Paige Torn (18 page)

“Sure,” Mom says all nonchalant like it's no big deal. “He goes with me every week now.”

That's the final straw. My parents are officially old.

“Wow,” I say again because really, what else can I say?

“Have a good morning, sweetie. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.” I hang up my cell phone and pocket it. Coke spill is done, breakfast is done. I only had one bite of oatmeal, but it will have to hold me over until lunch because there is no way I am eating more of it.

Oatmeal is cheap for a reason.

I grab the cleaning supplies and spend the next thirty minutes scrubbing my toilet, shower, sink, and kitchen. Then I vacuum all of the cookie crumbs out of my carpet. Then I look at the plate of cookies sitting on the kitchen counter.

A cookie has milk and eggs in it, right? Those are basically breakfast ingredients.

I eat a cookie and then glance at the clock. It is ten, and maybe if I hurry I can get a good head start on the work stuff before it's time to meet Layla.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. Tyler.

“Hello?” I answer because I always feel a little weird saying, “Hi, Person's Name!” when I don't know them very well.

“Hey, Paige. It's Tyler,” he says, warmly.

“Hi, Tyler. How are you?”

“I'm good. Listen, I know you're crazy busy all the time, but I was wondering if maybe you'd be interested in meeting me for lunch.”

“Lunch,” I repeat, looking at the clock, at the list of people I need to call, and then at the huge tax folder on my kitchen table.

“Right. It's this meal you have midway between breakfast and dinner, though to be honest, I usually end up eating breakfast and lunch all close together and then I'm starving for dinner.”

“Today? Like now?”

“Well, like two hours or so. I've figured out that shock and surprise is the best way to get you to say yes to hanging out with me.”

I laugh. I like Tyler, I do. He is very laid-back. Sometimes that can be a good quality to have in a friend.

“I don't know. I have a ton of stuff to do for work.”

“Like what?”

“Taxes,” I say.

“Eh. Those aren't due until April, right?”

He has a point. “Yes.” I draw out the word. “But they will take me a while. And the earlier I file them, the earlier I can stop worrying about them, especially since I've got Layla's party in about three weeks. And I have like fifteen people I have to call for this banquet the agency is putting on the weekend after the party.”

“You take a lot of responsibility for things that aren't your problem,” Tyler states. And before I have time to think about that and get mad, he says, “Now. Lunch. Let's say I'll pick you up at eleven thirty, and we'll go get hamburgers at Greg's.”

My mouth waters at the thought. Greg's has the best hamburgers in the city. Thick, juicy, piled high with all the extras.

“Well, I'm also meeting Layla at one to listen to some bands for her parents' anniversary party.”

“Surely it doesn't take you an hour and a half to eat one of Greg's hamburgers,” Tyler says. “I mean, it only takes me about three minutes. And that's if I'm remembering to actually chew.”

I half laugh, but I keep staring at the tax file. “Tyler — ” I prepare to tell him I don't think it will work for today.

“Done,” he says. “I'll see you at eleven thirty. That gives you about an hour and a half to work on those taxes. And I'll drop you off at Layla's anniversary band thing.” He hangs up. Probably so I don't have the chance to tell him all the reasons why that is not a good idea.

Reason number one — Layla will flip out if she sees Tyler drop me off at the lounge where one of the bands is playing. She'll probably tell Liza, or whoever our consultant is next time we look at dresses, that I need to see a selection of dresses as well.

Reason number two — I had a cookie for breakfast. Following that up with a hamburger for lunch does not sound like the healthiest day to me, particularly after listening to my parents' new lifestyle changes.

Reason number three — Tyler is very sweet and charming, but at the end of the day, I have a job, and even though he thinks I take too much responsibility for things in my life, if I don't, who will?

True to his word, Tyler knocks on my door at exactly eleven thirty.

I look up from my laptop. I have been able to call all of the people on my list and input most of our numbers into the online tax-filing system. But not all of them.

“This is bad timing,” I tell him, opening the door.

