Stirred: A Love Story (19 page)

“I care about him. That’s not going to change because some guy sent me flowers. Although they are beautiful and he left a very nice message.”

“He’s so lucky,” Kenna said as they passed the crystal booth.

“Chris?”

“No, my brother. I’m not sure what line he stood in. Maybe he has good karma because he spent so much time taking care of us, but he’s a very lucky man.”

Almost tearing up, Sage put her arm around Kenna.

“Yeah, well, you never know. Maybe Chris will take me up against a wall and I’ll forget all about Mr. Dear-Lord-Kiss-Me-Again.”

“What’s with you and being taken against a wall?”

“It’s in all the romance novels.”

“You read romance?”

“Yeah, so do you.”

“I know I do, but I didn’t think women with engineering degrees read romance.”

“Oh please, of course we do. We all do, and the women who turn their noses up are missing out.”

“On being taken against the wall, it seems.”

“Yeah, but I feel like it won’t work out the way it does in the books. You know, when she jumps into his arms. There are so many things that could go wrong with that in my world.”

Laughing, they both returned to the Ryeland Farms tables. There was a line, and Paige was charming all the customers by handing out baby carrots with tiny cups of buttermilk dressing that Her Travis had made for the market.

“Sage, Kenna tells me you’re going to teach bridge down at the community center this month,” Mr. Rye said, sitting in a chair off to the side where he could watch the action.

“I am. Mondays and Wednesdays in their small conference room. Do you play bridge?” She leaned on the table next to him.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to learn. You’re a little young for bridge, aren’t you?”

“It’s often misconstrued as an old ladies’ game, but it’s great fun. My grandmother taught me bridge when I was little. All my sisters play. My dad does too, so there’s room for men.”

He looked at her, as if he were weighing his options.

“I’m going to sign up when I get home.”

“Great.”

“Do you like Oprah?” he asked.

“I do. Does she play bridge?”

“You know, I’m not sure, but she seems cool enough to, doesn’t she?”

Sage laughed and nodded.

On the surface, Mr. Rye looked like the last person who would even entertain a daytime talk show host, let alone a black, female, self-improvement guru daytime talk show host. Watching him help Kenna bag up radishes for a waiting customer who sported a yellow hat, Sage saw what had made her friends so very special. She loved Oprah; it made perfect sense that a farmer in his sixties would find value in her, too.

Chapter Seventeen

G
arrett rang the doorbell, still feeling out of sorts. He made a concerted effort to avoid disorder most of his life, but he couldn’t stay away. She’d been at the market for a couple of hours but he still wanted more. Did she? He probably should have called. After the doorbell, he heard rustling and her voice as the noise of the television went silent. Hopefully she’d felt it too because it was too late to back out now.

“Hang on.” Followed by a loud thud and then, “Oh, shit, damn.”

It sounded like a war zone and then she swung the door open. Sweatpants, correction: tight sweatpants that read Berkeley up the leg, and a white tank top with pieces of popcorn and what looked like a glob of chocolate stuck to it. She wore no makeup and the front of her hair was pulled to the side with a clip. She had on a sports bra under the tank top, which was unfortunate, Garrett thought. Those things were like a lead curtain for men’s eyes. After he was done taking her in, he pointed to the piece of chocolate.

Sage looked down, pulled it free from her shirt, and popped it in her mouth. “Eh, sorry. Milk Dud,” she said, still chewing and holding her door open. “Did you want to come in?” She made room and brushed the popcorn off her shirt.

Garrett smiled and stepped into the entryway of her small house. The first thing he noticed was the floor. It was made up of rectangular slate tiles with a narrow grout line. The second thing he noticed were the roses sitting in a vase on a small, whitewashed, spindly type of table with a glass top. Beautiful roses, he had to admit, most of which he recognized. He found himself wanting to identify them so he could revert to something more familiar than standing in her doorway completely unannounced.

Sage cleared her throat and he went with the roses.

“Great flowers.” He stepped closer, noticing the card and trying to ignore it. There must have been two dozen, and not one of them was the type you’d get from a typical grocery store or even a chain florist. These were every different color and size imaginable, as if someone had handpicked them from a garden. “Those are Claire Austin, and I’m pretty sure the ones in the back are Golden Celebration.” He turned to her and caught the name on the card.

“Thank you. They smell great.”

“Right,” he said, trying not to think about the name. Maybe it was a brother, although she said she was one of four girls, didn’t she? “I thought I’d stop by because. . . are you watching a movie?”

“Oh, um, no. It’s
The Golden Globes
. I watch them every year.” She ran her hand across her hair and must have realized she had a clip in it because she rolled her eyes, but not at him. Did people roll their eyes at themselves? Clearly, Sage did.

“Huh, well, I wanted to stop by—”

“Do you want to watch? I have taco shells in the oven and the stuff is all ready and on the table.”

“I thought you were eating popcorn and Milk Duds?”

“Appetizer.”

In an instant, the discomfort slipped away, replaced with something that made his throat tighten. He didn’t know what to say.

“I like tacos.”
Wow, way to melt the panties, man
, his brother’s voice jabbed in his head.

“Great, me too.” She took his coat and hung it on an old iron stand by the door.

Walking into her living room, Garrett noticed lots of old and realized he’d always thought of her as modern, new. He was wrong, and another piece of her puzzle fell into place. In the center of the living room was a big oval rug with blue and yellow along the edge and a large couch on wooden feet that was the same blue as the rug. He hadn’t seen a couch like that since his grandmother was alive. A white knit blanket was thrown over the back and her coffee table looked like an old suitcase or trunk.

