Текст книги "For All You Have Left"

Автор книги: Laura Miller

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Chapter Twelve
Barbeque

It’s 5:45. I literally just walked in the door.

I throw my bag onto the couch and run to the closet in my room. There’s a bright sundress staring back at me. I grab it and change out of the slacks and button-up top I wore to work and into the dress. I spot a pair of flip flops in the corner of the room. I hurry over to the shoes and force my feet into them before I run to the bathroom, throw on a pair of stud earrings and touch up my make-up. My hair is up. I take it down and spray some hair spray on it. But I think most of the spray goes into the air and then into my nose and mouth instead. I’m coughing and fanning the air with my hand when I hear a knock at the door. And instantly, I feel my heart skip a beat. I look into the mirror and then at the mess I’ve made with my make-up on the counter. I ignore it – there’s no time – and I quickly grab some lip gloss and shove it into a clutch. And within seconds, I’m making my way to the door. But just before I open it, I stop and run my fingers through my hair one more time. I’m nervous. I’ve told myself all day that this is not a date. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly when I agreed to it. This can’t be a date. I can’t date. And he’s just a friend – practically a stranger.

I pull open the door, and Jorgen immediately eyes me up and down once.

“You look…good.” He has a wide grin on his face. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.

I let out a frazzled sigh. “I just got home fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well, you look great,” he says.

I can tell it’s definitely sincere this time, even though “great” isn’t exactly what I’d call myself right now.

“You look nice too,” I say, well aware that I’m starting to blush.

He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts and a gray, fitted tee shirt – one in which I can’t help but notice his muscles.

“Well, you ready?” he asks.

I try to hide my bashful state. I still haven’t figured out why his muscles make me feel so unraveled.

“Yeah,” I say.

I reach back and grab the keys off the counter and pull the door closed behind me before following him down the stairs and to the parking lot.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “My truck’s in the shop. I’ve only got my bike right now.”

I look up from shoving my keys into my clutch and stop cold.

“I have an extra helmet,” he says. “It was my sister’s.”

I don’t say anything. I just stare at the bike and then at him holding the helmet.

“Ada?” I think I hear him say after a moment.

“Um,” I stutter. “You know what? We can just take my car.” I reach inside my clutch and recover my keys. “It’s not a problem,” I quickly rattle off.

He’s quiet, and a few long seconds pass us by before I eventually look up and find his eyes. They look sad or confused or something.

“It’s safe,” he tries to assure me. “I promise. The barbeque is just right down the road. I’ll go slow. It’ll be fun.”

My eyes fall heavy to the ground at my feet.

“I’m wearing a dress,” I say, sheepishly.

“Oh,” he says and then stops. “Right. I’m sorry. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s fine,” I manage to get out. “I’ll just drive. It’s not a big deal. I’m parked over here.”

I command my legs to move, and I start out toward my car.

“I’m really sorry, Ada,” he says, as he catches up to me. “I didn’t mean for you to drive. I just thought it would be fun to ride the bike.”

“It’s really fine,” I say, forcing a laugh. “It’s really not the end of my world if I drive. There’s no reason for you to be sorry.”

I stop at the car, and he does too, and quickly, his eyes lock onto mine. And all of a sudden, I can’t seem to look away or move or do anything, as I watch a soft, crooked smile edge up his face.

“I can’t help it, Ada. You really shouldn’t have shown up at my door without pants on the first time I met you.”

I know I can’t hide the red rushing to my face, but I do try my hardest to fight the nervous smile that is attached to it. God, what have I gotten myself into? This is definitely a date.

“You can put the helmets in the back,” I say, flashing him the smile that ultimately won the battle.

He chuckles and sets the helmets onto the seat.

“So, where are we going?” I ask as I pull open the door.

“Broadway Park,” he says.

I get in and wait for him to slide into the passenger’s seat next to me. After he does, I shift the gear into reverse and catch a glimpse of the helmets in the rearview mirror. One’s black; the other’s pink. I suck in a deep breath and then slowly exhale. God, really, what have I gotten myself into?

