Paige Rewritten (5 page)

“Hey, Paige.”

I smile. “Hey, Tyler.”

“So. I just happen to be about ten minutes away from a beautiful girl's apartment, and I was just calling to see if she might be up for a late breakfast with me.”

I grin, feeling a blush on my cheeks even though he isn't even here. Tyler is good with the compliments. “Well, if you're referring to me, I already ate.”

“What?”

I speak louder. “I said, if you're referring to me — ”

“No, I heard you. What did you eat for breakfast?”

“Oh. Sorry I yelled. Raisin Bran.”

“Gross.”

“Hey,” I say. “I don't call your food choices gross.”

“Yes you do.”

I think about that one. Well, okay, he is right. “Never mind. Anyway, I'm free for lunch though.”

“Why aren't you going to eat lunch?”

I pull the phone away from my head to look at the signal bars on the screen. Full signal. I crank the volume in my voice again. “I said, I'm free for lunch,” I say, annunciating everything clearly.

“I heard you, Paige. Can you not hear me? Hello? Calling Paige Alder.”

“Tyler.”

“Look, all I know is that I took an economics class as a ninth grader, and I definitely was taught that there was no such thing as a free lunch. So if you are planning on being free at lunch, I'm just assuming you're not eating. How much Raisin Bran did you have this morning? Because I can only stomach so much before it starts getting soggy, and there really is nothing nastier than soggy bran flakes all clumping together.”

I close my eyes. “It is too early to talk to you.”

“Which is why we should eat instead of talk. Come on, Paige. I didn't even get the chance to give you your birthday gift yesterday.”

I smile. “I'd like that.”

“All right. Ten minutes. See you soon.”

The phone clicks in my ear. I go to find a pair of shoes and decide on flip-flops that do not look very good with what I have on but look supercute with a red skirt and white T-shirt. So it is time to change then.

I stare at the jeans and gray shirt after I take them off. This is always a dilemma for me. I have technically worn them. Does that make them clean or dirty? My mother's philosophy is that if it has come off the hanger, it's dirty and should be washed before being hung back up. I think that has something to do with my dad. When Mom met Dad, he was cutting all the tags off his shirts and wearing the front side one day, then flipping them inside out and wearing the other side the next day.

I think he called it “two-timing” his shirts.

I don't think Mom ever recovered from knowing that about my dad.

I end up just leaving the jeans and shirt on the bed, and I'll decide what to do with them whenever I get back. I stick my phone in my purse and am just sliding on a pair of silver dangle earrings when Tyler knocks on the door.

He is standing there grinning at me behind a huge bouquet of yellow roses. “Happy birthday!”

I take the bouquet, trying not to blush again. “Thanks, Tyler.” The flowers are already in a vase, which is a relief.

I'm the worst floral arranger in the history of bouquets. Somehow I always get half of the flowers cut three inches shorter than the others.

I smile at Tyler. Tyler is a software engineer, but you'd never be able to tell it by the way he looks. Most of the time he wears jeans, flannel shirts, and work boots. Right now, he's wearing cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. I am fairly certain this is the first time I've ever seen his feet.

It can be a scarring thing to behold a man's feet.

Tyler's aren't the worst I've ever seen. They aren't the best either, but considering the fact Tyler thinks jeans without holes are “nice” clothes, I am not too shocked.

His blond hair is all curly, like he forgot to run a comb through it after his shower. I smile wider. I like it like this.

“Ready for second breakfast?” he asks me as I set the vase on the kitchen table.

“Depends. Are you ready for first breakfast?”

“I'm starving.”

“I bet. It's almost eleven.” I pick up my purse and follow him out the door, then lock it behind me. When we get to the base of my stairs, he smiles warmly at me and gives me a side hug.

“I'm sorry I had to work so late yesterday. Where should we go to eat?”

I shrug. “I'm good with whatever.”

“Oh great. You're
that
person. I might have to rethink this.”

“What person?”

