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To that, his lips curved up in that sexy little smile of his.
“I did. My Ma is an avid gardener. Used to earn my allowance as a kid by pulling weeds. Once pulled out a clump of her coreopsis. I still haven’t heard the end of it. It’s probably the only flower I do recognize on sight because of that,” he admitted with a little chuckle at the memory.
“In your mom’s defense, if it was Moonbeam coreopsis like I have, it is hard to find, and expensive since it’s sterile. No seeds,” I explained at his quizzical look.
“Good to know. I feel like I owe her a new one then,” he said as he cut the engine and climbed out, moving around the hood to open my door before I even got my belt off. “I can just leave from here,” he offered as we made it to the front door. “But I wouldn’t mind helping you get settled, if you want,” he added.
I mean, was there a single sane woman who would turn down such an offer?
“You’re welcome to come in,” I told him. “Please excuse the hideous mural I painted on my dining room wall. I keep hoping that some hidden artistic talent will pop up one of these days, but it seems like that gene has skipped this generation.”
“I can barely draw a straight line with a ruler,” he told me as I flicked the light on inside the door. “So I sure as hell can’t judge.”
I still hadn’t finished decorating the whole house, but I was insanely in love with the burnt orange crushed velvet couch in the living room. With the Turkish rug on the floor. With the collection of prints I had on the wall. Some of which I’d taken. Others, my mom had captured while pregnant with me. And still some others were from artists I’d come across all over the United States. They were situated in thrifted frames of all different shapes, sizes, and colors, creating a bit of a maximalist style wall that always made it feel like the stress of the world fell away when I looked at it.
“This is very you,” Nino concluded as he looked around. And there it was again, that warm feeling.
This time, I knew it for what it was.
Affection.
I liked him.
My gaze took in his handsome profile as I let that feeling grow, deepen.
I wasn’t the kind of person to push feelings away, to question them, to analyze them to death.
I just… felt them.
“Thank you,” I told him when he finally turned to face me.
“And I like the mural. Even if your birds kind of look like my niece painted them,” he said with a light in his eyes that said he not only knew what his niece’s art looked like, but appreciated her attempts.
“I’m going to have to have my mom come over and fix it. Once life calms down a bit. She loves an art project. I’ve always envied her ability to do anything artistic she sets her mind to. My entire kitchen set was hand sculpted and painted by her. My housewarming gift,” I explained. And she made my dining room table,” I said, gesturing toward it.
“No shit?” he asked, brows going up.
“No shit,” I repeated, but the word felt kind of clumsy on my tongue. My mom had never been much of a swearer, so I’d never picked up the habit. “I guess I got my less-than-artistic side from my father.”
“Guess?” he asked as I put down my bag and kicked out of my shoes by the door.
“Oh, I’ve never met him. Actually, we aren’t entirely sure who he is. In fact, my name is Savannah Nola because my mom isn’t sure if she conceived me in Savannah or New Orleans, so she gave me both of the names. And, well, mom has always been very, you know, liberated. So she had affairs with two different men that month. And… here I am.”
“Did you ever want to meet him? Figure out who he is?”
“I mean, I think it would be weird if I hadn’t had those thoughts. Especially when I was younger. But as time went on, I saw howenoughmy mom has always been, so I really never felt the need to track him down. It would probably be easy these days, what with DNA matches online and all of that. I’m just… content not knowing, I guess.”
“You and your mom seem really close.”
“We are,” I agreed. “She’s my best friend. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting drinks, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head at me. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“You could… flip on the tea kettle for me,” I decided. “I just want to get out of these clothes,” I told him, pointing toward my bedroom.
Then I made my way in that direction.
My room was pretty bare, save for the metal queen-sized bed that was the biggest thing I’d ever slept on.
