Paige Torn (19 page)

He rubs his thumbs over the backs of my hands, then lets them go. He leans back again. “And let's face it, the odds of my becoming pregnant are pretty slim. I mean, there's my whole belief in abstinence to consider.”

I shake my head. “You're so weird.”

“And yet, I still managed to get you to have lunch with me.” He licks his finger and draws a line in the air. “That is one for me. Two, actually, because I believe I had dinner with you nearly two weeks ago as well.”

I open my mouth and then close it again. We did have dinner almost two weeks ago.

“Paige, I know that you're crazy busy. And honestly, I think you need to learn how to say no to a few of those things. But how about in the meantime we just get to know each other as friends?”

I smile at him. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good. Friends it is then.”

We finish our burgers and talk about the new Bible study Rick wrote for the youth group. And then Tyler parks in front of Paparazzi Lounge at 12:50.

“Early,” he announces as he shifts into Park. “Am I good? Are you impressed?”

“Yes and yes,” I say. “Thank you. And thanks for lunch.”

“My pleasure.”

I grab my purse and start to open the door.

“In a rush?” he says.

“Well, I mean, we're here.”

“Is Layla's car here yet?”

I look around. I don't see it, which honestly makes me feel better. Though I am going to have to tell her that Tyler dropped me off, since she will have to give me a ride home, and I don't think she'll just accept no reason for why I haven't driven here myself.

“No,” I tell him.

“See? That was easy to say, huh?”

“What?”

“
No
. It's not a hard word to say.”

“Does this have to do with my schedule?” I ask him.

He grins. “Pretty and smart. I really do like you, Paige.”

“There's something you need to know about Layla,” I close his car door and shift to face him. “She's crazy.”

“I guessed this.”

“No, I mean, really. She's nuts. And now that she's getting married, she's become even more nuts.”

“You still seem to like her,” Tyler says.

“Most of the time I do. But if she sees that you gave me a ride here and then figures out that we had lunch before this, she'll call your mother to see how many people you'll be inviting to our wedding so we can go ahead and book a reception space.” I let my breath out after my long run-on sentence. I am becoming like Layla. It is not necessarily a good thing. “I just didn't want to say anything before because it sounds really weird.”

Tyler listens to me, nodding. “Got it. We don't know each other. I've never seen you before. What is your name?”

“You don't have to go to that extreme. I'm just saying. Layla has a knack for being overly dramat — ”

Right then, I see Layla's Jetta pull into the space right beside us. Layla glances over at us, sunglasses on her face, looks away, and then whips her head back. Her lips form the words.
Oh. My. Gosh.

She rips her sunglasses off her face and jumps out of her car, obviously giddy. I sigh and look at Tyler. “Sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Hi, Paige! Hi, Tyler!” She is so loud I can hear her perfectly inside Tyler's car with all the doors and windows closed.

I open the door. “Hello, Layla.”

“So, are you guys going out now? Oh, I'm
so
excited!”

Tyler grins at me and then looks at Layla. “Y'all have fun listening to the bands.”

Layla starts squealing about how excited she is and heads to the door, chattering happily about how long she's waited for this day, the day that I would show up to hear a band play in my boyfriend's car.

I sigh and start to climb out of the car. Tyler reaches over and grabs my hand. “Oh, and Paige?” he says, grinning at me.

I look at him.

“I really prefer a black suit for a wedding. A tux is just so stiff, you know?”

I level him with a smoldering look, he starts laughing, and I climb out of the car. “This is all your fault, Jennings.” I close the door.

He waves three fingers at me while holding the steering wheel and backs out of the parking lot. Layla is holding open the door to Paparazzi's, still talking. “And oh, Paige, wouldn't it be so wonderful if we can find little houses in the same neighborhood? We can be all, ‘I'm out of sugar!' and the other one can run over with the cup of sugar.” She sighs happily.

I stare at Layla — at the expression of pure joy on her face, at the tightly dressed hostess inside the door — and just sigh.

“It would be nice to have someone to borrow sugar from,” I say. Maybe my oatmeal would taste a little better then.

S
unday morning I pull on a gray jersey skirt, red ballet flats, and a bright red sweater. It is my official “well, I guess what we call winter is over” outfit, and it comes out every February.

It is now February.

Basically, I can look forward to seventy-degree weather and more party planning. Layla cannot make up her mind on a band to save her life. And the agency banquet just had its first vendor cancellation in six years of banquets.

“I'm so sorry,” Tina said on the phone last night from Flowers R Us. “We didn't realize we'd double booked for your party and a wedding. And honestly, we're just not staffed to handle it. I'm refunding your money. I apologize.”

Which leaves me with a few weeks to find another florist to make eighty-four table centerpieces that look both fun and classy.

I grab my Bible and my purse, lock the door behind me, and hurry down the stairs. I traded my time to make coffee for sleeping in, so I have to get coffee at the church.

Which is always a coin toss on whether or not it will be good. One lady who serves at church in the mornings can make the perfect pot of coffee and leave you feeling like all is right with the world. And the other lady can make you swear off coffee for the rest of your earthly life.

I drive to church, end up actually finding a parking spot in the very last row of the parking lot by the youth room, and hurry inside. Rick asked me to start coming to the youth Sunday school on the days I'm not teaching the two-year-olds, so here I am.

“Paige!” two girls say excitedly when I walk into the youth room. The place is dead save for four girls and one guy, who looks like he hasn't slept in thirty-six hours.

“Hey, guys,” I say, walking over. I set my Bible and purse on a chair and turn back to the group of kids. “How are you guys?”