“It's nice to see you too!” Tyler says brightly, coming into my apartment. “You look great as well.”

I gaze at him and sigh with a smile. “Thank you. It's good to see you, and you look nice.” He does look nice. Dark-rinsed, straight-cut jeans and a white polo shirt. I am very jealous of the tan he already has.

It is still winter, for goodness' sake.

His hair is shiny and curly, like he swiped at it with a towel when he got out of the shower and then forgot about it. I like it like that. It fits his carefree attitude.

“I'm like halfway through inputting the numbers,” I tell him, going over to my laptop and tapping on the unfinished stack of receipts, paychecks, and bills. “And I haven't even started trying to calculate all the rest.”

“Don't y'all have an accountant?”

“You're looking at her.”

“I thought your degree was in counseling.”

I nod. “It is.”

“So you take a job at an adoption agency to do accounting stuff instead?”

I bite my lip. “No.” I'd taken the job because Mark had said they really needed a secretary, and if I could fill in there, then as soon as they hired another secretary, I could become a counselor and work with the birth mothers there.

That was a year ago.

I sigh. “It's complicated.”

“Hmm.” He doesn't look like he believes me. “Let's go. I'm hungry and we've only got a little bit before you have to meet Layla.”

“And that's another thing.”

“Layla?”

“If you drop me off at the lounge, Layla will freak out.”

“Don't worry,” Tyler says. “I enforce the use of seat belts in my car. She has nothing to worry about.”

“You obviously don't know Layla. She is about the worst, most unsafe driver in this city. She doesn't care about seat belts.”

He shrugs. “Well, then I don't see the problem. You'll be fed, on time, and arrive there alive.” He shrugs again.

“It's not the safety thing or the punctual thing.” I try to figure out the best way to tell him my concerns without being weird about it. On the one hand, I don't want him to drop me off at the lounge because Layla will throw a fiesta. On the other hand, I can't tell him the reason why, because it will sound like either I like him or I think he should like me.

This all sounds very immature. I thought I'd left all this behind in Austin when I moved here for college.

“What is it then?” Tyler asks.

I sigh. “Never mind.”

“Okay. Let's go.”

I am out of excuses. I look at him for a long minute and finally go to get my purse. “Fine.”

“Thanks for suffering through my presence.” He grins, opening my front door.

“No, I mean, it's not that at all, Tyler,” I say quickly, face flushing.

“Sure,” he says, but he's still grinning. “I'm hurt, Paige. Deeply hurt.”

“You look deeply hurt.” I lock my door behind us and follow him down the stairs.

“I hide my emotions well. It's what my third-grade teacher wrote on my report card.”

Somehow I have trouble believing that of Tyler Jennings.

We get to Greg's, and Tyler has to park in the parking lot for the shoe store next door. “Busy,” he says offhandedly.

I've never been here when it isn't busy.

The line, thankfully though, isn't too long. Tyler doesn't even look at the menu suspended above the counter. “Know what you want?” he asks me.

“Sure. And I can get mine.” I reach in my purse for my wallet.

Tyler waves a hand. “Right. I ask you to lunch and you pay. That's real gentlemanly. I'd have to call my mother afterward and apologize for not following the upbringing she labored to give me.”

I laugh.

A cashier waves us over, and Tyler lets me go in front of him. “I want just the regular cheeseburger,” I tell the cashier.

“Anything to drink?”

“Water, please.”

“Sheesh, Paige, just get a drink.”

I level a look at Tyler. “Fine. A Coke.”

“And for you, sir?”

“The double cheeseburger with fries and a Coke, please.” He hands the cashier his credit card.

The cashier gives us two cups and a receipt. I fill my cup with Coke and follow Tyler over to a little booth by the windows. The restaurant is packed and very loud. We sit down and Tyler grins at me. “Now, is this so painful?”

“I don't mean that your company is painful, Tyler.”

“I should hope not. I try to be polite. I heard once that politeness is the tenth fruit of the Spirit.”

I grin.

