Joy and Tiers Page 8

  “Well, it’s not my fault those other guys aren’t paying attention to what’s right in front of them,” I remark. It’s too bad she’s in the other room and can’t see that I’m dead serious.

  Heather makes a tsking noise and says, “Ty, you don’t have to patronize me. I am well aware I don’t look like a fashion model and most days I’m totally okay with it. On the other hand, I also know I’m not going to end up like Ken and Barbie either. I’ve built a life without all that stuff. Although, I’ll admit having Kiera and Jeff around with their perfect little family has made it a little more difficult because all the things I’m going to miss are paraded in front of my face. It makes them a little harder to ignore.”

  “Gidget, if you knew the things going through my mind when I think of you, you would go running. I don’t want some skinny, twig of a girl who spends far too much time baking herself under a lamp and not enough time eating and being outside. If I did, I could collect those girls any day of the week because they’re a dime a dozen. On the other hand, a girl like you — well, let’s just say you’re a rare commodity. Do you really think Jeff and Kiera really couldn’t figure out how to set up their barbecue, their new computer network or the kiddie pool for Mindy?”

  “I don’t know. Come to think of it, it is unlike Kiera to ask for help with that kind of stuff,” Heather mutters under her breath.

  “I’ve been hanging out with them so much because I’ve been looking for opportunities to be around you. It’s just that simple. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

  It grew strangely quiet for a moment, and all I could hear was the sound of a spoon hitting the side of the pot as she stirs something in the kitchen. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking regarding my bizarre ramblings. “To be honest, I was beginning to wonder if you have stalker-ish tendencies because you seem to be under my feet everywhere I turn.”

  A large guffaw of laughter escapes me as I hear her comment because it’s not far from the truth. “I can see how it might look that way. I just like being around you and I wasn’t sure how receptive you would be to the whole dating scene after we got off to such a rough start. Speaking of that, are you interested in dating me?” I ask, immediately kicking myself for my impulsiveness.

  “Holy cow, Cowboy! Way to put a girl on the spot. I think maybe we should wait and see how dinner goes first before making any huge decisions.”

  “Okay, I’m good with that,” I answer, suddenly feeling even more pressure over my aversion to pasta. As I load the video game, I take note of her high score, and I realize I was a little too hasty in my assessment of my ability to wipe the floor with her. Now, I’m even more curious about where she developed her video game prowess.

  After a few minutes, Heather emerges from the kitchen. Her artfully styled hair is a little worse for the wear as it’s now damp and curling at the temples. Her cheeks are rosy red, but her eyes are sparkling. She clearly enjoys this. As she sets a dish down in front of me, I see an oval-shaped ramekin full of what looks like rice. The smells coming from this dish are phenomenal. I love the smell of garlic and onions. It looks like there are also some mushrooms in this dish. I’m pretty ambivalent about mushrooms. I don’t love them, but I don’t hate them either. It looks like she broiled some cheese on the top. Melted cheese is almost always good.

  The anticipation is killing me. It looks like this dish is going to be as amazing as the last two. She holds out a bite for me to try. She’s so cute as she blows on it to make sure I don’t burn my mouth. My stomach growls as I lean forward to take a bite. Heather giggles as she hears the obnoxiously rude noise.

  “I’m so sorry! How rude of me.” I murmur as I swallow the heavenly bite. I swear, my eyes practically roll in the back of my head from the amount of positive endorphins in my body. I can’t believe I ever thought I didn’t like this kind of food. If this is what it tastes like to eat crow, I’ll eat it every single day of the week.

  Heather laughs at the expression on my face. “Like that, did you? Are you ready for the next one or do you want to wait?” she asks with a wide grin.

  I dramatically sigh as I announce, “No, I don’t want to wait a second longer than necessary to try any more food. I hereby pronounce you a world-class chef.”

  Heather curtsies as she replies in her best Elvis impersonation, “Why thank you, thank you very much. I’ll be right back with your next dish.”

  This time when she returns, she is carrying a small casserole dish.

