Page 19 of One Whopper of a Love Story

I tossed the towel over my shoulder. “Not at all. It’s a nice surprise.”

She’d changed out of the slacks and shirt she’d had on earlier and was now in leggings and a baggy sweatshirt. I tried not to think about whatever else she was or wasn’t wearing.

“It’s just a simple dinner. Lettie is definitely better in the kitchen than I am, but she wasn’t around this afternoon. It’s homemade mac and cheese with sausage added.” She set the dish on the counter and stared at the calendar on the wall. Blinking, she slowly spun around. “Are you marking off the days...”

“I take habit building seriously. See the day outlined in red. That’s day twenty-one.” I stepped closer to her. “As for the pictures, who doesn’t want to look at wildflowers?”

Her gaze swept the kitchen, paused at my chest, then moved to the fridge. “Are those all your magnets or did you get them from someone else?”

“When I graduated from college, I took a road trip, and every place I stopped, I bought a magnet.”

Her shoulder brushed against me as she walked to the fridge. “Looks like it was a fun trip.”

“It was. Do you like road trips?”

“Never been on one.” She cocked her head. “I’ve been thinking, and if the offer for Saturday still stands, I’d be interested. I know it’s short notice.”

“It absolutely still stands.” I hadn’t expected that topic to come up again, but I wasn’t complaining that it did. “Dinner and dancing?”

“Two steppin’?” Her eyes sparkled.

“Yes, ma’am. And talking.” The smell of the food was making me hungry, and my stomach announced that to the room.

Layla giggled. “We should probably eat.”

“Let me grab a shirt.” I chuckled as she sighed behind me.

I hadn’t pressed her to label what this was. My interest wasn’t hidden, and having her bring up Saturday confirmed that I wasn’t crazy for assuming the twinkle in her eye was attraction and interest. Well, the ‘on top’ comment was kind of a neon sign of interest, and I thought about it often. The way she’d said it. The way it would feel to have her snuggled on top of me. Wiping my face, I tried to clear my head. It was way too soon for those thoughts.

Quietly, I walked back toward the kitchen and stopped to watch Layla. She hummed as she set plates and silverware on the table. Then she opened my junk drawer, picked up a pen and flipped the calendar pages and started writing. Later, I’d see what she added. While she was distracted, I tiptoed to her purse and dropped in a tiny frog. She hadn’t said anything about the frogs yet, which surprised me. I’d tucked some into her apron when we were tangled on the floor. When I was at her house the next evening, I’d surreptitiously set one on top of her fridge, right near the edge. Yesterday, thanks to a little help from Lettie, a tiny purple frog made its way into Layla’s car and onto the center console.

This giggly mermaid had captured my interest. I was far from a hermit. I’d dated, but mostly I’d gone out with women who weren’t expecting a second date. But here I was thirty years old, and seeing this short, curvy woman in my kitchen had me envisioning a happily ever after, something I didn’t even care about weeks ago. I was hiding frogs for her to find, hoping that she’d recognize it as my doing... hoping she’d take a chance on me and that I could be her prince.

“I can feel you looking at me.” She spun around and propped her hands on her hips. “What?”

My gaze swept over her, landing on her feet. “Barefoot?”

“I wore shoes, but I kicked them off when I walked in.” She dropped into a chair. “It’s all ready.”

Not only had she made me dinner, but she was barefoot in my kitchen. And I liked it. A lot.

I sat down next to her, and she gripped my hand. “Tell me something bad about you.”

“Is this because you like bad boys and need convincing?” I thought through all the things I’d ever done that qualified as bad. Many of them I’d be happier if she never knew about.

She let go of my hand and served herself food, then nudged the bowl toward me. “No one is perfect.”

The woman had to be a master at riddles. Her statements, seemingly unconnected had so far all led to a final point which joined the threads. Or was she saying she wasn’t perfect because she liked bad boys?

“How bad are we talking? Locking a squirrel in my brother’s room because he asked out the girl I liked? Or...” I stabbed my fork into the bowl of mac and cheese. “Or being the guy who doesn’t call a woman again after a first date?”

“Ever?” Her brown eyes were full of emotions, but there were so many, I couldn’t sort them out.

Pretty sure disappointment was in there somewhere.

“Still want to go out with me?” Staring at my bowl, I kept my hand on the table but didn’t move it closer to her. I wanted her to grip it again.

Her chair shifted backward, and she padded over to the wall calendar. Her finger moved from the day marked in red to the day after. The quiet was dragging on far too long.

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