Love's Learning Curve (15 page)

I decide to take this little intro into conversation to ask the plans.  “Soooo … Ty.”  I angle my body in the bench seat of the truck toward him, lingering out the so to sound quirky but more convincing.  “Where are we going?” I wink to throw in the true effect.

He laughs at my antics, and I notice as his rigid posture immediately loosens as he relaxes.  I wonder if he’s as nervous as I am.  He doesn’t immediately respond, and I poke his thigh to tease him a little more.

“You’ll see, buttercup,” he says, with what I’m now going to deem his trademark side-smile.  I’ve only seen it a few times, and each time,
my God
, every single time, it causes the blood moving through my heart to race at a cheetah’s pace.

It quickly becomes clear he’s not going to tell me, but the game is kind of fun, and I’m eager to see more of that trademark side-smile, so I can’t help but prodding.  “Can I guess?” I ask, hopeful that he too is enjoying this little game.

The look on his face changes, and he’s intrigued.  With one eyebrow quirked, he looks back and forth from me to the road and then nods before replying, “Have at it.  But that doesn’t mean I’ll admit to anything.”  Then he returns my wink.  Oh … he does like this little game.

“Is it the movies?” I ask, looking around us and knowing that we are heading in the direction of the neighboring town where the better movie theater is.  I hardly ever go to the movies anymore.  I’m usually busy with things on campus or at the hospital, but I’ve been known to sneak off to the theater midday, all alone, to watch the latest romantic film release.

I’m racking my brain trying to think of the current movies playing in the theaters when his voice interrupts my thoughts.  “Nope, not even close.”  He laughs when I fake a pout after I’ve guessed wrong.  “I do love going to the movies, though. Do you?” he asks.

“I actually love the movies, but I don’t go often.  My semester is a bit intense right now, and my volunteer work is consuming.”  I answer honestly, but in truth, every semester is packed for me since I’m graduating with a double major.  But I don’t mention that so as not to appear to be a complete overachiever.  Plus, my extra time is better spent at the hospital and with the friends who have become family.

Taylor Swift’s new song “Wildest Dreams”
comes through the speakers, and I can’t help but accept the irony of the timing.  I listened to this song on repeat just moments before he came to pick me up.  I love this song, and for some reason, it reminds me of him.

I sit back taking in the words as I try to think of another place we may be going.  My stomach growls quietly, and I hope very seriously he didn’t hear that, even though I don’t think he could have over Taylor’s serenading voice.  I mentally chastise myself for not getting a snack when I was out shopping with Morgan today.  I think the anticipation of the evening left me unable to eat even though I know better than to do that after an intense run.

“Maybe … we’re going to dinner?” I ask, hoping that we’re eating something.  I’ll never survive the evening without food.

He laughs lightly at my next guess.  His gaze still flitters from me to the road just as my stomach decides to express its approval of that idea at a much higher decibel this time.  I know the sound was unmistakable, and his laughter becomes more animated.  I wish for a sinkhole to magically appear so I can crawl in to escape the embarrassment, but when it doesn’t, I just shrug my shoulders and quip, “My traitorous stomach.”

Still laughing as he turns to exit off the main road and onto a country back road, he muses, “Buttercup, we’ll be nourishing your ‘traitorous stomach’ in less than five minutes.”  His smile, mixed with his acceptance to meet my obvious need, warms my heart, and I quietly respond with my thanks while still feeling the embarrassment on my cheeks.  Nonetheless, it takes some of the wind out the sails of my guessing game.

I sit back in my seat, watching the beautiful country scenery.  I love the cotton farms and the billowing little puffs of white throughout the fields.  I’m not sure I could every truly be a city girl.

My thoughts quickly go back to my conversation with Morgan this morning and her remarks about Tyler.  I don’t see any of the things she described this morning.  Is it just that he hasn’t shown his true colors yet?

When I see bright lights approaching in the darkness of the evening sky, I feel my heart begin to pace in double time.  “Is that …” My excitement and enthusiasm for what I’m seeing flood my thoughts, and I’m unable to form the words to ask the question.  The closer we get, the harder it is to take my eyes off the rows and rows of bright multicolor lights in all shapes and sizes.

I look at Tyler to see if he sees what I’m seeing.  When his eyes meet my own and they sparkle to match his smile, the puzzle piece to our little guessing game is complete.

The truck slows as it turns onto the dirt lot.  People are crossing the street in both directions, and I have to work hard to restrain myself from bouncing in my seat while he makes quick work of parking the truck.  When the ignition is off, he turns to me.  “Ready for another adventure, Charlie?”

I don’t think I could possibly be more accepting, and if he had any question, he’d have to be crazy.  He opens the door jumping down from the truck and reaches out his hand inviting me to slide across the bench seat and hop out the driver’s side instead of my own.  I’m giggling like a six-year-old at Disney World when I take his hand and slide to him.

I’m out of the truck, and he’s closed and locked the door, but he doesn’t immediately release my hand as I expect.  We walk hand in hand through the lot and directly to the ticket booth to get entrance tickets to the county fair. 

My very first fair.

I’d only witnessed the fair experience on one other occasion when my father was running for state Senate, and we went to one for an appearance.  My mother, of course, denied me the opportunity to enjoy it.  For many years after that, it was on the top of my childhood bucket list.  I even asked Santa in a Christmas letter one year for tickets to the fair the next time it came to town.  I actually forgot about it until right now.  It’s funny how things that seem so important fall away from priority after time. I could have brought myself to the fair for years now, but I never even thought about it.  I’m glad I didn’t now. 