* * *

“Kev, this is Ada,” Jorgen says, introducing me to a man who’s maybe in his late twenties. “Ada, Kevin.

I meet Kevin’s outstretched hand with my own.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He has somewhat of a country twang to his voice – not Southern, just country.

Kevin is one of those guys who kind of reminds me of a teddy bear. He’s not super round or anything. I mean, he’s not nearly as chiseled as Jorgen, but he’s not really overweight either. He’s just a little shorter and a little heavier than average – a teddy bear, a sandy blond teddy bear. And he’s squinting his eyes at me.

“You know, you look kinda familiar for some reason,” he says, searching my face.

I turn my attention to Jorgen. “I feel like I’ve gotten that a lot lately.”

Jorgen is staring at Kevin and has a look on his face as if he’s in deep thought or something.

“She’s Ada Cross,” Jorgen says after a second. “She writes the people stories in Outside.”

Kevin looks at me again and then starts slowly nodding his head. “You know, that’s probably it.”

For some reason, he doesn’t look completely convinced.

“Well, wow. I’ve never met anyone famous before,” he goes on, refitting the baseball cap on his head.

A laugh unexpectedly escapes me.

“Famous?” I say. “You guys really need a new standard for famous.”

“Well, I’ve never had my name in anything,” Kevin says. “Good or bad.”

Just then, Jorgen puts his arm around Kevin. “Now, Ada, you could actually write a pretty good story about this guy.”

Kevin stands in his place, smiling proudly all of a sudden.

“This guy just might be the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

The sandy blond teddy bear seems unfazed by Jorgen’s mention of the word strange.

“Am I right, Kevin?”

Kevin shrugs his shoulders and then nods his head.

“This guy has some kind of weird photographic memory,” Jorgen continues. “I mean he can remember the smallest of details and the most common of faces.”

I take a second and squint one eye playfully.

“Really?” I ask.

“I can’t remember everything,” Kevin modestly confesses. “But I can remember faces pretty good. If I’ve seen a face even for a few seconds, then nine out of ten times, I remember it.”

I cock my head a little to the side. “Then where have you seen mine?”

He seems to be a little taken aback as I hold my stare in his.

“It’s…uh…not completely foolproof. You might be the exception.” He looks nervous all of a sudden.

I start to laugh. “I’m just joking with you. I wish I could remember faces better. That sounds like a pretty cool strange trait to have.”

I watch the life slowly return to Kevin’s face.

“Hey, Kevin, these your brats over here?”

We all turn our attentions to a voice coming from a pavilion in the center of the park.

Kevin grabs the bill of his cap and adjusts the hat over his head again. “Well, it looks like I’ve got some brats that need tendin’ to. It was nice meeting you, Ada.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” I say.

Kevin playfully punches Jorgen in the arm and then trots off toward the pavilion. We watch him until he reaches a barbeque grill and plants his feet behind it.

“He’s a pretty good guy,” Jorgen says, regaining my attention. “I’ve worked right alongside him ever since I got the job here.”

I slowly nod my head. “He seems nice.”

My eyes trail off to Kevin under the pavilion again for a moment, until I feel Jorgen’s eyes on me.

“What?” I ask, starting to laugh.

“Nothing,” he says. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

I don’t say anything. I just flash him a playful smile.

“You want any more to eat?”

I shake my head. “I think I’m good.”

“You wanna walk?” he asks, gesturing toward the trail behind us.

My eyes wander to the trail and then back to him. “Sure.”

We start off toward the base of the little, white-graveled path, which wraps around the park. I’ve run on the same trail a few times before, but I’ve never walked it with anyone.

“So, did you go to college here?”

I glance up at him and nod my head. “I did. Mizzou.”

“Aah,” he says. “They’re known for that – what you do,” he states and sort of asks at the same time.

I slowly nod my head some more. “Yeah, they are,” I confirm. “What about you?” I ask.

“Oh, I got my paramedic license at a small school back home.” He steals a quick glance at me. “It’s not world-renowned or anything.”