One of the girls is Allison Hanniger, the girl in my small group whose mom just had surgery. I ended up stopping and getting them one of the to-go boxes you can order from a local barbecue place. It had shredded beef, creamed corn, rolls, potato salad, and brownies in it.

I figured I couldn't go wrong with that.

And went ahead and blew my eating-out budget until July.

“Paige, thank you so much for dinner last night,” Allison says, smiling at me. Allison is a very cute girl. If she already looks like that as a fourteen-year-old, her mom will have some issues with boys flocking to her house when she gets a little older.

“Sure.”

“It was wonderful. And Mom is already feeling a lot better. Creamed corn is her favorite thing to eat.”

“Wow, that's great!” I say. Mrs. Hanniger is one of those church moms who I want to be more like. She is constantly doing something for someone. When I got to their house last night, it about killed her to sit there and watch me leave dinner on the table instead of making me sit down and eat with them.

“You're
sure
you can't stay?” she asked me for the eighth time. “There is more here than we'll eat in a week.”

“Then enjoy the leftovers,” I said, giving Allison a hug and waving to her little brother, Michael.

I never knew Allison's dad. He was killed in a car accident when Allison was five. She barely remembers her father. Mrs. Hanniger always told me that if it hadn't been for Grace Church, she wouldn't have made it through that time. “So of course, I'm going to give back now,” she always says while doing something around the church.

I go back down the church hall for my coffee. It is still a little early, so there isn't the mad rush for the caffeine like when I usually show up to the coffee table.

I carefully peek into the kitchen to see who is running the coffeepot today.

“Well, good morning, Paige!”

It is Melba Waters. I force a smile. Caffeine and I will not be friends this morning, apparently. I look longingly at the shiny, stainless-steel pot. We won't even be neighbors. Melba Waters destroys coffee.

“Hi, Mrs. Waters.”

“Go ahead and get some, sweetie. It's all ready now.” She pats my hand.

“Oh, that's okay. I think I'll just get some tea today.” I pray that the Lipton tea bag I am holding, which has probably been there since 1995, will still contain enough caffeine to ward off my incoming headache.

Melba shrugs. “Suit yourself, dear.”

I walk sadly back down to the youth room with my tea.
Tea.
In my opinion, the only reason to drink tea is if you're sitting opposite Mr. Darcy looking at Pemberley's beautiful lake. I look around. No lake, no Mr. Darcy. Only the beige-painted hallway and sixteen-year-old Justin, who is about to go into the youth room.

“Hey, Paige,” he says, his voice cracking slightly when he says my name. He clears his throat. “Hey,” he says again, an octave deeper.

I love Justin.

“How's it going, Justin?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“I'm drinking tea.”

He steps three steps back from me. “Look, I can't get sick. School just started back up, and if you saw the Mount Everest that is my homework, you'd offer to get me a sherpa.”

“Chill. I'm not sick. And I won't get you a sherpa. They're going extinct. Too many fleece jackets are being made right now.” I dunk the tea bag up and down in the water. Maybe if I get it really, really strong, it will taste like coffee.

I take a sip and try not to gag.

“Are you okay, Paige?”

“Justin. There is a reason the early American settlers threw all that tea in the ocean.” I make a face.

“Taxes?”

“Taste.”

“My mom makes me drink green tea the second I tell her I'm not feeling good,” Justin says. “One day I fell in gym and busted up my knee and Mom made me drink green tea until the swelling went down.” He sighs and looks a little sick even remembering. “Two weeks I drank that stuff.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What's wrong?” Rick asks, poking his head out of the youth room.

“Justin had to drink green tea for two weeks, and I'm going to need Starbucks,” I say, still gagging.

“Okay. Well, in the meantime, come on in here. I have to teach you how to run the words.”

“What words?” I ask. “Please don't tell me you use a teleprompter.” I walk into the youth room and follow Rick over to a computer.

“It's for the music, weirdo. So it's pretty user friendly.”

“Is it a computer?” I put my hands behind my back like my dad used to tell me to do anytime we were in an electronics store.

Rick looks at me. “Com-pu-ter,” he says slowly, touching the top of the screen. “It's a wonderful invention, really. Has changed the way we live and move and breathe.”

“Rick.”

“Look, it's basically just a slide show. Everything is all set up and in there. All you do is click the arrow to switch to the next slide. See?” He pushes a button and the first verse of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” pops up on the computer screen and on the wall at the front of the room.

“Wow,” I say. “I didn't even know y'all did music on Sundays.”

“You really don't pay attention during leaders' meetings, do you?” Rick asks.

“You've talked about it?”

“I spent most of the last one complaining about how hard it is to find bass players in this youth group.” Rick sighs.

“You have a bass player?” I wave my hand at the front of the room. “There's a whole band?”

“What did you think the drums were for?”

I shrug. The whole youth room looks like someone's garage. There is exposed ductwork in the ceiling, the whole place is painted gray, and there are cement floors. Not to mention the odor that always seems to hang around in here, though I think that's due to too many thirteen-year-old boys, who haven't quite gotten the hang of daily deodorant, mixing with eighteen-year-old guys, who haven't quite gotten the idea behind a
hint
of cologne as opposed to bathing in it.

“Anyway.” Rick points to the computer. “Good?”

“I thought I was just supposed to sit in here and be an adult presence for the girls.”

Rick grins. “Well, life changes sometimes. Which is a good segue into my lesson.” He claps his hands and whistles loudly. “Round it up, guys!”