. He could draw there if he wanted to.”

  “That’s a cool idea.”

  “I brought some chalkboard paint with me.” She pulled her hands up on her hips, imagining what it would look like.

  “Maybe a garage-bay door with ‘Billy’s Garage’ written over top?”

  “That would be cool. What color palette are we working with besides the yellow on the walls?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  She hesitated a moment, watching him in profile. He was handsome, and although her first impression had been of all swagger, there was a fun boyish charm about him too. An old feeling, one she’d kept under control, prickled at her senses. Suddenly noticing every angle, smell, and move that he made. She let him guide her out of the room and to the garage. He blocked the doorway. Then pushed the door open and stepped aside, creating a grand gesture. “What do you think?”

  The truck bed took up the better part of the garage. With the tailgate as the footboard and the cab as the headboard, it was no mistaking this was going to be the bed of any boy’s dreams. And this was way more safe to concentrate on than the way Noah smelled or looked in the sunlight right now. “I think he is going to be thrilled. That is my favorite style Chevy pickup. And the color. I love it. Was that a stock color?”

  “Tropical Turquoise.”

  “It’s great. I bet it was bright as heck back in the day. The worn look just makes it that much cooler. This is the best bed ever. It’s going to be like sleeping in the bed of a truck.”

  “I know. I’m pretty happy with how it’s turning out. Look I used the taillights as decoration on the chunky wooden frame.”

  “Wouldn’t that be cool if they worked?”

  “Already thought of that. I rigged up a switch right here by the rail. He can use them like a night light if he wants to.”

  “You’ve thought of everything.” And she wondered what kind of attention to detail he would put into a night out together. Not that she didn’t appreciate spontaneity, but she’d always been a sucker for the tiny details too.

  Looking at the blank canvas, she wished Jackson had told her about the project himself. She could have been working on this a week ago. “I’m going to sketch something out. This is going to be great. It’s going to be bright and playful.”

  “Do you need my help?”

  “No,” she said. “Not really.”

  “If I can be helpful, I’d be happy to help. Especially where you might have big areas I can’t screw up.”

  “Thanks, we can make quick work of it that way. Let’s get started.” Megan snapped her fingers, all that Noah-talk from Mom and then Flynn’s comments had her mind thinking things it really had no right to be thinking. “I meant to bring a paint tarp. Do you know if Jackson has one around?”

  “That we’ve got. There’s one still folded up in the closet that we used when the guys painted yesterday.”

  “Perfect. Then I’m going to go sketch something out real quick.”

  “I’ll get us something to drink. Water, soda, beer?”

  “If you’ve got a cold beer, that’ll be perfect.”

  “My kind of gal.”

  The quick comment landed on her like a butterfly. Unexpected and soft, its wings slightly tickling her. Nice. Megan went back to Billy’s room and sat on the floor. The sketch came easy. She knew exactly what she wanted to paint. The ideas flowed like they hadn’t in so long.

  Noah walked in with two beers and stood looking over her shoulder. “I like it. This is going to make the room.”

  “I’m pretty sure that bed is going to make the room, but this will be pretty cool. I’m going to need a few pints of paint, though. Think you could run to the store and get them while I sketch things out and get started?”

  “Sure. Give me a list.”

  “I just need a few basics. I can mix to get pretty much the colors we need, but can you get him to mix a turquoise about four shades lighter than what you got for the dresser, to use for the sky? That should anchor the color scheme of the room and tie things together.”

  “I’m your beck-and-call boy. Just tell me what to do.”

  That would be a first. Entirely different from Kevin, who used to be the one making all the plans. Some that she’d never known were even in progress. “Oh, you know what. I had another idea. Do you have a ladder?”

  “Yeah. I’ll grab it. What else?”

  She scribbled what she needed on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “You can get all of it at the hardware store.”

  “The hardware store? Aw, man. Maybe it’s the old man’s day off.”

  “Mr. Owen? He never takes a day off.” She could see the discouragement all over his face, and boy did she sympathize. Not that she was about to admit
it.

  He looked down at the list. “Of course, he doesn’t. I’ll be back . . . eventually . . .” He turned and then stopped in the doorway. “What am I thinking? I don’t have a car.”

  “Take mine. Keys are in it.”

  He left and then came back with the ladder. “Here you go. See you shortly. Well, in a while.”

  She sat there until she heard him leave. Then she raced over to the ladder with a small jar of glow-in-the-dark paint and a skinny paintbrush. She climbed the ladder and straddled the top. Carefully, she painted tiny stars in the shape of the Big Dipper, and then scooted the ladder and did the Scorpio constellation and Leo. Those were the only ones she knew by heart. She reached out to the sides dotting a few random stars.”

  The paint was colorless, just little wet spots. She scooched the ladder and filled in a couple empty areas with scatters of various-sized stars. It might require a little fill-in work once they saw them in the dark. She hoped it worked.

  She hopped down from the ladder, then fished around in her box of supplies for her chalk to start marking out the mural in broad soft strokes.

  After a few minutes, she stood back, taking it in.

  If she’d ever had a son, she’d have done something just like this for him. She marked a few spots on the drawing she’d done on the sketch pad for the areas that Noah could start filling in, like the sky and the concrete block of the garage. She could come back in, and contour and shade. It would save time.

  By the time she heard Noah pull back up to the house in her car, she had the life-sized gas pump well under way. The pop of fire engine red was going to draw the eye right in against the yellow and dingy turquoise of the bed. She let her brush glide against the smooth surface. She never tired of watching the colors come to life beneath her strokes.

  “Whoa!”

  Megan turned to see Noah’s mouth hanging open.

  “That looks three dimensional,” he said stepping into the room. “Damn, you are good. Just how long have I been gone?” He turned his wrist, looking at his watch.

  “Thank you.” It wasn’t that difficult of a thing to paint, and she knew exactly what one looked like since she had one in her house. It’d be different if it had been something she’d never seen before. But it did feel good to be creating. It had been a while.