I think I get stuck in his crazy blue eyes for a second. I would call them ice-blue, but they’re not at all cold.

“Well, I’m sure you’re great at what you do even so,” I say. “You work for a pretty respected hospital.”

Jorgen’s expression instantly turns bashful, and his gaze falls to the ground as we walk a few more steps in silence.

“I was wearing pants,” I say, eventually.

He stops walking and sends me a questioning look.

“That first time we met, I was wearing boxers – shorts,” I quickly correct myself.

He starts to grin, and then he sets out down the trail again. “I’m still going to remember it as no pants.”

I lower my head and laugh softly to myself.

“In my head,” he continues, “the first time I met you, your hair was down; you were wearing a big sweatshirt and nothing else; and you promised me that you weren’t a former one-night stand.”

“Oh my gosh,” I exclaim. “Please don’t.”

“Can’t undo a memory,” he says, laughing. “Plus, it was perfect. You don’t know how many times I had dreamed about something like that happening to me.”

I playfully shove him. His shoulder is strong and hard, and it’s the first time since shaking his hand that I’ve touched him, I quickly realize.

He pretends to be affected by my harmless strike as he shrinks to one side.

“I had hoped that you were weird – like four-cats-with-past-lives weird,” I confess.

“What?” he asks. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “That’s what I was used to, I guess – people living in their own little worlds while I lived in mine. It makes life pretty easy that way. People like that don’t care if you show up at the door wearing a clown suit or naked, much less pantless.”

His powder blues meet mine.

“What?” I ask, playfully narrowing my eyes.

“I never said I cared either,” he says.

I match him – stare for stare – until a wild grin shoots across his face.

“No, I’m kidding,” he says. “Sort of,” he adds. “No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not kidding at all. I don’t care what you show up at my door wearing, as long as you show up.”

I start to laugh, and he does too. We laugh together for several moments, until our laughter fades and Jorgen turns to me.

“You know, there’s something about you, Ada Cross.” He looks at me through hooded eyes. “What are you doing for dinner Monday night?”

I’m quiet for a second, but on the inside, I’m panicking.

“I’m working late,” I say.

His smile starts to fade.

“What about Wednesday?” I offer.

I’ve seriously gone off the deep end. I don’t even know what my mouth is saying anymore.

His broad chest rises and then falls.

“I work until eight, and I wouldn’t have time to make anything.”

“Perfect,” I say. “I’ll make us dinner. You brought dinner last time.”

He looks happy again. “I brought a box of pizza.”

I toss him a sarcastic grin. “I’m not promising much more than that.”

Soft laughter falls from his lips. I like his laugh. There’s something strangely sexy about it.

“That still sounds really nice,” he says.

I think I feel my face light up because it does sound nice. It shouldn’t sound nice, but it does. And if this isn’t a date, I’m pretty sure Wednesday night will be. I really don’t know what I’m getting myself into. I might as well be walking through my life backwards. At least then I’d have an excuse.

We’re suddenly at the end of the trail. It’s almost dark now, and there are only a few cars left in the parking lot.

“Hey, Jorgen, there you are.”

We both hear Kevin yell from across the park, so we stop and wait for him to catch up to us. It takes him a couple seconds, but he eventually does and swings his arm around Jorgen’s shoulder.

“Hey, you bring your truck?” Kevin asks. “I think I left my sunglasses in there the other day.”

Jorgen shakes his head. “Ada drove. Truck’s in the shop.”

“Well, why didn’t you take her for a ride on your bike? It’s a good night for it.” Kevin’s gaze eventually lands on me, and immediately, his whole demeanor changes.

I catch the strange look in his eyes and try to stop my face from instinctively crumpling into some kind of confused mess.

“The dress,” Jorgen says, simply.

Kevin’s attention quickly leaves me and travels straight to the ground at his feet. It takes him a minute, but then he nods his head. “Right,” he says, allowing his eyes to venture my way again. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug my shoulders and force a smile. Kevin finally smiles, but it seems forced too.

