“I have been a little distracted,” he admits. Then he slides me a long look. “But it isn’t because of them.”
I think he’s flirting. Is he? I become a cliché and turn around to make sure he’s not actually addressing someone standing right behind me. Nobody’s there.
His lips curve into a smile. “So, family issues aside, you seem pretty nice.”
Do I? “I’m all right.”
“And I’m nice,” he says, hedging.
I’m cautious as I reply, “You might be.”
“I’ve also been told I’m pretty cute.” Yes, definitely flirting. My insides light up and play eight-bit music like I’ve won a game of pinball.
“You might be.”
He grins, because I’m flirting right back. “You should go out with me tonight,” he says casually, not breaking eye contact as he sends the ball skittering down his lane. I hear it break against a battalion of pin soldiers, but neither of us checks to see how he scored. We’re staring at each other.
“On a date?”
“Yes.”
There’s nothing for me to do but laugh. I don’t know this man. I don’t live anywhere near Eau Claire. Our paths are never going to cross again. “Sure, I’ll go out with you,” I tell him. “If you manage to knock down all your pins right now.”
He studies the pins he’s got left. He’s just bowled a split. His ball shot clean through the middle, knocking them all down except for the one on the far left and the one on the far right. Unless he’s secretly a professional bowler who can curve gravity, there’s no way he can bump off both foes. They’re too far apart for him to ping one off the other, so the odds of getting a spare are astronomical.
His eyes glint. “You promise?”
I pause before I reply. I’d have to be an idiot to root for him, so that’s what I do. “Sure, I promise.”
As soon as the word leaves my mouth he starts walking right down the center of the lane and knocks over both pins with his shoe. He turns on his heel with a flourish, his reflection spanning over a shining, waxed floor, and sends me a devilish grin. I have to admit he’s got me. The screen over our heads explodes with digital confetti and the letters for the word SPARE! tumble down with a cacophony like a bag of spilled coconuts.
He looks pleased with himself. There’s an undeniable chemistry between us that tempts me to lean a little closer. Explore it. I should walk away, but I won’t, because there’s something here. It sucks that I live so far away. He won’t bother once he hears I’m long-distance. But I have to let him know.
“I’m not local.”
“I know,” he replies, winking at a bowling alley worker who witnessed his stunt and is sending him a stern frown. “You’re from Morris.”
“When did I tell you that?”
“You didn’t. I saw you there myself about two weeks ago loading groceries into your trunk. I live in Morris, too.”
My mouth falls open.
He’s delighted by my shock. “I wanted to walk over and say hi, but figured a strange man approaching you in a dark, mostly empty parking lot while you were alone wasn’t the way to go.” He lifts a shoulder like, Hey what can you do. “But I thought about it after that, wishing I could have another shot at it. How great would it be, to get a second chance? I’ve even gone back to that store a couple times, in case I might see you again.”
I’m gaping at him, and I look over my shoulder to see if my family’s eavesdropping. They’re gone. They’ve left without saying good-bye, and it’s just the two of us—me and this strange, increasingly dazzling man whose name I don’t even know.
“Every year for my birthday, I go to my parents’ house and my mom puts candles on a cake,” he tells me. “Some Facebook friends from college write on my wall to say hey, and I wait until the day’s almost over to reply because I want it to seem like I had better things to do all day than count how many happy birthdays I got. I never go anywhere else or really do anything. Today I woke up and felt like going bowling. It’s the first birthday I’ve ever spent completely by myself. I didn’t want to go to a bowling alley close to where I live because I didn’t want to run into anyone I know, so I looked up other places online and found this one. Picked it at random. Eau Claire.”
I am wholly riveted right now. His screen blinks in the periphery, nudging him to bowl another frame, but our eyes are glued to each other. We’re standing close, but not close enough for me to clearly discern the color of his eyes. I think they might be gray.
“This is the first birthday I’ve been alive that I haven’t blown out a candle and made a wish,” he says, taking one deliberate step closer. All the oxygen in the building starts to evaporate, leaving me two insufficient gasps for each lung. “But you walked in here today, anyway. You ended up in the lane right next to mine, and you started talking to me, initiating conversation. What are the chances? Two people from Morris, meeting in Eau Claire? And the very one I wanted to meet.”
I can’t breathe. He steps closer and my pounding senses blur all of his features into a warm, rose-tinted haze. My brain kicks on and off, like I’m intoxicated. It’s a struggle to stay upright. To not lean in that final inch. I don’t know who this person is and I don’t know what he’s got planned for tonight but there’s something here I’ve got to explore. If I don’t, I think I’ll regret it.
“For the first time,” he finishes, “I’ve gotten my wish.”
It’s been so long since we’ve slept in the same bed together that when I wake up on Sunday morning all I want to do is stretch out and enjoy it. But Nicholas drove through the night to be with me, and I want to do something to make him feel special, too. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so I’m going to woo him with a home-cooked breakfast. And by home-cooked, I mean I’m going to buy one of everything on the menu at Blue Tulip Café.
Certain muscles that have been atrophying during our dry spell are stiff and sore from last night, and I stifle a small cry when I climb out of bed. I glance at Nicholas, who’s lying on his back with his legs crossed at the ankles, sound asleep. Of the two of us, I’m the sprawler. He sleeps in a neat line like he’s been laid in a tomb, taking up minimal room. I triple in size when I’m in bed, arms and legs fanned out, hair seeking his nose and mouth. These past few weeks of sleeping apart have probably been a mercy for him in this way, but too bad; his nights of rest and relaxation are over. I miss having someone to kick.
For a minute I merely stand there and admire him, a thrill shooting through my nervous system.
He loves me. He didn’t return the words expressly after I spoke them, but I know he does.
On the kitchen table I spot a gift he’s brought back from his trip: a glass paperweight with wildflowers preserved inside. He’s found a way to make flowers functional and cost-effective. Smiling, I leave him a thank-you note.
I take Nicholas’s Jeep so that I can fill up his gas tank for him, then top it off with a trip to the car wash. By the time I pull into the driveway with a huge haul from Blue Tulip riding shotgun, my head is buzzing with ideas for how we’ll spend the day. It’s too cold for outdoor activities, so maybe we’ll do laser tag. Or go to the movies. I duck into my car real quick because I think I have a gift card for Beaufort Cinema in my glove box, and that’s when I notice that the heap of trash bags next to the log pile has grown and the front door is open. It would seem that Nicholas has been busy since I left. He’d better not be in there making food.