“The ‘no, really, whatever you want to do is exactly what I want to do' person. I'm sorry, Paige, but if this is going to work, I'm going to need you making approximately 50 percent of the decisions.”

I grin at him and follow him to his blue truck. “Yeah, but you haven't made any decisions yet either.”

“I did too. I decided we should go out to eat.”

“I am fairly certain that does not count.”

He holds the passenger door open. “Well, one of us has to decide.”

“How about that pancake place over by that pet store? They've got brunchy stuff.”

“Sounds good.”

He drives there, talking the whole time about how busy work is and how sorry he is that he missed seeing me on my birthday.

“Really, Paige. I felt terrible. What a way to make a good impression, right?”

I shrug. My birthday wasn't all awful, but it wasn't great. I am not sure Tyler could have changed any of that, though. Odds were that Luke would still have shown up.

And then Preslee this morning.

I rub my forehead.

Tyler looks over at me. “All okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Sorry. I'll explain later.”

We get to the restaurant and Tyler pulls the truck into a parking space. I first discovered this place when I was in the middle of my first midterms here. It was the only nonscary-looking place open late and it smelled like heaven inside. And another heavenly attribute, it was cheap.

I came here a lot through college. Most of my Freshmen Fifteen was thanks to the peach pancakes with a side of bacon.

Which is why the day after I graduated, I started running.

We get seated at a table in the corner and I look around at the Saturday late-morning customers. Families who are visiting over ice-cold pancake remnants and likely their umpteenth coffee refill while babies and kids play goofy games with each other. Men reading the paper alone. Ladies chatting over some of the lunch options.

“I don't know if I've ever actually eaten here before.” Tyler opens the menu. “I think I came in here once with Rick, and it was packed to the rafters so we headed to IHOP instead.” He shrugged. “Rick was apparently in a pancake mood.”

“Those moods are hard to shake,” I say, feeling Rick's pain. The need for pancakes struck often after I vowed to stop coming here. I tried to shut the need up with celery sticks, and it rarely worked.

I will never understand how some people can exist on diets of fruits and vegetables. I have a deep mix of sympathy for them and envy of them.

“So. What's good here?”

“Peach pancakes,” I tell him decidedly. I've already eaten my semihealthy breakfast of Raisin Bran, and I am still thinking of ordering the peach pancakes.

I always thought there was no cereal more healthy than Raisin Bran until I was sleepily reading the cereal box one morning and realized that sugar was listed twice in the ingredients.

Now I am not sure, even though in my brain the word
bran
is pretty much synonymous with
lover of all things healthy
.

Tyler makes a noise deep in the back of his throat. “Mmm. Burritos. Ever had the meat-lover's burrito?”

“You do not know me at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Tyler, there are peach pancakes here. Peach. Pancakes. As in, the best ever. Why would I trade those in for something I could get at any truck stop in the city?”

He shrugs. “I figure this burrito is probably made with real bacon. That's one up on the truck-stop burritos.”

I just stare at him. “Please tell me you are joking.”

“No, I'm serious. I bet this place uses real pork.”

I make a face and the waiter comes over. “Good morning. Can I start you off with some coffee? Or perhaps one of our cinnamon rolls? Are you feeling okay, ma'am?”

I look up at the waiter, and if I have to guess, he is right around my age. And he is calling me
ma'am
.

That doesn't sit well for some reason. Probably because I just turned another year older. “I'm fine, sir.”

Tyler smushes his lips together and stares very intensely at his menu.

“Coffee?” the waiter asks again.

“Yes please. With cream for mine.”

“You, sir?”

Tyler shakes his head. “Just orange juice for me, thanks.”

“Are you ready to order?” he asks, scribbling our drink order on a notepad. We both order our breakfast and Tyler hands the menus to the waiter.

“Happy birthday,
ma'am
.” Tyler hands me a small wrapped box across the table.

I didn't see him carrying anything in, so it must have been in his pocket. I smile. “Thanks, Tyler.”