“Well, can you bring them to work?” Kevin asks, returning his attention to Jorgen. “The sunglasses.”

“Sure,” Jorgen says.

“Well, all right, you two have fun tonight.” Kevin pats Jorgen on the shoulder. “And Ada…again, it was…uh…nice to meet you.”

I wave at Kevin, but I keep a suspicious eye on him as he walks away.

“I’ll see ya,” Jorgen says to him before turning back to me. “You ready?”

My stare quickly breaks from Kevin. “Uh, yeah.”

I unlock the car, and Jorgen opens my door for me. Instantly, my eyes go to his, and I flash him that silly, bashful smile again. I’m learning I really can’t help it.

“Thanks,” I say and slide into the driver’s seat.

He gently closes the door and then makes his way over to the passenger’s side, while I steal another quick glance back at Kevin. He’s talking to someone else now across the parking lot. His back is to me, so he can’t see me. I keep my stare on him for several moments before Jorgen at last falls into the seat next to mine.

“Where’s Kevin from?” I ask, sticking the key into the ignition.

“Uh, Moberly,” Jorgen replies.

“Hmm.” I mumble the word out loud but mostly to myself. “Does he really remember every face?”

I turn and catch Jorgen’s blue, blue eyes.

“I know it’s weird, but for the most part, he does,” he says.

I feel my eyebrows starting to collide into each other again as another thought grazes the tip of my mind, but Jorgen’s lips edging up his handsome face stops the thought cold.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight, Ada.”

I feel my features soften.

“It was fun,” I say and mean it.

* * *

“Well, this is me.” I stop at my door.

Jorgen is holding the two helmets – one in each hand. We’re both staring at each other when I finish my sentence. I don’t know what to do next.

“Good-night, Ada,” he says, before I can think of something else to do.

I let go of a thankful breath.

“Good-night,” I say, slowly spinning toward my door.

I stick the key into the lock and turn it. My heart is racing. Adrenaline is sprinting through my veins. I don’t want the night to end, but I know it has to, and I know that this is its ending.

I turn back one last time and all at once feel a rebellious smile cross my face. He’s just standing there with his perfect, muscle-laced body and his bright blue eyes, piercing my skin, and a crooked grin hanging on his lips. He’s kind of exhilarating. I had forgotten what something like this feels like. It’s kind of addicting. I kind of want more, but instead, I turn the knob, push through the door and close it gently behind me.

Once inside my little, dark apartment, I take a deep, excited breath and then hold back a sound that comes from somewhere deep inside my chest. In this moment, I don’t feel guilty; I don’t feel sad; I just feel…happy.

Chapter Thirteen
Patron Saint

“Okay, it’s just about ready.”

I turn off the light to the oven and search for a pot holder.

“Hey, you have Saint Michael.”

I can hear his voice trailing off in the other room.

“What?” I ask.

“Saint Michael,” Jorgen says. “Where did you get this?”

His question sounds purely curious, even though I don’t have the slightest idea of what he’s talking about yet.

I find the pot holder and pull it over my hand.

“Hmm?” I mumble.

I look up from the counter and notice him examining the pin that has sat on my bookshelf since I moved in. Instantly, I feel my heart sink a little deeper inside my chest.

“My sister,” I say flatly, allowing my eyes to fall to the glove on my hand.

I’m not sure why I say I got it from Hannah. It just kind of comes out.

“Do you know who this is?” he asks.

I look up again. He’s still examining the pin.

“Uh…Saint Michael?” I say, unsure, merely repeating his words.

I really don’t know. It’s a silver pin with a guy on it, and the guy has big wings, and I think he’s carrying a sword. But that’s all I know. I open the oven door and pull out a baking sheet.

“Come on,” I say, “everything is almost ready.”

“It’s the patron saint of emergency technicians,” he says, turning the pin over in his hand.

I laugh because I don’t know what else to do, but it comes out sounding nothing like a laugh, as I feel my heart slam hard against the wall of my chest.

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound unfazed.

I say the little word so softly I almost don’t even hear it myself.

