My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (16 page)

“Not a lot… why?” I suspiciously ask.

She shrugs. “No reason,” she plays with the edge of the desk. “I called and you didn’t answer. Were you out somewhere?”

Okay, I may just be being paranoid, but she knows something. Not that it’s a big secret. I’m just not sure if I am ready to tell
everyone
. And telling my mother is virtually telling everyone.

“I just went out for a bit,” I say, and try to keep my tone as casual as possible.

“With anyone in particular?” she asks and looks at me from the corner of my eye.

“Just… a friend,” I say.

“Do I know this friend?” she asks, and I can now see a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I knew it. But how could she possibly know?

“Maybe,” I say.

“Maybe?” she repeats.

“Maybe,” I say again.

We both eye each other, waiting for the other one to budge first from this evasive game. There has never been a doubt in anyone’s mind where I get my stubbornness from. I also inherited my mother’s love of games.

“I’m just surprised you got him to go on those rides,” my mother finally concedes. Her need for gossip obviously outweighs the need to win right now.

“How did you know that we went on rides?”

There is no way that Travis called to talk to my mother about last night. At least, I am hoping he didn’t because it would be
very
weird for me.

“Mrs. Johnson saw you and Travis kissing on the Ferris Wheel yesterday.”

“Mrs. Johnson from the end of the street? What was she doing there, she’s like ninety!” I exclaim. Honestly, if the police really wanted to solve all the unsolved crimes they should just gather up all the seniors – they see
everything
you don’t want them to see.

“She was there with her grandchildren,” my mother waves away the explanation. “More importantly, what were
you
doing there with
Travis
?”

“We just… went out,” I shrug.

“I don’t think so,” my mother says, shaking her head. “I need more details than that!”

This is so weird. Me, talking to my mother about
Travis
. I mean, we talk about him all the time, but it is usually me complaining about something he’s done. We’ve never talked about him like…
this
… before.

“There’s nothing to say. I was getting stuck with writing my reality book, and he asked me out,” I say.

My parents loved the idea when I told them about my book, but they got a little wary when I told them I would be following Travis around for it. They said that it wasn’t a bad idea, they just didn’t think it was going to work.

“And then he just kissed you?” she asks, not buying my casual attitude. “So, are the two of you going to be dating for the novel?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It’s kind of… weird.”

“Why?” Mom asks.

I frown. “Because this is Travis we are talking about. Me and Travis.
Dating
,” I add to emphasise my point.

My mother shrugs. “I think it’s romantic.”

It’s strange, but my mother’s casual acceptance of what I thought was a very big deal makes me relax and look at it a little more clearly. If I were an outside observer I would think it was romantic too.

It kind-of, sort-of, is just a little romantic.

“I got a picture of us,” I say. “On the Ferris Wheel.”

I reach into my purse and produce the picture I bought from last night. I didn’t show it to Travis because to be honest I didn’t want to embarrass him. But now…

Now I think it’s really cute.

The picture is of the two of us right before we were about to get off, right after the Ferris Wheel lurched unexpectedly. My head is thrown back, laughing at Travis’s panicked reaction when we were only feet from the ground. And Travis…

Travis is looking at me laughing. The fear is completely gone from his face and is replaced with… the only word I can think of is
adoration
. In that second right then and there I can tell he completely and utterly adores me.

And it scares the pants off me.

And it’s crazy. How can I feel terrified one minute and then a few words from my mother and all of a sudden I see things completely differently? It makes absolutely no logical sense.

But when has anything when it comes to love?

“It’s lovely,” my mom says, taking the photo in her hand.

“Do you see the way he’s looking at me?” I ask. “I’ve never seen him look like that before.”

My mom’s eyes soften when she looks at me. “He’s looked at you like that since you were kids.”

“What? No he hasn’t,” I deny. “I would have noticed.”

