Nora:Do you really think the caveman played hockey?
Me:Stop distracting.
I realize I’m grinning like an idiot all by myself in bed with a quilt that was, no doubt, hand-made covering me. I would ask more about it, like who made it and if the pieces of the quilt have special meanings, but I’m afraid that someone might’ve died under it or on top of it and I really don’t want to know that.
It took me four hours to fall asleep under it the first night just thinking that might be the case.
Nora:*laugh crying face* Sorry, I just can’t get the image of cavemen batting rocks around on frozen ponds with tree branches and being like ‘omg this is so awesome!’ out of my head.
Me:When you could be distracted by me kissing you?
Nora:LOL!Fine. You might have a point. Let me think about the definition. Maybe we can come up with a new term.
Me:Don’t waste your time. We’re just gonna call you my girlfriend. My very sexually frustrated girlfriend.
Nora:I’m the one who’s going to be sexually frustrated?
Me:I didn’t say you were going to be the only one. But yes.
Nora:Being near you is going to be so difficult that I’ll be constantly fighting the urge to get naked?
Me:I think you already know the answer to that, Wildflower.
She doesn’t respond and I get out of bed with a huge grin.
I shower and don’t even have the urge to take care of myself. I am definitely turned on by her and could certainly conjure some delightfully dirty fantasies, but I don’t need to. It’s interesting. I feel good just thinking about being with her and a little bit of morning text teasing.
I’m not saying that’s always going to be enough, but I’m definitely feeling content as I head downstairs, breathing deeply of the buttery, cinnamon and sugar scented air.
Living above a café that makes bacon and bakes fresh pastries every morning is not going to be a hardship, that’s for sure.
I step out from behind the multicolored curtain and the conversation and clinking of silverware against plates immediately ceases.
Oh boy.
“Morning, everyone,” I greet.
“A fancy dinner in New Orleans? Really?” someone asks.
I focus on the owner of the voice and realize that it is one of my would-be kidnappers.
Studying Brewser this morning in his pink plaid shorts, pink polo shirt, and sandals with pink socks, it’s still hard for me to believe that he was the town doctor.
I realize that I am stereotyping, but every doctor I’ve ever seen has either been in a white coat or khakis and a polo. I’vecertainly had my share of visits with the team doctors, but none of them have been wearing shorts and sandals.
“We had an amazing time last night,” I say carefully.
I’m not surprised that everyone in the café, probably the entire town, knows about my date with Nora last night. That’s the point after all, right? They’re supposed to think that we’re dating. That Nora has chosen to spend time with me. That she fucking likes me.
And she does.
She definitely does.
It’s almost ridiculous how much I like that.
“Well, I’m sure she told you she had a good time,” the man I now know is Wilson, the town lawyer—or ex-lawyer?—says. “She’s a very positive and kind person.”
I lift a brow. “So, she would’ve told me she had a good time no matter what?” I ask. I want to call bullshit on that. We had a good time last night. Because I took her somewhere new. Because I spoiled her a little. Because it wasus.