I rip off the wrapping paper, a little worried that it's jewelry or something way beyond where I think we probably are in a semirelationship. I mean, we haven't even defined anything yet.

To me, that equals way too early for jewelry.

I get the last of the wrapping paper off. It is a jewelry box. A blue velvety one.

I look up at him and he grins cheekily. “Will you open it, slowpoke?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and squeak the tiny box open.

Two tickets are propped in the box, and I look up and squint at him. “You're not telling me that you sleep on Red Sox sheets, are you?”

“No, but
Fever Pitch
was a great movie. Read the tickets, Paige.”

“Frisco RoughRiders,” I read slowly and then look up at him. “It's a rodeo?”

“It's baseball, Paige. It's the minor league team near here? Please tell me you've heard of baseball. Batter up? Home runs? Strikeouts? Hot dogs?”

“Easy there, Tyler.” I hold up a hand. “I have heard of baseball.”

“Ever been to a game?”

I nod. “My dad took me to a few when I was little.”

Tyler beams at me. “Great! Then you know it's tons of fun.”

I just look at the tickets, at Tyler, and then nod, smiling. “Oh yes,” I say, closing the jewelry box. “Thanks, Tyler.”

It's not that I have something against baseball. Like I said, my dad is a huge baseball fan. I just like the freedom to wear my pajamas and change the channel to more important things like finding out what color cabinets the
Kitchen Cousins
are going to install on that episode while watching baseball. I'm not a fan of the whole go-to-the-park-and-eat-artificially-flavored-nachos thing.

There is a place for artificial flavors. It is usually in cough drops.

“Well, anyway, the tickets are actually gift certificates so we can go whenever it's a good time for you,” Tyler says. “I mean, they play 140 games. I figure, surely we can find a time that works for the two of us
one
of those nights.”

I suddenly feel very sorry for all of the wives and girlfriends of those players. That is a major time commitment for something that only serves to be entertainment while eating hot dogs.

“So, Tyler.” I drop the box into my purse, preparing to tell him all about Luke and Preslee. The Luke part will likely be awkward. Actually, so will the Preslee part because I haven't shared very much of that with Tyler yet.

Some things just shouldn't be shared in detail for a little while.

The waiter comes right then, and I stop while he situates our drinks and food on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

I barely hear him because I am distracted with the plate of steaming hot peaches, pooling peach syrup, and melting whipped cream all piled on top of four of the largest pancakes I've ever seen.

This is much bigger than it was when I came here in college.

Unless it is one of those perspective things like teenage drivers. When you are one, you and everyone else your age look very mature and capable. When you are older, all teen drivers look like they should still be in booster seats.

Tyler whistles at my plate. “Now
those
are pancakes.”

I glance up at his burrito and shake my head. The thing is larger than Tyler's torso. And Tyler is not what I would call small-chested.

“Why don't we pray? I'm worried now for our arteries.” Tyler grins.

I fold my hands under the table to avoid the whole awkward “should we hold hands to pray yet?” thing, and Tyler says a quick prayer.

“Thank You, Lord, for this meal, for this day, and for the beautiful company. Please bless this year of Paige's. Amen.”

“Amen. And thank you,” I say, smiling up at him.

“Okay. Let's eat!” He grabs his fork.

I take a few bites and then decide it is now or never. “So, Tyler, I actually — ”

“Hi, Paige.”

And there is Luke, standing right next to my chair.

Timing will never be my strong suit.

Chapter

4

I
was never the girl in school who always had a string of boys around her. If anything, I was the opposite. I barely went out unless it was to Layla's house, and I didn't even know I was on my first date until it was over, seeing as how a “bunch of us going to the movies” turned into me; Layla; Layla's high school crush, Tim; and Tim's cousin, Daniel.

After the boys left the theater, Layla burst into a happy monologue about how excited she was that our first double date was with each other and how we could just marry Tim and Daniel and be cousins-in-law and have all kinds of cute babies that had the same last name.