My mom smiles like she knows a secret. “It’s a fact in life that we are very good at seeing what we want to see. Men are more logical: they look at the facts and let them speak for themselves. Except for their receding hair− they are in complete denial about that. Women, well, we can work with what we’ve got to make it work. We can turn something very small into the most important thing, and then huge things that seem so obvious just get overlooked.”

At my frown my mother adds, “It’s not your fault, Etty. You think with your heart and there’s nothing wrong with that. Except sometimes when we are wishing for our dreams, we let some beautiful ones pass us by.”

“Do you really think he’s always felt this way?” I ask, holding up the picture.

“Don’t feel so bad,” she says, laughing while adjusting her purse strap. “Your father was the one who had to point it out to me.”

After my mom leaves I grab my purse and fish my cell phone out.

There are a million questions I want to ask Travis, but as my fingers sit on the screen I just can’t bring myself to ask any.

Might be a few minutes late. Have to pick up the crab for your appetizer. Let yourself in. xox

I decide to add the xox. I’m not sure why, and I immediately regret it once I’ve sent it. It’s too soon. He will definitely think it’s too soon.

Sounds good. I will be waiting with the wine and Pepto-Bismol.

No kisses or hugs. I knew it was too much. He sounds upbeat, but he must have thought it was a little weird. I would if someone wrote that to me after our first date.

Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.

Or he’s currently figuring out a way to cancel.

Honestly, relationships are a lot of work and I’m not even sure if I’m in one.

Chapter Fourteen

I open the front door to my apartment and see Travis sitting on my couch, watching the hockey.

Naturally.

He looks up and smiles.

“I got the food,” I volunteer, holding up the brown grocer’s bag. “The crab is fresh.”

Travis raises his hands to cover his ears. “I feel the less I know, the better it will be.”

I offer him a big, fake laugh and close the front door. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” he says, smiling while turning his attention back to the television.

I walk over to the kitchen and start taking all of the ingredients out of the bag. To be honest, I don’t think I have ever had this many fresh ingredients in my kitchen at one time. I’m not sure if I was even pronouncing most of it right when I was buying it.

But I have a recipe, what could possibly go wrong?

A lot, I know.

I finally manage to stuff the mushrooms with my crab meat concoction, which looks a lot better in the picture, and shove the pan into the oven. I try to clean up a little so I can start preparing for the entrée, but I have cream sauce all down the front of my shirt, I ate way too many raw mushrooms and now feel pretty nauseous, and I’m really not sure if they are supposed to smell like that.

After a few minutes of tidying up, I feel Travis come to stand behind me, his chest pressed against my back as he looks over my shoulder.

“Pretty impressive,” he nods.

His closeness makes me forget absolutely every ingredient I put in those crab cakes. He smells so good. Like fresh soap. Like Travis.

“But, I reserve all judgement until I taste one,” he jokes before kissing me on the top of the head.

I quickly turn around and now my chest is pressed against his and we both have cream sauce down the front of us.

I look up into his face and study it, my hands gripping the countertop behind me.

His easy smile is on his face, but something is different in his eyes. Or maybe it’s always been there and I’ve just never noticed it before.

It’s desire. And it is directly solely at me.

I push up on my toes and press my lips to his, throwing my arms around his neck.

I still have doubts, and a lot of questions.

But kissing Travis is just too good.

His hands start on my hips, then cross my back, pulling me closer than I was before, as his lips work their magic over mine.

This is Travis. This is me and Travis, in my kitchen,
kissing
. And I love it. Who would have thought this could happen− well, except everyone I know, apparently.

My mouth opens to his tongue and I sigh as his hand comes up to my ribcage, resting just below my breast.

The shrill buzzer causes me to jerk my head up.

“Did someone score?” I ask, frowning.

“I think it’s your crab,” Travis smiles.

“They can wait,” I wave it away and try to recapture his lips.

“Etty, this might be the first edible thing you’ve ever made. Do you really want to risk overcooking them?” Travis teases before kissing me quickly and stepping away.