  This is just what I feared would happen. Casseroles are the bane of my existence. I have to fight back my gag reflex. It’s nothing Heather has done. In fact, the dish she brought out looks delicious. I try to focus on the fact that it smells phenomenal. It has a rich tomato sauce and lots of herbs and spices. I can see lots of melted cheese and smell garlic and onions. I’m trying very hard to push back against decades of ingrained habit.

  A look of concern crosses Heather’s face as she studies my reaction. “Would you like me to take it away?” She asks softly. “This was only meant to be a silly bet, not a form of torture. If it’s that difficult, I’ll just stop it all now.” She takes a set of hot pads and picks up the offending dish and starts to carry it back to the kitchen.

  I grasp her arm to stop her. “Please Gidget, stop. I need to try to do this. It’s just a stupid thing I need to overcome. Let me try it. I’m sure it’s delicious,” I plead.

  Heather looks dubious but nods as she murmurs, “Okay if you’re sure. But, if you don’t like it, you don’t need to eat it. You won’t hurt my feelings, I swear.”

  “Heather, you do understand this is not about the quality of your cooking, right? It’s all about my weird childhood hang-ups,” I hasten to reassure her.

  “I get that,” she concedes. “But, if I’m any good, I should be able to cook in a way that doesn’t trigger those emotional cues for you.”

  “Gidget, I think you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. I’ve had these weird food issues for a long time. No one else has been able to get around them, I think it’s a little unrealistic for you to expect that you’ll be able to cure me in one single meal,” I reply.

  “Well, you know me. I’m the quintessential optimist, and I’m sure as heck going to give it a try,” Heather quips.

  “That’s true, you are a natural-born-cheerleader,” I concede. “So, I’m going to count on your winning spirit to distract me from my gargantuan sized phobias around eating anything that resembles a casserole.”

  Heather giggles as she asks, “You’re flipping out because you think you have to eat casserole? I know I said I wouldn’t do this, but let me put your mind at ease. In no way shape or form are you eating a casserole. You are eating freshly made lasagna with handmade pasta noodles, and freshly made ricotta cheese. Nothing like anything you probably grew up with and nothing like you can get out of your freezer section in the grocery store. So, if you’re trying to avoid the memories of childhood casseroles, I think this is probably as far away from them as you can get.”

  I find my stomach growling again at the mere description of the dish in front of me. “It sure sounds completely different than I remember.”

  “Are you ready to try again?” Heather asks gently. “Would it help if you had some incentive?”

  “I don’t know, Gidget. I hadn’t considered that option. What did you have in mind?”

  “I think I’ll leave it up to you,” Heather responds. “I’m not sure I know you well enough to know what motivates you.”

  “I have a few ideas, but I’m not sure what you’ll think of them,” I reply, feeling only slightly guilty.

  Heather is immediately suspicious — and rightly so. “Dare I ask what you’ve come up with?”

  “Well, since this is going to be so difficult for me, I think I would like a kiss for every bite I take.”

  Heather looks a little stunned by my proposal. But, then she bursts out laughing. “Uh-huh, I can imagine you do. But, see I drive a hard bargain too.
So, I want to know what’s in this deal for me,” she counters.

  I give her a look of mock outrage and hurt as I say, “Well, me of course. I’ve been told that I’m an excellent kisser. You wouldn’t want to miss out on that experience. Besides that, you won’t get a more honest opinion of your lasagna than mine.”

  Much to my shock, Heather shrugs and announces, “Sure, as long as I get to pick the placement and duration, I’m game.”

  I’m almost certain that I didn’t hear her correctly, so I try to clarify what she said, “Are you sure Gidget?” I ask. “I want to be a gentleman here.”

  “I’m sure. I don’t ever take a gamble I don’t feel comfortable with or a bet that I don’t intend to win,” she clarifies. “Besides, I’m trying to help you here. You have the most to lose in this situation.”