One of the servers brings our burgers over, and Tyler folds his hands in front of him on the table. “Let me pray real quick. Jesus, thank You for this time with Paige, help her to have fun listening intently with Layla, and bless this food. Amen.”

“Amen,” I echo.

“So, Paige,” he says, after swallowing his first bite. I am still chewing mine.

“Mmm?” I say, trying not to spew a mouthful of delicious cheeseburger all over the table.

“This insane schedule you keep up. How do you do it?”

I swallow, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how do you do it? Do you live on espresso? How do you even remember everything you're supposed to do?”

I reach into my purse and pull out my planner. The denim cover is starting to tear. Which is fine by me, because I'd seen one in Target a while back I thought was adorable.

“I make sure I write everything down,” I tell him.

He reaches across the table and takes my planner from me. Which isn't necessarily something I want him to do. I write
everything
down. Birthdays, dentist appointments, deadlines, when I need to get the oil changed in my car, and when I last started my period.

Reading that planner is like reading the diary I don't have time to keep.

“One o'clock, Layla at Paparazzi Lounge,” Tyler reads out loud. “Six o'clock, bring dinner to the Hannigers.”

“Crap.” I close my eyes.

“That doesn't sound too tasty.”

“No, I forgot.” I sigh. I haven't looked all the way down on the square for today, apparently. “It's the family of one of the girls in my small group. Her mom just had major surgery and she's a single parent, and Rick passed around a sign-up sheet to take them dinner.” I try to figure out what groceries I have. Enough to make a casserole?

There is no way. Not unless the Hannigers want a mustard, Swiss, and oatmeal casserole.

“You're taking them dinner on Thursday too?”

“There were a lot of open slots on the sign-up sheet. I don't want them to not have any food. Didn't you see it at youth group?”

Tyler nods. “I'm taking them a pizza next week. Look, Paige.” He closes my planner and sets it on the table. He stops, pursing his lips and looking at me.

“What?”

He lets his breath out and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“No, really, what?”

He shakes his head again. “Eat your cheeseburger. It can wait for a later date.”

I am in the middle of a bite when he says the word
date
. I try not to make a big deal about it, but I look up at him anyway. He is calmly eating a fry, watching a short little toddler help his daddy refill his Coke from the machine.

Does he think this is a date? Or did he mean “date” as on a calendar?

I chew quietly. Do
I
think this is a date? I think through what has happened today. He suggested coming, he drove me here, he paid.

All three things that, by themselves, wouldn't necessarily mean date, but when added up collectively …

Oh boy
.

I am on a date. And I didn't even know it until just a minute ago.

“So, I am reading through the new youth Bible study that Rick wants us to go through and I — ”

“Tyler,” I interrupt as soon as I finish swallowing.

He looks at me. “What's up, Paige?”

“We're on a date.”

He grins. “I like you.”

“This is not good.”

“You have no problem saying what you think.”

“I don't have time for a relationship.”

“I especially like your honesty.”

“I mean, I barely have time to maintain proper dental hygiene.”

He starts laughing then. “Paige, chill.” He holds his hands up and leans back in his seat. “Just take a deep breath for a second.”

I clamp my mouth shut and inhale through my nose like they tell me to do in those Pilates videos I watch every so often. I like Tyler, I really do. He is fun, he is very cute, and he is a huge hit with Rick and the freshman guys, so I figure he has to be a decent guy. But the thought of adding something else — particularly something that takes so much time — to my calendar makes my eyeballs shake.

“Paige,” Tyler says, leaning forward and reaching for my hands. He grins at me, his blue eyes crinkling, hands warm. “Look. I'd be lying if I said I don't think you are beautiful or that I'm not interested in dating you. But I knew from the first three minutes after I'd met you that dating you probably wasn't going to happen unless I suddenly became pregnant and had to go meet with you for weekly counseling sessions.”

I try to force myself to not blush. Even if there is no chance of dating Tyler, it's always nice to hear someone of the opposite sex tell you that you're beautiful. Particularly while he's holding your hands.