Chapter Six
Marley
“Something hot and steamy just came through the door, and it’s not a latte,” Becca whispers in my ear too loudly.
Either Becca’s chipper attitude is rubbing off on me, or Alex is getting to me more than I’d like to admit, because I know exactly who just walked through the door before I even turn around—and I’m smiling hugely because of it.
Like goofy grin huge.
I tell myself to act natural before pouring the next drink.
“Can I help you?” Becca asks.
“Yeah, I’m just here for a coffee,” the voice says. I involuntarily shiver from the sound of it. I try to cover it by quickly delivering Mr. Joseph’s latte.
“Oh, hey,” I say, pretending I didn’t know he was there, pretending I didn’t just practically have a coronary at the thought of the sexy doctor I spent the day frolicking with being here.
“Hey, Marley. How are you?” he asks.
I remind myself again to play it cool. I remind myself we were only on a semidate yesterday, that it might not mean anything at all. I tell myself he’s some California doctor, and I’m just a small-town barista. We have so little in common, and I probably just imagined all those looks, all those sparks yesterday.
But when he looks at me, those perfectly blue eyes piercing me to the core, I know I’m not imagining it.
I know he’s not just here for the coffee.
This black-haired, Converse sneakers girl has snagged the sexy, supersmart doctor. I don’t know how the hell it happened, but I think he’s under my super odd, not-so-charming spell.
And I don’t know how the hell it happened, but I think I kind of like charming him.
I feel an elbow in my ribs as Becca nudges me. Shit. I’ve been stupidly staring at him like a lovestruck teenager for way too long to be natural.
There it goes. I have no flirting capabilities, and I have no ability to act smoothly.
I snap out of my dead stare and head for the coffee machine, grabbing the wrong size of coffee cup.
“He ordered a large,” Becca says, the cheerleader whine tainting her usually chipper voice.
“Oh, right.”
“It’s fine. No big deal,” he comments.
“Oh, Jesus. Will you two get a room? I can feel you making love with your freaking eyes, and it’s just wrong,” Dane quips, bursting across the shop. “It’s making us all ill.”
I feel myself blush, and Becca grins. Neither Alex nor I move.
“Here’s your coffee,” I blurt awkwardly, as if nothing’s just happened. I stand for a long moment, wondering if he’s going to run for the door, head to work, and leave me wondering if I’m truly imagining everything.
“So,” he says, also seeming a little awkward. “Yesterday was awesome, but we didn’t get to really see any sit-down restaurants. Do you have a favorite?”
I shrug. “Lou Lou’s Diner is my favorite. Not super fancy, but super delicious.”
Alex nods. “This town is pretty big and everything. I don’t want to get lost, and I have no idea what to order. Want to play tour guide again? Want to come with me at, say, eight? I know it will be a little late, but I work until then.”
I smile. “Really? This is a big town? I hope you’re kidding. And, anyway, won’t you be too tired?”
Alex shrugs. “I mean, I could rustle up some energy to go eat some food, if you can. My treat, of course.”
“Of course. Tour guides do get paid, after all, right?”
“Right. And this is strictly professional and all, right?” He gives me a wink meant to be creepy. And it is creepy. But it makes me shiver a little, too.
“Right.”
“Oh, Jesus. Remind me to call poor Lou Lou and let her know some PDA is coming her way,” Becca murmurs, and I laugh a little.
“Well, maybe after you show him the diner, you could show him the only hotel in town, too,” Dane says.
I shake my head, pretending to be offended… but clearly not.
Dammit, Marley. Settle it down. Don’t act like you haven’t had sex in fifteen and a half months—not that I’m counting, obviously.
“Anyway,” I continue, trying to shift the conversation as Alex pretends to warm his hands on his coffee cup. “Eight is perfect. Come get me at my house?”
“You betcha,” he answers, prompting me to crinkle my nose.
“That’s my line, doctor boy.”
And with a smile, he’s out the door. I notice he slows down as he walks by the window, taking another quick peek at me.
Even after he’s gone, my smile isn’t.
Dammit, I’m falling. Falling head over heels hard, spilling coffee all morning, mind making mental pictures of us kissing, of our first time, of the hotel.
“You’re a goner this time, Marley,” Becca says. “It’s written all over your face. When you fell from that bridge, I think you fell for him, too.”
“Is it obvious?”
“Uh-huh,” Dane agrees, leaning on the counter.
I exhale loudly, a mixture of anticipation for what’s coming mixed with fear.
Because I’ve learned a little bit about life during my small-town stint.
And one thing is love never, ever works out, at least not for this girl.
***
By 7:45 p.m., I’ve changed my outfit twice. I’ve traded my dark lipstick for a lighter, brighter pink, and I’ve brushed my hair more times in one night than I usually do all week. I’m usually pretty low-maintenance because, well, when you live in a town with about five eligible bachelors, all of whom you’ve already slept with at one point and decided against, looking like a cover girl isn’t exactly a priority.
But Alex has me all messed up. Suddenly, mascara and lipstick are a priority. It’s like I’ve been reawakened, like my hope and heart have been thawed. It’s like being pulled out of the chilling water dislodged something inside I’d thought was gone.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t know him that well yet.
