Page 6 of The Holiday Exchange
The wind follows me into the café and I shiver, glad I wore my favorite wool peacoat today. It’s unusually cool for mid-November in Nashville, Tennessee, much to my delight. Autumn just doesn’t feel as autumn-y when you’re sweating as you admire the multi-colored leaves fluttering from the trees. By October I’m usually ready for sweater weather to arrive so I can enjoy my favorite brown leather boots and a cup of hot cider without looking ridiculous.
I take a seat at a table for two and shrug out of my coat, draping it across the back of my chair and settling in to wait for Trevor to arrive. I don’t have to wait long.
I see him coming through the plate glass window before he enters. His pace quickens as he approaches the door and he leans in to take the handle from a mother towing two small children, gesturing her through. He steps in behind her and pauses, hitching up his glasses with an index finger as he scans the room.
I take advantage of the moment to study him. He looks like a model from an outdoor magazine with his jeans and red plaid shirt – comfortable, casual, approachable. It doesn’t hurt thathe happens to be in possession of an athletic frame and an angular, masculine profile. He’d probably look nice in just about anything.
I smile and wave when his eyes land on me and he starts my way, weaving through the tables carefully.
“Hi,” I say as he pulls out the chair opposite me and settles in.
“Hi.” He offers me a small smile, then falls quiet.
“Have you been here before?”
“No, you?”
“It’s one of my favorite places to come for a light lunch or dinner. I can point out some of the best things on the menu if you’d like.”
“Sure.” He gives another small smile.
Yikes. Maybe he really does need my help learning to talk to people. I mean, he’s said what, four words? I’m still not sure if it’s something I can teach, though. It’s not something I studied or anything – I’ve just always been a girl with plenty to say.
“Alrighty, well, I love all the soups, especially on a cool day like this one. Their spicy chicken salad sandwich is excellent, as well as the potato chips. They make them fresh in-house. So good!”
Trevor nods along, his brow slightly furrowed as if he’s taking these recommendations very seriously.
“So, we just go up to the counter and order and they’ll bring it to the table.” I pause and he remains silent. “Are you ready?”
“Yep.” He scoots back his chair. “Lead the way.”
He follows me to the counter and we wait in line for a minute before our turn. I order a half chicken salad sandwich and a bowl of broccoli alfredo soup. “Your turn.” I step aside for Trevor. “It’s my treat as a thank you for agreeing to help me, so add yours to mine. Whatever you want.”
He shoots me a glance and tells the teenage girl behind thecounter that he’ll have the same thing, except with a whole sandwich. I lean forward, card in hand to pay, but he scooches and turns so that I awkwardly bump into his shoulder.
“Oops, sorry about that.” I reverse myself and move around to his other side just in time to see his card slide into the reader. “Hey!” I protest. “I said it was my treat.”
He shrugs without looking at me. “Now it’s my treat.” He accepts a receipt and a table tag from the cashier and retreats to our table.
I follow, unsure if I should be grateful or outraged at his trickery. By the time we’re seated, I choose to give him the benefit of the doubt and be grateful.
I settle in and lean forward, crossing my arms on the table. “So, where should we start?”
Trevor reaches into his pocket and withdraws a piece of paper, which he unfolds and hands to me. I take it and scan it quickly. It looks like a list of projects for the set with bullet points under each one listing supplies and estimated costs.
I’m impressed. Not only did he remember the ideas I told him about, but he also listed them out and included details. The part of my heart reserved for the love of good organization beats a little faster. I start back at the top and read through it more slowly, totaling up the cost in my head.
“This looks great. The budget part is definitely doable and I think you selected the pieces that would make the most impression on stage. I just have a couple of questions.”
“Okay.” He’s giving me his full attention, eyes glued to my face, hands folded on the table in front of him.
“First of all, this looks like a lot of work. Are you sure you still want to do this? I don’t want you to feel obligated to fulfill a spur-of-the-moment deal if it’s going to be a bigger project than you anticipated.”
“I’m sure. Unless you’re rethinking it?”
I laugh. “It’s a great deal for me. I’d be crazy to back out. I just can’t help thinking I’m taking advantage of you.”
“You’re not. I volunteered. You didn’t ask me for anything.”