Nora carefully cut off a tender piece of marinated chicken and popped it in her mouth. She chewed slowly. Her chin came up, her eyes softly closed and she savored it. She swallowed and opened her eyes, smiling. “And there’s an argument for good restaurants. Incredible.”
* * *
There might’ve been one or two down moments in their date, Tom thought. Especially at the onset in the quiet, nervous drive to Arcata, at the confession about owing someone money on the house she occupied, about how tough times had led her to the greater dreams of a solid, secure, stable life. But once the salads were done and the main course arrived, she was a chatterbox. She wanted to tell him everything about her experience in his grandmother’s kitchen, how the girls became more animated by the minute, all that she learned from Maxie about baking, from Maxie and her girlfriends about life.
“And this apple festival thing you’ve got going on,” she said.
“Maxie’s idea,” he admitted. “She convinced Grandpa to start it when my dad was a kid. Back then they drew up posters and printed flyers, took them around to businesses on the coast, nailed a few to telephone and light poles…”
“I was not even mildly prepared for what was going to happen, then when the people swarmed in, I was overwhelmed! It’s more than buying apples to them, Tom—they want to be a part of what you and Maxie do. Almost every room in the house was full of people visiting, catching up with neighbors, eating, juggling each other’s babies. Did I tell you I helped make about three hundred sachets with Maxie and her girls? She had dried apples, cinnamon sticks and cloves and we tied them into little bundles. And I can now bake cinnamon rolls.”
“You’ve come a long way since terrible coffee,” he said.
“I lied about how my father liked it,” she admitted, laughing.
“I know that now. Good fake, though.”
Although she was stuffed and he really didn’t need to eat another bite, he insisted on ordering coffee and dessert. He loved the way she relished every new taste, every luxurious bite of something that for her was indulgent. One dessert of cheesecake, two forks.
“You know what I hope? I hope you always have that sense of wonder for simple things.”
She just laughed at him. “Oh, I’m sure we’re safe there. I’m kind of hoping to have some wonder over extraordinary things someday.”
He dipped his fork into the cheesecake and held it toward her mouth. She shook her head and said, “Oh, I can’t…” But he persisted until she let her lips close over the fork. Her eyes closed again, that luxury of excellence on her tongue, and he almost got aroused. His heart pumped and so many emotions swept through him—possession, adoration, titillation, excitement. Feeding her seemed to do something for him. He tried to reason with his feelings—it was a silly bite of cheesecake! But he couldn’t wait to share that fork, to put his lips where hers had been.
He’d never felt like this before.
Soon they were walking across the square to his truck and he grabbed her hand, holding it. It was almost as though she hadn’t noticed—she was doing a recap of the meal, the ambiance of the restaurant, the added delight of a dessert she absolutely did not need. He listened with a smile; he found listening to her comforting. She had no idea how cute she was. And as they walked, he leaned down enough so that he could catch a whiff of her hair—sweet, flowery, clean.
There weren’t too many people on the square and sidewalks, but they were hardly deserted. Still, when they got to the truck, he pulled on her hand until she faced him. She looked up at him. He put one large hand on her hip and with the other, he traced her jawline with a knuckle until it was under her chin. Then he lifted her chin, lowered his head and placed a very cautious kiss on those full lips.
Yeah, he liked that.
He tried that again, and again.
She put a hand against his chest and said, “Look, I don’t want to upset Darla…”
“This has nothing to do with Darla. This is just you and me…”
“Okay, let me put this another way. I don’t want to get in Darla’s territory.”