Ann: Don’t be like my son-in-law, slamming doors this way and that, right in my daughter’s face.
Ann: Women want a GENTLEMAN in the streets.
Ann: And a bad boy in the sheets.
The rest of the week flies by. The guys and I practice a couple of new songs on Wednesday night, and our parts blend together seamlessly.
Nora’s presence in my life seems to have juiced everything up, but I’m trying not to get too excited. We pulledsome weeds together, and I helped her rescue my dog over the phone. Big whoop. But it feels like something is shifting between us, and it’s finally shifting in the right direction.
On Thursday afternoon, Nora’s already outside of her apartment building waiting for me when I arrive to pick her up.
My first thought:
She looks unbelievably tempting, dressed all in black, with those bright red lips.
My second:
Well, this sucks. I was kind of hoping she’d invite me up to see her apartment. I’ve wondered what it’s like. You can tell a lot about people from what they choose to surround themselves with.
I’ve found little signs of her all over my house this week—the scent of ginger on the couch, a stash of chocolate-covered pretzels in the freezer, and a half-mauled mystery left behind. (I flipped through it, and the ex-boyfriend did it.)
But I don’t have any time to dwell on my disappointment, because as soon as she sees me, she strides toward the car with purpose.
I get out, because Ann was so adamant about the door thing, I’m questioning my own judgment. Nora has the door open before I can get to it, though, so I’m left standing awkwardly beside her as she lowers into the passenger seat.
I shrug and shut the door behind her, figuring I might as well since I’m already up.
When I climb back into the car, she’s smiling at me, and the whole interior already smells like her, spicy and sweet.
“Well,” I say as the enormity of the situation dawns on me.
Nora Leigh is in my car.
She’s going to be sitting next to me, alone, for the forty-five minutes it’ll take us to get to Apple Ridge.
She’s my captiveaudience.
Oh shit, it probably says nothing good about me that I like that idea.
“Well,” she repeats with a broad smile as I pull out of the lot and start following route guidance.
“So…” Suddenly, I have no idea what to say, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Tell me about your cousin Hazel.”
Her expression freezes. “Oh. You did like her. Well…you know, my aunt’s actually kind of famous. She’s a lifestyle guru, and Hazel’s basically her manager.”
“Oh, I’m not interested for me,” I say. “Mick has asked about her a few times. He thinks they had a moment at the wedding. Maybe you could give Hazel his number?”
I sneak a sidelong glance at her. She looks pleased, her cheeks slightly pink and her eyes bright. Maybe she’s really invested in getting this Hazel laid. “Yeah, sure.”
Silence lingers between us for a moment as I navigate the car. Nora’s the one who breaks it. “Have you figured out what question you’d like to ask me? We have plenty of time to discuss it.”
I don’t have to ask what she’s talking about. She’s referring to our wager at Nathaniel’s the other day.
Obviously, I have thought about it. Truthfully, there are many questions I’d like to ask Nora. I want to know whether she has a favorite color—mine is the orange layer of a sunset—and if she thinks they’ll ever makeHalf-Life 3. I want to know if she drinks her own ginger beer, if she enjoys hiking, and how on earth she has convinced Cookie to like her so much.
I want to know her dreams and her fears. Her hopes.
But I’ve been told I can be too intense, ironically by the same women who have accused me of being inattentive, and I don’t want to overwhelm her. Even if the not-so-little-and-old ladies seem to believe this is a real date, I know better.
