Except for the bright yellow paint.
I lift my hand to knock, but the door swings open before I can.
And there she is.
Nora is standing in the doorway, wearing a pretty pale blue sundress with straps that cross her tan shoulders and leave her arms bare. The bodice hugs her breasts and torso deliciously, the skirt falling straight from her waist to just above her knees. Her tan legs and the still warm weather, despite it being late September, mean she doesn’t need leggings, and she’s wearing strappy sandals.
Her toenails are painted, also pale blue.
I’m surprised by that, though I’m not sure why. I’ve certainly seen my share of pedicured feet. But her fingernails are cut short and unpolished, and I know this woman walks barefoot in sand and dirt. I don’t know how I know that, but it just fits.
There’s also a pink flower painted onto the nail of each big toe.
“Did you paint your toenails for me, Wildflower?”
Probably a dumb first thing to say.
Her cheeks get a little pink, but she smiles as she looks at her feet. “I did.” She steps onto the porch and turns to pull her door shut, but doesn’t lock it.
I start to say something, then realize no one is going to break in and steal anything from this woman. Everyone loves her. Besides, if they do take something from her, they’re going to have old men hunting them down and taking them to remote cabins surrounded by bayou, snakes, and alligators.
“I painted them myself, though—well, except for the flowers. Ruth did those.” She lifts one foot and turns it side to side, studying it. Then she looks up at me. “I didn’t go to the salon or anything, so don’t get cocky.”
I grin anyway. “How often do you paint your toenails?” I ask as we walk to my truck.
“As often as I wear dresses and sandals. So hardly ever.”
I shake my head as I open the door. “Still feeling cocky.”
She laughs. “I know who your last girlfriend was. I painted them because Ruth insisted. She had Ingrid’s number half dialed when I made the compromise. But I figured it wasn’t worth more effort. Your last girlfriend had an entire team to get her ready. I can’t begin to compete with that.”
At the moment, I can’t remember the name of my last girlfriend. Not even what color hair she had. But I’m mesmerized by the fact that Nora has three different browns, a reddish hue, and a dark gold in hers.
“Are you insinuating that you’re mynewgirlfriend?” I ask.
She blinks rapidly. “No.No.” She nervously tucks her hair behind her ear. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I mean, the last woman you dated. I know who you’re used to going out with.”
I reach up and capture her wrist, stalling her fumbling fingers. “You painting your toenails yourself, even under duress, is sexier than anything any of the other women have ever done. For them that was all second nature. None of them did it for me. They did it for the photographers we were going to encounter on a night out. Or because they were paid to by the polish company. Or just out of habit. And not that you should do it for me, but it’s cute. I like the blue. And the flower. A lot.”
Her cheeks are even pinker now, but she smiles. “Don’t look at them too closely. They’re kind of messy. I’m not good at nail painting.”
Suddenly, I want to get very close to her toes. Close enough to see just how far out of the lines she painted.
“I promise if I get that close to your toes, I won’t care about messy paint. And neither will you.”
Now her cheeks are very red, and I am very satisfied. I grasp her waist in both hands and lift her up onto the truck seat before she can protest. I shut the door and round the front of my truck. I am feeling instantly better about the date. Yes, I have a lot to prove in this town. Yes, the date has to go well. Yes, everyone in this town will care if Nora has a good time and will judge me harshly if not.
But now I don’t care about any of that. I only care about her and showing her a good time.Iwill judge me harshly if not.
I can play hockey that will put butts in the seats in that arena, and I can date the hell out of this woman.
“You’re wearing a suit,” she says as I slide in behind the wheel.
I start the truck and wince as the engine grumbles, clearly protesting being forced to turn over and actually run.
I wish I was taking her out to dinner in New Orleans in one of my cars. I would’ve probably picked the Rolls-Royce Ghost. It has a gorgeous leather interior and is an incredibly smooth ride.Very classy for date night. But my Aston Martin Vanquish is also very sweet for nights out in the city.
“Yes. We’re going somewhere really nice.”