He has no idea how significant this is for me.  How could he possibly have known?  I’m overjoyed, and my face is aching from the smile I’ve worn since the moment I saw him in the doorway.

At that moment, all questions of his character that Morgan implied earlier are lost.  Tyler Stone may be many things I haven’t yet had the pleasure of learning, but what he continues to show me of himself is amazing.  I’m glad I chose to take the chance even if it went against the well wishes of my best friend.  Her overprotective tendencies are likely just on overdrive.

I’m an athlete.  I know how to calm myself in situations of high stress or exhilaration.  For me, it’s all about my breathing and clearing my thoughts.  Some people call it meditation.  I just call it getting my shit together.  I can do it with little effort on the mound.  I drown out all the noises from the stands and wait for my vision to tunnel.  Focus.  At those moments, everything beyond myself, the batter, and my catcher cease to exist.  This is different.  Those rules don’t apply here.

Holding her hand, feeling my fingers grasp hers, I don’t have a reason to need this connection to her.  She hasn’t asked for it.  Hell, I don’t even think she expects it, but every time her hand touches mine, I can’t seem to let go, and I haven’t.  She goes with it, thankfully.  My need to connect with her is odd for me, but it’s just handholding.  I’m not professing my love and adoration.

I inhale a deep breath remembering the way her face lit up when she saw the lights and figured out where we were going.  Fuck me—could she have been any more adorable?  Those sapphire eyes are shimmering so brightly; they could easily give the carnival lights a run for their money.

She’s happy—no, she’s over the damn moon happy!  I mentally pat myself on the back for planning the right type of date for her.  I exhale—having her hand in mine comforts me in a way that I don’t understand.  My body’s traitorous actions aren’t new to me, though.  I should be used to it by now, and I think I’m moving past the stage of admitting what’s happening here and accepting that I like this.

After minutes of walking around and exploring, her little whimpers of excitement ring in my ears.  I laugh feeling as if I’ve won the lottery with the fair being in town and being able to bring her here for our first date.  Even though the fact I’m on a date that I’ve planned is fucking with my head.

 Trying to shake off the battle of my inner thoughts and demanding that shit to wait, I choose to enjoy these moments with her.  Engaging in the war between my brain and body could take days. 

“You happy with this date choice, buttercup?”  I ask, feeling confident I already know the answer.  There’s a hop in her step, and her cuteness is catching the eye of most men we pass.  They’re all thinking I’m a lucky asshole to have her by my side, and right now, I agree.

“Ty, I don’t know how you did it.  This is amazing and perfect.  I’ve always wanted to come to the county fair.  Like for years,” she tells me as her voice cracks with jumbled excitement and emotion.  Has she been living under a rock on an abandoned island?  How has someone not been to the fair?  My mind begins to race with possibilities of more dates I could muster up for her.

I walk us toward the side of the gravel path leading down the center of the action and stop.  I want to understand completely, so I turn toward her and stand directly in front of her studying her.

With our hands still clasped together and her eyes looking up at mine, I respond, “Charlie, I’m completely stumped here, babe.  I don’t usually plan dates, so I took a wild guess.”  I pause, trying to read her expression.

Reading people is a skill I’d like to think I’ve mastered over the years.  Growing up in the system and being able to read the mood of those charged with my care was lifesaving at times.  In my baseball career, it’s an imperative resource.  Knowing if the batter is rattled or, like me, has his own point to prove makes a huge difference in my pitch choice.  It’s more than just scouting reports.  As they say,
Stats are like bikinis, they show a lot, but they don’t show everything
.

 But here, right now, I’m lost.  She says this is amazing.  Her eyes have been the size of the funnel cakes from the moment she saw the lights, but I feel like I’ve missed something here.

I notice she’s carefully shielding a hint of sadness in her eyes.  I dance cautiously around choosing my words before continuing.  “I just wanted to take you someplace to have fun.  I thought this would be great considering your reaction to the ride on the back of my bike.”  Her eyes are glowing.  The unshed tears she’s holding on to highlight the reflections of light sparkling in her eyes, but they’re unmistakable.  Tears are a fucking deal breaker.  Please, for the love of God, don’t let her start crying.  I don’t think I can handle that.

This girl is either one hell of an actress who just performed an award-winning act walking into this place, or she hates it and doesn’t want to let me down.  I don’t know; maybe I shouldn’t have made an effort after all.  This is exactly what I get for trying something new.  I mentally slap the shit out of myself for letting whatever spell Charlie has cast on me to take over.

Her eyes are on the ground.  When she pulls her hand out of mine, pushing the stray hairs that have escaped her ponytail back into place on her head, I feel defeated.

I wait for a few moments for her to start talking, but every second feels like quadruple the time.  She seems apprehensive; she is holding something back, so I start to tell her we can leave and forget everything when she finally starts talking.  “Ty, when I was eight, I begged to go to the county fair.  My parents didn’t think it was appropriate and wouldn’t allow it.  So I’ve always wanted to come back.”  Her eyes come back up to me, and finally, her smile appears and slowly meets her eyes.  “I guess life consumed me, and I forgot the impact it had on me seeing it all those years ago.  If you knew my life, you’d get it.  This means everything, and I’m so overwhelmed with—I don’t know—happiness.”