He reaches for the oven mitt but I shoo him away.

“I will do that! You just go and watch your game,” I say, taking the glove from him and hitting him on the arm with it.

“So domestic,” he winks before making his way back to the arm chair I try to pass off as a couch.

And the truth is, I love
this
. Making food for Travis while he sits on the couch and watches television. I’d rather be watching Modern Family, but I can handle the hockey.

Plus his face gets adorably excited when his team nearly scores. And then ridiculously cute when they miss and he pouts.

I arrange the mushrooms on a plate. They definitely look better after they’ve been cooked but I thought they might be a little more solid. Picking them up and trying to move them is almost more difficult than stuffing them was. Also the cream is still going everywhere.

I pick up the plate to bring the mushrooms over to the couch and I see my purse sitting on top of my little kitchenette table. Without thinking I walk over to it and take out the picture of me and Travis. I lean forward and put the plate down on the coffee table, and stand up straight again. Travis looks to the plate, then to my face, smiling up at me.

“Are you going to sit down for a minute?” he asks, patting the small space beside him on the arm chair.

My fingers clutch the picture that I hold behind my back.

“Yes,” I say, not moving.

Travis smiles, raising his eyebrows. “But…”

He knows me too well. I’m not sure if I really like that or really hate that.

“But, I have to ask you something,” I say.

“Okay…” he says, and I can see amusement on his face.

“But, I don’t think I should,” I say, struggling with an internal war.

Now Travis is frowning.

“But I have to,” I say, exasperated with myself. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I am a woman, but I can’t let it go. Even though I know I should; that it’s just going to come out sounding really weird, and then it’s going to be awkward. But I have to ask, I just can’t let it go!”

Okay, I’m getting a little hysterical now which is mainly because I am nervous.

“You’re losing me,” Travis shakes his head.

I sit down on the couch, tucked in beside Travis, and put the picture on his knee.

“Did you always look at me like this?” I ask, studying his face.

He picks up the picture and his eyes crinkle with the smile. “This is a good picture of us.”

“Travis,” I say, raising one eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” he says, still holding the picture.

I point to it. “You’re looking at me like…” I shrug, “like I’m everything.”

Travis studies my face, before sighing and shaking his head. “Maybe you are.”

Okay, so I guess he wasn’t freaked out by the hugs and kisses on my text.

“How can you say that?” I say, raising my shoulders. “How could I not
see
that?”

“I didn’t want you to,” Travis says, shrugging.

“Why not?” I ask.

“I didn’t think you would feel the same way,” he says. “I didn’t know if you ever would.”

I look down at the picture and realise that this is why most men don’t ask a lot of questions. Because the answers just raise more and more questions.

“So, what made you think I was ready now?” I ask.

Travis’ crooked smile is back. “I could just tell.”

“How?” I press.

“Well, you were just a tad jealous on my date−”

“I was not!” I say, but at his skeptical look I concede, “Alright, maybe just a little.”

“I don’t know, you were just looking at me differently. So I went for it,” he says.

“That’s it?” I say, incredulously. “You’ve hidden these feelings for pretty much your whole life and then you get a
feeling
and decide to give it a try?”

Travis thinks about it for a minute. “Pretty much.”

Honestly, I don’t know how men do it. That decision would have taken me months of discussion and internal dialogue and I still would have put it on the maybe list.

“So you just hid your feelings this whole time?” I ask. I guess I just can’t understand it because I know it is the complete opposite of what I would do. I mean, I would
try
to hide it, but I would probably last about five minutes. And if I even got a smile in my direction I would interpret it as a marriage proposal.

Maybe that’s what I am so upset about. Not that Travis had to hide it, but that I, a supposed intelligent, observant author, didn’t
see
it. What else am I missing in life?

“I’m a patient person,” he says in way of explanation. “And I decided that I would rather have you as my best friend than not have you in my life at all.”