I looked up from my pen and paper. “Not at all, Jason. I don’t think you need culture. That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?” His jaw ticked, and I wondered if he didn’t believe me.
Clearly, I’d struck some sort of nerve, so I tried to return to him the kind look he’d given me earlier when he’d struck a nerve. “Honey, this is about sharing something I love with you. I love movies.”
He blinked, his gaze moving over me as though searching for a lie.
So, I asked, “Don’t you want to share something you love with me?”
His chest rose and fell and his eyebrows pulled together in either disbelief or confusion or both. “Do you want to learn how to ride a motorcycle?”
“Yes. Sure. Why not?”
Jason narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
“Do you love it?”
“I do.”
“If you want to teach me, I’d love to learn. What else do you love?”
My heart flipflopped as the tension seemed to drain from his shoulders and his look turned friendly once more. “Traveling, seeing new places.”
“Oh! Me too!” I clasped my hands under my chin and sighed wistfully. “I’ve been to New York and Las Vegas and a handful of places in the southeast, but that’s really it. I wish I could’ve traveled more, but outside of work, there never seemed to be a good reason.”
“I guess that settles it.” His voice deepened and he gave me a single nod. “You show me movies, and I’ll show you the world.”
I held a finger up. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”
“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”
We shared another smile, and there he was again, looking at me like I was something wonderful, like he’d been doing all night, and I felt something in me become both settled and frenzied.
I could grow addicted to that look.
No. That wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t just the look. It was him.
Three days passed and I didn’t hear from Jason after our date. I started to second guess my decision to give him a parting kiss on the cheek instead of doing what I really wanted. Namely, ask my limo driver to make slow circles of downtown Asheville while Jason and I christened the backseat.
He hadn’t seemed to be in any rush to leave the restaurant. We’d closed the place down before my car arrived, at which point I was perfectly capable of driving from a sobriety perspective, but maybe not from a being-in-my-right-mind perspective.
I’d been giddy, and so happy, and my head had been in the clouds, and I couldn’t remember the last time—if such a time existed—I’d had such a wonderful time with anyone. I’d gone to sleep that night believing that anything was possible, that we were at the start of our beginning. Perhaps I’d be able to convince him to run off with me on my travels. He’d said he’d teach me about traveling, hadn’t he? Well, perhaps I’d hold him to it.
Fast forward to three days later and I doubted everything.
“What do you think of this one?”
“Hmm? Pardon?” I glanced up from where I’d been gazing unseeingly and looked between the two women, staring at me with expectant expressions. Well, Ashley Winston was staring at me expectantly, but Shelly Sullivan wore no expression at all.
“This one.” Ashley held up the metal heart sculpture, beaming at it and then at Shelly Sullivan. “It’s so lovely? And covered in fairy lights, I think it’ll be just the thing.”
I forced myself to look at it, consider it, think about it as a centerpiece on the tables in the barn for my Jennifer’s engagement party. “Yes. You’re right. It’s perfect.” I didn’t add that all the other samples Shelly had welded together were also stunning. Ashley seemed to have her mind set on this rust and silver colored piece.
“Ten more hearts?” Shelly asked, turning her back to us and shuffling through her workshop.
She and Beau Winston lived on this property, though they didn’t own it. I thought it was silly for them to live here in Tanner’s shack when everyone in town knew Hank Weller had given Beau Winston the Weller mansion on Bandit Lake. But I supposed the mansion didn’t have a big old workshop for metal work like this one, and Shelly Sullivan was some sort of world-famous artist—or so I’d been told by people who knew such things. I’d only ever known her as a surly auto mechanic. In fact, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her without grease on her face. The woman cared nothing about other people’s opinions.
Old Diane would’ve judged her for being so peculiar and not taking better care with her physical appearance. She would’ve said something like, “If you’d only wash your face, you’d be so pretty.”
Whereas new Diane wanted to give her a high five and take notes on how to not give a cold crap in hell what other people thought. And maybe also get some grease to smear on my face.
Finished with our lunchtime chores, Ashley and I wandered back to my BMW and slid inside. I thought I caught Jason’s scent—just a hint of it—and closed my eyes against the onslaught of irrational feelings.
I hadn’t heard from him since our date, but I knew he’d been the one to drive my car back to my house. Since I’d called for the limo, I’d planned to pick up my BMW later in the week. But when I woke up, it was already in my driveway and the keys—Lord knows how he got the keys—were on the dash. And the interior smelled like him. Not overpowering, not as though he’d seen fit to spray his cologne on my leather seats like Febreze or anything like that. More like he’d sat in my seat, and he’d left an impression.
And then, he didn’t call!
And another thing—why was it safe for him to drive my car and leave it, la-dee-dah, in my driveway? Hadn’t he said a movie night at my house wouldn’t be possible? Why could he traipse around all of East Tennessee in my car but not sit in my living room? He’d already paid me a visit without raising suspicion. He’d crashed his bike and spent the whole night in my house.
He doesn’t make any sense.
One thing was for sure, I didn’t like this feeling. I didn’t like wondering if he was going to call, and when. It felt reminiscent of the uncertainty I’d lived with while married to Kip. I didn’t want to go back there, not even for a visit.
I can’t wait to leave this town.
“You’re awfully quiet, Diane.”
I started in my seat, realizing I hadn’t pulled out of Shelly’s driveway. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just thinking is all.”
Ashley gave me a considering look. “If you don’t like the hearts—”
“No, baby. I love them. To be honest, I couldn’t decide which of the forms I liked better, so I’m glad you made the decision. Any of the samples she showed us would’ve been fine with me. Let there be no doubt, you have exceptional taste.”
“Oh.” Ashley faced forward, but I saw she wore a grin. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“Does it?” I asked, and not ironically. “I’m afraid my taste runs a little too conservative for some and a little too garish for others. I think I heard Karen Smith call my aesthetic ‘Southern Opulence’ and I don’t think it was meant as a compliment.”