He’s quiet for a minute. I fight back the warm tears welling up behind my eyelids before I even attempt to look up. But when I eventually do, his eyes fall into mine instantly – as if he’s searching me. It feels as if he can read my soul. I quickly drop my gaze.

“Dinner is served,” I say.

I feel him watching me for another moment before I look up and catch him setting the pin back down onto the shelf.

“I used to have one of those.” He walks to the table, finds a chair and falls into it.

I continue to battle back the tears from the thoughts that shouldn’t be there anymore. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I hope it’s okay,” I say, looking down at the two plates. “It’s the only thing I really know how to make.”

Jorgen looks down at his plate and back up at me.

“If it tastes as great as it looks, I’m in heaven.”

“Okay, but just remember, I’m not the one who ever entertained the idea of becoming a chef.”

“Hey,” he says, “I entertained the idea. That’s about as far as I got.”

I laugh and take a seat next to him.

* * *

“Dinner was great. Way better than what I could have done.”

I lower my eyes. “Thanks.”

A silent moment passes between us. I really do hate silent, awkward moments, and my first instinct is to fill them as quickly as possible with the first thought that comes to my mind. “Do you have to go?”

He sets his eyes on mine but still offers no words.

“Or do you want to hang out and watch something?” I ask, hesitantly.

“Go?” His voice sounds surprised.

I hold my breath. I really don’t want to scare him off by sounding desperate, but I do want him to stay. I’m learning that when he’s around, I only think about him – about finding out who he is – and not about who I was or still am.

“There’s nothing happening over there,” he says, gesturing toward the door. “I’d much rather hang out here with you, if that’s okay.”

I say a thankful prayer and then fall into his blue eyes. I think it’s the blue that helps me to feel at ease again.

“Food Network?” I ask, in an upbeat, but still shy, kind of voice.

“Just what I was thinking,” he says.

Happy he wants to stay, I make my way to the couch and sit down on the far end of it. Jorgen follows me. I can tell he thinks about it before choosing a place near the middle.

I send him a playful, sideways grin after he sits down. He just smiles back at me. It’s not what I was expecting, and it makes me nervous and giddy all at the same time.

I reach for the remote and punch in a few numbers. A reality cooking show is on. It’s one of my favorites, but I just can’t seem to shake the fact that this guy who was only a stranger a few weeks ago is now sitting just a couple feet from me on my couch. Every once in a while, I sneak a quick peek at him, and so far I’ve noticed that his dark hair has a natural wave to it, like it’s almost curly; he has a strong five-o’clock shadow; he’s got eyelashes a girl would kill to have; and a set a lips a girl would kill to kiss. And with all his dark features, his eyes look even bluer. I feel as if I’m not supposed to be noticing these things, but I just can’t bring myself to stop.

“Do you want something to drink?”

I act as if I’m ungluing my eyes from a pure, uninterrupted stint of television watching and meet his gaze. “Uh, sure.”

He gets up and makes his way into the kitchen. He seems curiously eager, so instead of offering to do the job myself, I just let him do it.

“There’s tea in the fridge,” I say.

I watch him stare at a set of cabinets, open them and then stare at another set.

“Next to the sink.”

“Oh,” he says, spinning around. “Got it.”

He pulls out two glasses and pours some tea into each one. Then, he walks back into the living room.

“Thanks,” I say, as he hands me a glass.

He takes a drink and then casually eyes up the couch again and eventually falls into a spot a foot closer to me than he had been before he ventured into the kitchen.

I narrow one eye, but he just simply returns my curious stare with a confident grin. It makes me laugh.

The show comes back on from a commercial break, and both our attentions go to the screen, until I hear his voice.

“You and Hannah are close?”

I look up at him. His eyes are planted on the photo of Hannah and me.

“Yeah, she’s my best friend. She has her moments, but I decided a long time ago to keep her around regardless.”

His eyes catch mine.

“That’s nice,” he says. “She’s older, right?”

“Mm hmm.” I nod my head. “Two years.”

“Married?”

I nod my head again. “She married her college sweetheart.”

