Page 18 of Just a Number (Magnolia Row #2)

RHODES

I drop off Micah and her grandmother back at their store, then check in at the Mossy River Motel. I pull up my email, send photos of the chandelier to Wilhelmina and the rest of my team, then search online find a restoration company in Atlanta that may be able to clean and rewire the massive piece.

After finishing work, I shower, change into a light blue button-down with khakis, and watch ESPN until it’s time to pick up Micah.

I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be, since I’ve seen her multiple times. I’m used to being around her at this point, but she’s disarming. She’s built like a goddess and her mane of red hair drives me insane.

Once the sun goes down, I grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and drive to the home Micah shares with her grandmother.

It’s a little ways outside of town, set back from the road, with a huge, well-kept yard.

It’s a typical ranch-style home, popular in the 1960s, and on the front and side porches there are huge hanging ferns swaying in the evening breeze.

I pull into the gravel drive and park by the side porch, as Micah instructed.

She opens the sliding glass door and shows me in, and I feel like I’ve immediately stepped back into the late 60s or early 70s.

The carpet is a brown, orange, and yellow shag that is probably older than Moses.

The kitchen has the original Frigidaire puke-green enamel appliances and little mushroom-painted canisters on the counter.

Doilies are on every table surface, including the dining room table, which has a huge lace tablecloth with orange placemats.

It reminds me of my own grandparents’ home outside of Birmingham and makes me miss them. It’s strange how nostalgia can hit at the most unexpected times.

But as charming as the house is, Micah nearly takes my breath away. She’s wearing a low-cut black shirt that’s tight on her chest paired with loud jewelry: peacock feather earrings with a matching lariat necklace and an emerald cocktail ring.

Ms. Barbara, wrapped in an afghan, sits in an oversized recliner that swallows her. I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek, which makes her blush.

“Nana, you have plenty of frozen dinners in there, so are you good for tonight?” Micah asks, handing her a cocktail of medication to take. Her grandmother downs them with a big gulp of ice water.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she says. “You kids have fun.”

“I won’t be out late,” Micah tells her, leaning to give her a hug. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sugar bug.”

My heart swells. I wish my grandmother were still here. She and Ms. Barbara would get along great.

Micah grabs her purse from the side table by the door, and I slide back the glass to let her out.

“Goodnight, Ms. Barbara!” I say, then she winks at me as we turn to leave.

On the ride into town, we talk and laugh about Pauline and all the crazy stuff in her house.

“Did you see the gator head?” I ask her.

“No! Where was it?”

“In the sitting room. It had fake apples in its mouth and a rosary curled between its eyes.”

She gave me a belly laugh as loud as it is endearing. “I missed that! The sad thing about her house is she has so much nice stuff, but most of it is in terrible shape. The house itself will probably have to be torn down when she dies.”

“Yeah, I was nervous walking through there,” I say. “The floor was spongy. I wouldn’t be surprised if it falls in on her one day.”

“Serves the old bat right. I only hope the antiques don’t get damaged.”

“Priorities,” I chuckle.

“Exactly!” We share a brief glance before I return my eyes to the road.

I could spend every night exactly like this, with her. Riding around, laughing, telling stories. Nothing could be more perfect.

I park in front of the coffee shop and we walk to the steakhouse.

It’s packed, so we wait at the bar for a table.

I order merlot and Micah gets a Riesling.

There’s only one barstool available, so I let Micah have it and stand at her side.

Luckily, it’s a small space and there are so many people I’m forced to be close enough to touch her.

I can feel the heat of her body and smell the familiar lavender and vanilla scent she always wears. She’s more intoxicating than the wine.

Once our table is ready, we get settled into the corner booth at the back. I order a filet and she gets grilled salmon.

“So how is work going at the hotel?” she asks. “I rode by the other day and it didn’t look like anything has started yet.”

“No, not yet. We’ve applied for permits and submitted our plans to the state, so we’re waiting for all of that to go through. Since it’s a historic property, there’s more bureaucracy involved.”

“I’m so excited to see it when it’s done. I may move in if it’s even half as fabulous as I imagine.”

“You can be the first guest!” I say, holding my glass up for a toast.

“Absolutely!” She clinks her drink on mine, then leaves a smudge of red lipstick behind after taking a sip.

“I love your house, though. Your grandmother never changes a thing, does she?”

“Nope! Not since she moved in. I think it’s because of my grandfather. The house reminds her of him.”

“When did he pass?”

“Long before I was born, when my mom was a kid. He had cancer, and it devastated my nana.”

“You don’t talk about your mom much.”

She shifts in her seat, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “There’s not much to say. She’s in and out. Always has been.”

“How so?” I ask, worried I’m prying too much, but she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Well, she had me when she was a teenager. We lived in a trailer north of town for a few years. Then we moved in with one of her boyfriends, but they broke up. Then we moved in with Nana, which was supposed to be temporary. It was for Mom. She met someone else and left town while I stayed behind. She promised she’d come back and get me once she got settled, but she never did. ”

“Do you ever see her?”

“When she needs money. If she’s between boyfriends, she’ll show up under the guise of wanting to help me with Nana, but Nana and I both see through it. Last time she was here, I’m pretty sure she was on something. She would sleep for fourteen to sixteen hours at a time.”

“Wow. That’s hard, Micah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not. But it is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

“What does your nana say about all of that?”

“She feels guilty. I think when my grandfather died, it gave my mom some issues when it comes to men. Nana feels like she spoiled her too much afterwards.”

