“Laura,” I whine. “Why?”
“I just told you why. Don’t argue. Go try them on in case I need to exchange them before your hot date with the sexy biker who shaved his beard so he can kiss you all over without chafing.” She gasps. “Which brings me to my next point. You need to lady-scape.” She points at my crotch. “I’m guessing it looks like you grew up in the 70s down there.”
“Shut up.” I scoot off the couch slowly because––wine. “I’ll try them on. My pubic region is not up for discussion.” Except she’s right. It’s been a while. I’d better take a look. Not because I think I’m going to sleep with Nate but because taking care of myself feels good.
Yeah.Right.
* * *
I hearthe rumble of a motorcycle in the not too far off distance. I glance at the clock. “Six-twenty-eight.” The man is prompt. I’ll give him that.
Now, I could open my door and stand out on my tiny front porch, but my nerves are getting the best of me. I need a little more time so he can just mosey on up here, knock, and wait.
Which he does. His rap isn’t overly loud, but it is insistent.
“Coming,” I say from my kitchen. My little house is perfect for me. It’s not open concept, but there is an adorable window between the kitchen and small living room so I can interact with guests. I scoff because the only person I’ve had here is Laura. And now Nate.
There are hardwood floors throughout that are original the house. Because the rooms are small, I’ve used pale colors in each room. The kitchen is a butter yellow, the living room is a soft blue, my bedroom is violet, and my bathroom is pink. It was like that when I bought the place, and it’s the only room I haven’t painted yet because the tiles around the sink and bath are pink too, so it worked.
I give my place a quick once-over, making sure I picked everything up. I also scrubbed my kitchen and bathroom. I dusted, swept, and ran the vacuum over all my rugs. When I’m nervous, I clean.
Glancing back at my place, I smile. I also wonder what Nate will think of it. It’s very girly with my floral sofa and matching chair, the gazillion throw pillows, and lots of tchotchkes sitting around. I’ve collected a lot of stuff over the years. Things that made me smile. Travis hated all of it, my taste, so he didn’t give me any crap over them when we divorced. I suspect his place is now streamlined and modern. Except I don’t want to imagine what his and Barbie’s home is like. I don’t give a crap.
Pulling open the door, I force myself to smile.
“Hey,” he speaks first.
“Hey.”
“You look pretty.”
I glance down at my jeans, booties, and long-sleeved top. “Oh.” I tug on the shirt nervously. “This is old.”
This time, it’s true. I had to dig around for something motorcycle-worthy.
Ugh. My stomach flops, thinking about getting on the motorcycle.
“Well, old or new, it’s nice.” He steps toward me, so I move out of his way. I guess he’s coming in. I should have invited him but, nerves. As he passes me, he leans down and kisses my cheek. Then, he hands me a small bouquet of flowers. “Picked those from my garden. Chose the most fragrant ones.”
“Wow.” I raise them and give them a whiff. They smell amazing. Getting flowers seems frivolous except I love the thought. And since he’s a gardener, I suspect he chose the flowers with purpose. “Thank you. Let me put them in some water.” As I walk back to my kitchen, my mind goes to my ex. I don’t think, in all the years we were together, Travis ever gave me flowers. And a corsage for prom doesn’t count. Those are required.
I find a vase and quickly arrange the flowers while Nate checks out my living room. “I like your house.”
“You do? Even with all my little odds and ends there?” I point at the shelves that line the perimeter of my living room used to display some of my collections. Things like nesting dolls also known as Russian Matryoshka dolls and thumb push puppet toys. I’ve been collecting those since I was little.
“It’s got character.” He moves to the shelf near the door. The one that houses my vinyl collection. I’ve got a turntable next it because I use it a lot. I love to listen to music as I cook or clean. Music clears my head. He pulls out an album, and I hear the snicker from here. “You’ve got the Go-Go’s on vinyl?”
“Shush.” I laugh too. “I won that at a trivia contest while I was in college.”
“Okay.” He slips the record back and pulls out another one. “Now, this one is a good.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. The Go-Go’s are the bomb. Still, he’s right. The record he’s holding is great. “Gerry Rafferty is one my dad’s favorites. It was his as was that turntable. It’s old, circa 1979, but it still works.”
“I got rid of all my albums.” He nods. “Now I wish I had ‘em back. This is cool, Prudence.”
“Thanks.”
“Mind if I look at the rest of your place?”