There’s a thoughtful look on his face now.

“What is the rest of your family like?”

“Well,” I start, “they’re all fairly sane, for the most part.”

He studies me for a few seconds before a defiant smile pushes its way past my lips and he lowers his head and chuckles to himself.

“That’s good,” he says.

He looks back up a moment later, and I notice his eyes fall to a spot on my leg.

“That’s one pretty crazy scar you’ve got there.”

I follow his slow gaze to my shin. I know what he’s talking about; I don’t need to see it, so I don’t know why I even bother looking. Maybe I had just hoped it would buy me some time.

My eyes eventually wander to his again. I can tell he’s waiting for my response.

“Mm hmm,” I say, nodding my head. “It’s pretty crazy all right.”

He tilts his head a little to one side. “I’m sure that one’s got a story.”

I take in a deep breath, then focus on one breath at a time.

“It does,” I admit. “And it has a moral too: Don’t do something stupid.”

His face harbors a sober expression for a few long moments before he lowers his head.

I, meanwhile, let out a soft, uneasy exhale, happy that he seems to have chosen to leave it alone, at least for now.

“ACL surgery,” he says.

I follow his fingers to the front of his knee.

“It’s not as impressive as yours, but it’s the biggest one I’ve got.”

“How?” I ask.

“Playing football. Well, practicing,” he adds. “I had a scholarship to a small school in Iowa, and I was doing a drill the summer before I was supposed to start.”

“Gosh, that’s awful. Did you lose your scholarship?”

“No. But I did lose my interest in playing football. By the time I was ready to go back, I had already decided I wanted to be a paramedic, and I had been taking classes on the side. Plus, my knee really wasn’t the same after that.”

I lower my eyes before I lock gazes with him again.

“You don’t ever wish you would have stayed?” I ask. “Tried to play, I mean.”

He shakes his head.

“No.” He seems to think about it for no more than a second. “I made the right decision at the time because at the time, I wanted it. I wanted to be a paramedic. I didn’t want to risk my knee again. I didn’t want to play scared – scared it’d tear again.”

He pauses before he continues.

“I figure we’ve only got the present in front of us – that’s all we’ve got to base a decision on. So, how can we go around faultin’ ourselves for making a decision that’s not based on what we want tomorrow? I can’t tell you what I’ll want tomorrow, and for all I know, I’ve only got today.”

His blue eyes are fixed on mine when his lips stop moving, but I have no words. I don’t know what to say.

My stare falls to the scar on my leg, and I can’t help but think of the day I got it.

“Ada,” I hear him say a moment later.

I force my attention back to him.

“You okay?”

I notice I’m all but frozen.

“I’m fine,” I say.

His eyes burn into mine before he scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulder. It doesn’t feel weird because a hug seems like the best thing in the world right now. And he seems to know that – even though he can’t possibly know just how breakable I really feel.

“The good news is that you win,” he says, squeezing my body tighter into the muscles in his chest. His scent fills my lungs. It’s almost intoxicating.

“What?” I ask.

“The scar contest. You have the biggest scar.”

I laugh an unguarded laugh.

“What do I win?”

He doesn’t say anything, so I turn my face up toward his, and after a moment, I notice his eyes leave a leisurely trail to my lips, and I quickly turn away, allowing a certain silence to sneak in between us. I don’t even know how much time passes before I hear his voice again.

“Whatever your heart desires,” he says, softly.

I slowly turn back toward him. He’s smiling, and it’s contagious.

“Hold me,” I say.

My eyes meander back to the television, which has been pretty nonexistent until now, but all my attention stays wrapped up in him. I feel his muscular arms tighten around me, and then, I feel him pulling me down. I let him lower me to the couch and cradle me in his strong arms. And suddenly, I feel his coarse fingers lacing in mine until his hand all but engulfs my own. And in the next moment, his warm body is pressing against me, and I can feel his hard, broad chest rising and then falling in slow, rhythmic beats. It’s exhilarating, and yet, all so strange – like a sobering reminder of what life feels like when all you feel is every touch – and nothing else.