  “Then, by all means consider me incentivized,” I say with a grin. Before I lose my nerve, I grab a fork and take a bite. To my relief, it has none of the spongy, mealy taste I have long associated with casserole and lasagna. In fact, that overly squishy library-paste-type texture that was present in every pasta dish I remember my mom ever making is just not there. Instead, it’s warm and cheesy and flavorful. Eating this is not going to be nearly as difficult as I had anticipated. Given our current wager, I’m not sure how quickly I’ll clue Heather into my new state of mind. It might be fun to draw the situation out just a little while longer. A sympathetic Heather might be a little more fun to play with.

  I chew my food carefully and swallow it with deliberation. I carefully take a sip of my iced tea and hold my mouth open like a five-year-old for her to inspect.

  She laughs at my antics, pats me on the head and compliments me by saying, “Very good.” She proceeds to reward me by kissing me chastely on the cheek.

  “That wasn’t what I had in mind, Darlin’,” I remark, “but I guess it’ll do for a start.”

  I pick up another fork from the table and dish up a bite for her and feed it to her. After she chews and swallows, I praise her, “Very good, Gidget.”

  Heather snorts with laughter as she says, “Very clever.” She presents her cheek for me to kiss. Gallantly, I place a light kiss on her beautiful cheek even though I’d like much more. Her skin is as soft as a rose petal.

  Mentally, I fast-forward the game a few more steps in my head and decide that it could get interesting. Suddenly, whether I like or dislike pasta has become largely immaterial in the grand scheme of things.

  Apparently deciding this is a fun game of tit-for-tat, Heather takes my fork from me and serves up another bite. As I try to maneuver it off of the fork without making a huge mess, I notice her eyes darken, and her nostrils flare. Who knew something as simple as taking a bite of food could be so sensual? Instinctively, I move toward her. Initially, she seems caught up in the same spell. But, then she blinks and backs away slightly.

  Taking the tactful hint, I make a theatrical production of presenting my other cheek for her to kiss. She is seemingly grateful for the choice as she gives me an exaggerated smack leaving a large lipstick ring on my cheek, which she proceeds to dab off with the napkin leaving a perfect impression. When she turns away to get me a piece of garlic bread, I tuck the napkin away in my pocket for safekeeping.

  I break off a piece of the bread and give it to her, and when her lips touch my fingers, it’s quite distracting — which I suppose is the whole point of the exercise. But, it’s enough to make a man wearing jeans quite uncomfortable.

  “Would you like some more lasagna?” I ask as I pick up her fork, preparing to give her a bite.

  “Oh, no thank you,” she answers. “I had more than enough to eat today. I’m stuffed. I really couldn’t take another bite.”

  I shake my head in frustration. “Gidget, didn’t we have this conversation about you having what you want to eat because you want it not because someone tells you it’s the right thing to eat?”

  Heather shakes her head as she replies, “Relax, Cowboy. This time it doesn’t have anything to do with my body image. I’m just ridiculously full. Do you know how much I eat when I’m cooking?”

  “Okay, I guess I’ll climb off my high horse. I didn’t think about that. Are you sure you’re not just claiming you’re full so that I don’t get to kiss you?”

  Heather wrinkles her nose at me. “Yes, I’m positive. I don’t welch on my bets. If it makes you feel any better, you can still kiss me as if I’ve taken the bites.”

  “Oh, Darlin’ that would most definitely make me feel better.” I tease. “The question is would it make you feel better?”

  “I don’t know. It’s still a little early to tell,” Heather parries.

  “Well, I’ve got nowhere pressing to be. Do you?” I respond in a teasing voice.

  “I’ll have to see how well you do. I still reserve the right to need to wash my hair,” Heather replies, flipping her gorgeous mane of hair over her shoulder.

  My eyebrows rise in surprise as I inquire, “Do women really use that excuse?”

  “Cowboy, you never want to be in a situation to find out. Because if you’ve ever heard it, it’s time to hit the panic button for sure.”

  “Really?” I ask, thinking of all the lame excuses I’ve heard over the years. “What about ‘I have to change the oil on my bosses’ car.’?”

  “Possible, but also unlikely. I’d call the BS card.”

  “I have to give the dog a bath?” I venture, pretty certain I already know the answer.