And it’s true. My head is holding me back. Those sparks between us feel so nice, so inviting. But the truth is this guy could turn out to be a serial killer—although it seems unlikely since he did save my life. He could have a ton of baggage, or he could decide my baggage is too much. To him, this late summer romance could be a fling of desperation. Those looks, that lust I see in his eyes could just be his manhood talking and not his heart. This is all happening too fast.
I’m not usually this easy, really. I’m difficult and reserved when it comes to love. I’ve been burned so many times my heart is warped. Still, something about those eyes, about his voice, lures me in. I’ve only spent a few hours with him, but it’s like this indescribable force within wants me to know more. Something tells me he could be just what I’ve been looking for. The dependable to my instability, the calm to my crazy. He could be the rational to my let’s get lost mentality, and the reality to my dreamer-like state. He could be the hand beside me, the encouragement to do more. He’s the one who will rein me in when I get too out of control but let me be free when it’s time to fly after those dreams.
He seems like just what my life is missing.
But just because I want it to be true, just because I’ve painted the scene in my head of us together, doesn’t mean it’ll work. He’s from California, a goal-oriented realist who got stuck in this place. I’m just a small-town nobody going nowhere slowly. I’m a rebel without a cause, a mess, and a dreamer without any wings at all.
We’re unlikely to work out, and whatever this is will most likely crash and burn. My scarred heart will get another battle wound, and I’ll be left behind the coffee machine with burning eyes and a bitter taste in my mouth.
When the knock at the door heralds me forward, though, my heart flutters with the possibility. Tossing open the door, I see him, my unlikely knight who saved me already, flowers in his hand.
They’re daisies. My favorite.
Can this guy get any more perfect? And what is he doing with me?
“Ready to go?” he asks, peeking in.
I nod, feeling a little self-conscious about our lackluster home. I spent a few hours cleaning up this afternoon for this reason.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“Is your mom home?” he inquires, eyeing me and looking around. I think he wants me to invite him in.
“No. She’s actually at work.” And by actually, I mean she finally went.
Alex just nods. “Okay, let’s go.”
And just like that, we’re off to dinner at Lou Lou’s. The talk is easy and fast. We converse about work and the news. We carry on like we’ve been doing this for years. We’re different in so many ways, yet the conversation flows. Even when the talking ceases, there are no weird pauses or cringe-worthy moments, other than my tripping over the uneven sidewalk.
There’s just us, a guy and a girl heading for a late dinner in the town where I grew up, where I never imagined to be going out with such an amazing guy.
At Lou Lou’s, Alex lets me order for him. I get us my favorite—the pierogi special and an order of nachos. As we share and laugh over our food, I feel myself relax into it all.
In the middle of dinner, Alex’s cell phone rings. He checks the screen. “It’s my mom. I’ll call her later,” he says.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I respond. “Go ahead.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I’ll get to eat more of the nachos while you’re talking,” I joke, shoving one in my mouth for dramatic effect.
He nods, clicking the button on his phone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
I feel a little odd suddenly, as if I’m listening in on an intimate conversation. Alex doesn’t look alarmed though.
“Yeah, maybe over Thanksgiving? That would be great. I miss you. I know… how’s Greg? ... Great. Uh-huh.”
I smile, watching Alex talk to his mom, sensing the connection just from the look on his face. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be so close, even though they’re physically so far apart.
“I love you, Mom. I have to go. I’m out with someone,” he says. “Of course… yes… uh-huh. Love you too, Mom. Bye.”
Alex clicks the phone, rolling his eyes. “Sorry. She’s just concerned about me being so far away. You’d think I was sixteen or something.”
I grin. “It’s fine. No worries. She’s just being a mom.”
“You don’t think I’m a mama’s boy, right?” he asks, grinning, but I’m not sure he’s teasing.
“For the record, no. And for the record, I don’t think being a mama’s boy is bad. Having a mom that loves you like she clearly loves you is a good thing. Your family sounds awesome.”
It’s true. I’d give anything to have a mom in my corner the way Alex clearly does. I’d give anything to have an over-the-top somewhat meddling mother.
Because I’ve seen the alternative.
Not that I blame my mom. She’s made her mistakes, sure, but she’s also been dealt some tough cards. It’s not her fault, I remind myself. Even when I want to blame her, I can’t. It’s not all her fault. She loves me the best she can.
We continue dinner, talking more about Alex’s family and childhood. I strategically leave most of mine out, only focusing on the good stuff. I’m not ready to cross that bridge yet—no inside joke intended—even if we are out on a date.
When we leave the diner though, I’m feeling more confident. I’m feeling like we’ve taken a huge jump. I’m feeling like this thing with Alex isn’t just a tour guide kind of thing.
This might not work out. We might not be made for each other. This might all be temporary.
But for right now, whatever this is, whatever label we put on it, I’m happy. The girl on the bridge that night seems like a distant memory.
“So, tour guide, what is our next attraction going to be?” Alex asks as he walks me home.
“Tour guide, huh? So, do you take all your tour guides on dates?” I ask coyly.
“Only the ones who wear supercute red hats,” he says.
“And how many of those are there?”
“One. There’s only one.”
When we get to my house, this time he leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I think about turning, catching his lips within mine, the mere thought of it sending a jolt to all kinds of places.
But I don’t. I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor it, take it all in, and drink in this crazy thing growing between us.
Because I’m not standing still anymore. With Alex, I feel breathless, like I’m running a marathon without a finish line.
And I hope to hell the finish line doesn’t come into view anytime soon.