The Construction of the Cocktail
sat on a side table on the other side of the room. She had two small bookcases filled with textbooks and fiction; a huge dictionary lay open on top. Garrett remembered her crossword puzzles. A kidney-shaped desk stood behind the couch, in between the bookcases. As his eyes traveled up, he noticed an art deco print over her desk and a smaller framed painting of what looked like two fairies eating raspberries. After only one turn around her living room, Garrett had almost forgotten about the card. Almost. Sage returned with the taco shells, plates, and two beers.

“I like your house,” he said, taking the plate out of her hand and sitting on the couch. Sage sat next to him, legs folded underneath her.

“Thanks.” She looked around as if living in her space gave her a confidence she struggled with outside her four walls. “It’s coming together.”

They sat and made tacos while the television was still on mute and scrolling through commercials.

After his second taco and the acceptance speech for best short animated film, Garrett asked, “So, who’s Chris? Those are impressive roses.”

Her cheeks went pink and she didn’t meet his eyes.
Shit. Chris was someone.

“He’s a guy I met on the plane when I flew back after the holiday.”

“Huh.” He made another taco as Sage hit the remote and the sound of applause filled the room again. Garrett let out a breath, sat back on the couch, and tried to convince himself he didn’t give two shits about Chris from the plane as some tall blonde took to the stage crying.

Once Sage’s heart had settled down after finding Garrett at her door unannounced and she accepted that she was in her laundry-day clothes and that was that, she allowed herself to be happy. Happy to see him and have him in her home. It occurred to her that every moment she spent in reality with him was far better than anything made up in her mind. After carefully sidestepping the flowers, they fell into conversation about everything from the farmers market to her first pet, all while managing to watch the awards.

Sage clapped for the best picture winner and Garrett wanted to know why blockbusters were never nominated. She laughed until her eyes watered as he made the pitch for Arnold Schwarzenegger winning a Golden Globe.

“His movies aren’t about acting,” she told him. “Blockbusters are a spectacle. I like some, don’t get me wrong, but they only stand a chance for special effects or lighting or editing awards, not acting.”

“No way. There’s serious acting going on. Invisible evil alien? That takes all kinds of imagining, right? And, these guys don’t even have that many lines, so when they say something, it needs to be good. Hello, ‘I’ll be back,’” he said in a pretty good Arnold voice. “That’s iconic right there.”

She cleared the plates, still laughing and feeling like she could do this every night with him. Movies, parties, dinner, sitting together reading, breakfast, her mind flooded with the ways in which real Garrett could fit into her life and she into his. That was love, wasn’t it? Seeing a person in her world, wanting to be in his. They hadn’t touched each other since her tiny panic attack and the big reveal that she was not, in fact, ever going to be naughty. Not like that anyway. She needed more than surface flirty and dirty talk. This, she thought as he grabbed the remaining bowls off the table and followed her into the kitchen, was her kind of sexy.

“Do you want another beer or coffee?” she asked as he came up behind her to put the bowls in the sink.

“Coffee’s good.” He stood at her back, breath at her ear, and as much as Sage loved a clean kitchen, it could wait. Turning to find them face-to-face, her heart jumped and she didn’t care that she hadn’t showered after her yoga class. She reached up and touched the rough line of his unshaven jaw. He was looking at her differently, she thought, as her hands moved down his neck and found his chest. He was no longer entertaining her crush: something had changed in his eyes. Maybe for both of them because standing in her kitchen, pressed against his warm solid body, things felt even. Equally charged.

“I’m not sure what’s happening here,” he said softly as his arms encircled her waist and he touched his forehead to hers.

She said nothing because she couldn’t. She only wanted to stand there with him while he figured out feelings she’d known for such a long time.

“I don’t think I’m going to be good at any of this. The flirting and teasing, yeah, I can do that. But this”—he eased her back and looked into her eyes—“I’ve started missing you.” He lowered his arms and turned from her. “I’m not sure I’ve missed anyone since Santa stopped showing up at our house. But when I saw you today, I thought I was going crazy.” He leaned up against the counter as if holding on for balance.

“I’m used to not having you, missing you,” Sage said, not sure how to help him navigate the fall. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than it is right now, Garrett.” She walked back to the living room, hoping she sounded convincing.

He followed her.

“I started all of this. I’m the one who was attracted to you.” Sage moved some magazines back onto the coffee table.

“Loved me.” He took her arm, the playful back in his eyes.

She laughed.

“What? You said you loved me.”

“I did. I do,” she added quietly, which was so stupid because he clearly thought she was nuts.

“I’m not sure how that’s possible.”

She shook her head. “Well, you’re not me. You don’t have my heart.”

Sitting back down on the couch, Sage felt strangely comfortable in her truth. She supposed that came from spilling your uninhibited guts all over a guy’s truck and then admitting to the naughty book.

Garrett sat next to her.

“Who’s Chris?”

“I already told you. He’s the guy who sat next to me on the plane.”

“I’ve sat next to a few women on the plane. Never thought about sending them flowers.” He teased.

“He wants to take me to dinner.”

Garrett said nothing. Standing, he suddenly seemed too big for her tiny living room.

“Are you going to dinner with him?”

“Probably not.” She stood as Garrett grabbed his coat by the door and eyed the flowers again.

“I need to get going.”

She went to the door and put her arms around him.

“I was reading this book last year and it said there was ‘power in the present’ and that in order to be in the power position, people needed to not look back or too far ahead. Do you agree with that?”

“I. . . sure. Present is good.”

“So that’s what we’re doing. Now that you know I don’t want you to spank me—”

Garrett’s grin was big and wide as he held up his hand. “Now, I don’t think we should completely rule that out.”