  “Definitely a stalling technique,” Heather answers with a look of pity. ”What are you doing to these poor women? It seems like you’ve had every line in the book used against you.”

  I hold up my palms in a gesture of innocence as I say, “Nothing! I swear I’m a nice guy. Maybe too nice, I don’t know. I’ll admit I can be sarcastic sometimes, but at my core I am just a Southern gentleman with Midwestern roots. I guess I feel out of step with a lot of people. I feel like I need an updated rulebook for dating. The one I was raised with doesn’t seem to cover the real world anymore.”

  “I think we all feel that way,” Heather replies as she cuts up another bite for me to eat. “Social media has changed the way that we communicate, perceive ourselves and the world around us. So, it’s understandable that dating has had to adapt as well. In some ways, it’s been positive because the feedback is almost immediate, but that can also be a double-edged sword because people don’t always think a situation through before they share their thoughts. It doesn’t take long for what could have been a minor situation to turn very, very ugly.”

  “That sounds like there may be a personal story there—” I reply and wait for her to fill in the rest of the story.

  “Oh Lord, Cowboy, you don’t have time for all of my stories that fit that scenario,” Heather admits, rolling her eyes in a self-deprecating manner. “If we hang out together long enough, I’m sure you’ll hear about most of them. I’m pretty legendary and the epic-relationship-fail department. In fact, they could probably write one of those semi-tragic romantic comedies about my sad, pathetic life.”

  “You had me fooled. You have one of the best attitudes about life I’ve ever seen,” I remark.

  ”Don’t feel bad, that’s how it’s supposed to sound. I’ve had years of practice pretending to be things I’m not. So, it’s pretty much second nature to me that it’s hard for even me to draw a distinction between the real Heather Lydia LaBianca and the one that was invented to make people happy.” She looks at me and raises the signature eyebrow in question and waves the fork in my direction as she asks, “Bite?”

  “Sure, why not?” I reply with a shrug as I open my mouth and take a large bite. “At this point, the benefits to me far outweigh the costs.”

  Heather gives a chirp of laughter as she responds, “Tyler Joseph Colton, no wonder your dating life is on the skids. Your table manners are abominable. You shouldn’t be talking with your mouth full, even if it is with my food. I don’t even know your mama and I know she taught you
better than that.”

  Already envisioning a meeting between Heather and my mom, I smile. It would be a wild pairing, regardless of how you slice it. I certainly wouldn’t get away with much with those two women in my life. I snicker as I respond, “Yes, she did indeed teach me that and virtually everything else good I know in life. So, I owe you an apology for being so rude as to talk with my mouth full. I should say, ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me.’ —or words to that effect.”

  Heather gives a small sigh as she says, “Well, I suppose I can forgive you for being a momentary brute if you can forgive me for being too much of a mother hen. Sometimes, I can tend to sound a little bit like a kindergarten teacher instead of a friend or a girlfriend.”

  “Oh, does this conversation officially establish that we’re dating?” I ask in a teasing voice. I’ve never been so eager to establish a relationship with someone faster than I am with her. I’m not sure what it is about her that made me flip the ‘commitment’ switch, but for the first time in my life, I’m not looking for excuses to run away from it but rather for ways to make it happen.

  “Tyler Colton!” Heather exclaims, “You give the word pushy a whole new meaning. We haven’t even eaten dessert yet. I’ve figured out part of the reason you get so many excuses from women. It’s not because you’re not a nice guy, it’s because you’re completely overwhelming. Everything about you is big and bold. From your size and mannerisms to your pronouncements. You might want to try taking it down a notch or two. I have a hunch you might be a little more successful if you backed off a little.”

  “Point taken, I suppose,” I concede. “But, I’m a take-charge kind of guy by nature. I mean, look at my professional life. Choose any of them. I’m a soldier. I’m a law enforcement officer and for fun, I wrangle wild horses. I’m not exactly the shy-and-retiring type.”

  “Tyler, don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking you to change your personality or who you are. I’m just asking you to temper your approach. When you’re on a call for the police department do you approach every situation with the same intensity?” Heather asks.