It's a Waverly Life (3 page)

“Indeed it was. That, followed by a discussion of why men around the globe continue to wear jean shorts.”

When we got in the car, he reached over and lightly caressed my cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I smiled. “Me too.” His touch was gentle and warm, and suddenly I was even more nervous than I thought I’d be.
Don’t freak out on him again.

We drove from the airport into the late afternoon sun, first chatting about my flight, then his latest developments at work, then the Hawks game the following evening. I wasn’t much of a basketball fan, but he had courtside seats for us. He’d be with the team during warm-ups and halftime and timeouts, but unless someone got hurt, he’d be able to sit with me the rest of the time. How could I not enjoy
that?

“What’s going on with the Honey Notes? Are they still flying off the shelves?”

I shook my head. “They’re
on
the shelves, but not exactly flying off them anymore. Still, enough to pay the bills for now.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I think I need to come up with something new, but I don’t know what it is yet.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the idea of new ideas.”

He laughed. “What?”

I cleared my throat. “I guess you could say I’m in the idea stage. There’s just not much on the stage yet. So how about you? Seen any crazy ankle sprains lately?”

He laughed. “Are you changing the subject on me?”

“You catch on fast, Mr. McIntyre.” I grinned at him.

He briefly removed his hands from the steering wheel. “Okay, okay, I’ll back off the Honey questions. What about the newspaper column? How’s that going?” We were driving by yet another identical strip mall. I made a mental note to count the number of T.G.I. Friday’s I saw during the weekend.

I smoothed my hair with my hand. “I don’t see a Pulitzer Prize in my future, but so far, Honey on Your Mind has been a lot of fun. It’s amazing what people write to me, Jake. I mean, they share some nutty stories.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

I spread my hands wide in front of me. “Like
everything
. Some of them hold nothing back in their e-mails. It’s like they’re the same people who post what they ate for breakfast on Facebook. I mean, who CARES what you ate for breakfast? WE DON’T CARE.”

“Honestly, I think you should learn to enjoy knowing what people had for breakfast.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“I made a tasty omelet today, red peppers and jack cheese, some nice onions in there. Even posted a photo of it online.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please, like you even have a Facebook account. You barely use e-mail.”

“Well maybe I’ll just have to get one. And that reminds me, I need to tweet about that omelet when we get to my place.”

I pointed at him. “Don’t go there, Mr. McIntyre. No tweeting, or you can turn around right now and take me back to the airport. I’m serious.”

“No can do, Miss Bryson. I’ve got you all to myself until Sunday, and I don’t plan to let you go a minute earlier.”

I could feel myself blushing. “You don’t?”

“I don’t.”

I smiled and looked out the window. We were passing the eighteenth strip mall, the eighteenth T.G.I. Friday’s. I stole a peek at Jake and thought about the weekend ahead.
Thank God it’s Friday,
I thought.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to a tidy, white Tudor-style house in a quaint part of Atlanta Jake told me was called Virginia Highlands. The house had brown shutters and a real mailbox on the sidewalk. He got out of the car to grab my bag, and for a moment I stayed in the passenger seat, studying the house. I’d known he lived a few miles outside of downtown, but I was unexpectedly struck by the difference in our living arrangements. He was a full-fledged homeowner. I was a perennial renter. He had a driveway, a garage, a front yard,
and
a backyard. I shared a coin-operated washer and dryer with the strangers in my building.

Although I was only three years younger than he was, I suddenly felt like he was a whole lot older.

Jake McIntyre was already an adult. Waverly Bryson was still trying to become one.

“Hey, you there?” He tapped on the passenger window and opened the door, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I blinked. “Sorry, I spaced for a minute. I love your house, Jake. It’s really pretty.”

“It’s not fancy, but it’s perfect for me. I’ll give you the grand tour when we get inside.”

We crossed the stone walkway to the front door, which he held open for me to pass through. I stepped inside the foyer and took a look around. The house wasn’t huge, but the ceilings were very high, so it made everything look bigger. The walls were a pale beige with crisp white crown moldings, and the handsome oak furniture reminded me of a Restoration Hardware store. The place smelled a bit like Pine-Sol—I wondered if it had just been cleaned.

I loved it.

Jake walked into the living room and set my bag down on the dark hardwood floor. He took his coat off and tossed it on the couch, then began to turn in circles, pointing to the various rooms around him.

“Living room, kitchen, dining room, bedroom, bedroom, office, garage, backyard. There you go, the grand tour of Chez McIntyre.” He took a little bow.

“Well done. How much do I owe you for that?”

“Come over here, and I’ll tell you.”

I slowly stepped toward him, and he put his arms around me.

“I’m glad you’re here, Waverly.”

“Me too,” I said softly, lifting my head.

I closed my eyes as he leaned down to kiss me. I could feel my face flush the moment our lips touched, and the floor underneath me went a little wobbly again. I breathed in the scent of his skin and kissed him back, melting into his warm lips.

When we finally broke apart, I stood back and exhaled.

“That was quite a welcome.”

He pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear and gently kissed the top of my head. “Are you hungry? Did you eat lunch on the plane?”

“Yes to hungry, no to lunch. Shame on those airlines for not feeding us high-calorie, highly processed food anymore. I did buy a high-calorie, highly processed poppy seed muffin at the airport for breakfast though. It was yummy.”

“There’s a little Italian place not too far from here that I’ve been wanting to check out. You game?”

“Sir, I’m game for anything.” I pretended to swing a bat.

He scratched his eyebrow. “Did you just pretend to swing a bat?”

“Apparently I did.”

“I’m guessing you’ve had a lot of coffee today?”

“Indeed I have. I think maybe it’s time to switch to wine.”

He picked up my bag. “I can help with that. Let me put this in the guest bedroom and pour you a glass. I need to make a few work calls before we head out. Do you want to take a shower or anything?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Are you saying I look dirty?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Oh my God, you totally think I look dirty!”

He laughed and disappeared into a bedroom, then quickly reappeared and walked past me. “You’re crazy. Red or white?”

I followed him into the kitchen. “I swear I took a shower this morning. Damn recycled airplane air. And red please.”

He opened a bottle of merlot and poured me a glass, then handed it to me and put a hand on my head. “Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

I pointed at him and walked toward the guest room to change. “Okay, but I’m not taking another shower.”

“What do you think of Atlanta so far?” Jake asked as he refilled my wine goblet with pinot noir. Classical music played lightly in the background of the quiet, dimly lit restaurant.

I took a sip and set the glass down. “So far it’s great, but to be honest, I’m a little disappointed that you chose this place for dinner.” I gazed at a beautiful painting of Venice on the wall.

“You don’t like it?” He seemed surprised.

“Well, the food was really good, but…the ambiance is so…charming and warm…and so…well…romantic.”

He laughed. “And you have a problem with that
why
?”

I played with my earring. “It’s just that, well, after driving by so many strip malls on the way from the airport, I sort of had my heart set on T.G.I. Friday’s. That’s all.”

“Did you just say
T.G.I. Friday’s
?”

I laughed. “Kidding.”

“I figured.”

“Being back in Atlanta makes me think of Shane. Have you seen him and Kristina lately?” Shane, a star player for the New York Knicks, had been Jake’s roommate at Duke and was also a former client of mine.

He shook his head. “We don’t play the Knicks until February. I’m sure we’ll grab dinner or something when he’s down here for that though. We usually do.”

“Too bad you aren’t playing them tomorrow night. That would have been perfect.”

“True, but…”

“But what?”

“But then we’d spend the evening with Shane, talking about college basketball and the good ol’ days, plus how you and he used to work together on that shoe campaign. And that would mean I wouldn’t be having dinner
alone
with you.”

I blushed. “Oh.”

“I’ll catch him in February. So tell me more about this column you’re writing. You’re having fun with it?”

“I am. I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing yet, but I’m definitely having fun doing it, whatever
it
is.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I took a sip of my wine. “I mean, it’s supposed to be an advice column, but most of the people who e-mail me don’t even ask a question, Jake. They just send me these insane stories. Want to hear one?”

“Sure.”

I put my glass down and closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them and leaned toward him. “Okay, okay, I’ve got a good one for you.” I lowered my voice.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to hear something illegal?”

I laughed. “Please. So listen to this. This guy’s wife pocket-dialed him when her phone fell out of her purse.”

“Scandalous.”

“Ha. So get this—her phone fell out of her purse because her purse
fell off the bed
…when she was hooking up with another guy.”

Jake laughed. “So he heard?”

I nodded. “He heard.”

“That’s brutal. Yet hilarious. Got any other good ones?”

“I’ve got tons.”

“Well?”

I leaned toward him again. “One of my favorites just came in the other day. A woman in Belmont wrote to say she’d been dating a guy for five months…and just found out he lives in his car.”

“He lives in his
car
?”

“He lives in his car.”

“How did she not notice?”

I shrugged. “Apparently he told her his roommate was studying for the bar, so they could never go to his place.”

“And she bought that for
five months
?”

I laughed. “Apparently she is pretty dumb.”

“No kidding.”

“So what about you? Got any crazy dating stories you’d care to share?”

He scratched his eyebrow. “Crazy? Hmm…I don’t know if I’d say crazy. Maybe a little odd, though.”

“Like what?”

“Like this one woman I went out with a couple times. On our second date we went out to Lake Lanier, so she was wearing a bikini.”

I nodded.

“And I noticed that she had her name tattooed on her back.”

My eyes got big. “She did not.”

“She did.”

“Her
own name
?”

He laughed. “And it was pretty big, too.”

“Like how big?’

“Big.” He held his hands about a foot apart. “It went all the way across her back:
Tiffany
.”

“Oh my God. What is wrong with people?”

“I don’t know,” he said, still laughing.

“So did you go out with her again?”

“Oh no, that was the end of that.”

“Thank God. Otherwise, I’d have to wonder about you.”

“Wonder about
me
? I’m just hoping
you
don’t reveal some crazy side this weekend.”