“You turned out well, though.”

“Thanks,” she says, looking down.

“What about your dad?” I ask, fidgeting with my napkin.

“No idea. My mom never told anyone who he is, and I suspect she probably doesn’t even know herself. Sometimes around town I’ll see a man with red hair and wonder, you know?”

“Your mom doesn’t have red hair?”

“No, she’s a brunette. And short.”

“Your Nana is tall, though. I think you look like her.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. I guess I do, except for the hair. She was brunette too before she turned gray. No redheads that we know of on her side, so it must’ve come from my mystery dad.”

“Well, it’s a gift. You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.”

She blushes. “Thank you,” she says.

We stare at each other for a few moments, and she looks like she’s deep in thought. “What?” I finally ask.

“Honestly?” she asks, and her tone is serious.

“Yeah? Is everything okay?”

“I can’t figure out why you’re with me.”

This completely throws me for a loop. I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“What do you mean? If anyone should be asking that question, it’s me.”

“Seriously?” she asks. “You’re gorgeous. You do see the way women in town react to you, don’t you? You could have any thin, beautiful, successful woman you want. Especially living in the city. I’m a chunky, awkward, country bumpkin.”

I shake my head, completely bumfuzzled. “You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen,” I say. “Plus, you’re sharp, passionate about the same things I am, and you have the biggest heart in the world. And you’re only thirty. I can’t figure out why you’re out with a middle-aged guy like me.”

“You think I’m stunning?” she asked in a small, weak voice.

“Absolutely. You have curves in all the right places, and you carry yourself with such confidence. You’re like someone out of an old Hollywood movie.”

“You know ‘curvy’ is usually a euphemism for fat, right?”

My heart sinks. This is not where I wanted this conversation to go. “No, don’t say that about yourself. It’s not what I meant. Men like women with… you know…” I’m trying not to be crass and mention the voluptuous parts of her body that do it for me, but I suddenly find myself glancing at her chest.

“Your face is bright red,” she says, laughing.

I roll my eyes, but I’m happy for the break in tension. “I was trying to not talk about your chest size, but here we are. I apologize.”

Dear Lord, this is humiliating. How can a middle-aged man be so bad at talking to women?

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad you like me. It’s not something I’m used to.” I’m relieved by the light tone in her voice, but I can’t believe what she’s saying.

“Oh come on. I’m sure you’ve had tons of boyfriends.”

“No,” she says, her tone flat. “I haven’t.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I have a situationship with this one guy, but it’s been years now and it’s going nowhere fast, so… yeah. My friends have been telling me since the beginning he was using me, and I’m finally starting to see it for myself.”

I nod. I knew there had to be someone else. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “I have nothing to hide. Secrets aren’t really my style.”

“Well, you deserve to be treated like a queen,” I say. “Whether it’s by me or someone else. Promise me you’ll never settle for less.”

She nods. “I promise.”

“Since we’ve acknowledged we like each other, there is one thing I want to get out in the open.”

“Oh, God. You’re not secretly married, are you? I once went out with a guy a few times before finding out he was married, and I felt horrible.”

“No, no, no! I’ve been divorced for quite some time now. But, speaking of being married, you are younger than me. At thirty, you still have plenty of time to start a family. If that’s something you want, I’m not your guy. I’ve already done all of that. I’m in a different phase of life entirely.”

She looks surprised.

“Sorry for being so blunt,” I continue, “but I don’t want you to waste your time, or for us get further down this road and you end up compromising something you want because of me.”

“Look, I live day to day taking care of my nana. Even when I go out with guys, I don’t ever let myself think too far ahead because it never works out anyway. When it comes to kids, I’ve never really imagined that for myself.”

This surprises me. She gives off so many maternal vibes I can’t imagine her not having kids. “Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because my own mom was so awful it made me never want to be one.

Maybe I babysat too many brats when I was a teenager.

I’m not sure, but it’s never been high on my list of dreams for myself.

Besides, I may not even be able to have them.

My ovaries are covered in cysts, so it may be difficult regardless of what I want. ”

“What is on your list of dreams for yourself?” I ask, looking intently into her eyes.

She sighs and sits back in the booth, her gaze trailing off. “I’d love to grow the antique business and maybe open another store in the Mobile area. I want to travel. Learn ballroom dancing.”

“Really?” I ask, giving her a look of surprise.

“Absolutely! I watch that dancing show on TV and it looks so fun.”

“What else?”

“Well, I don’t like to admit it, but I would like someone to share my life with. A partner.”

“Why don’t you want to admit that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve never felt like it was going to happen, and I didn’t want to be disappointed if I ended up alone.”

“And now?”

Micah bites her lower lip for a moment. “Now, maybe I can see myself having that with you.” She says it almost like a question, squirming in her seat like a nervous kid.

“Same,” I say. “I’d love to share all of that with you.”

She tilts her head to the side, like she’s thinking of what to say next.

“Rhodes, I really like you,” she finally says.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever gone out with.

I’d like to see where this is going. I’m not worried about your age, or kids, or any of that right now. Besides, age is just a number.”

“Well,” I say, “I’ll concede if you agree your size is also just a number, and it’s one I have absolutely no concern about. You are perfect as you are.” I know I’ve struck a nerve, because her eyes start to water.

“No one has ever talked to me like this before.”

“Like what? Kindly?”

“Yes,” she says in all earnestness, nodding her head. “Not a guy, anyway. I’m never the girl a guy wants to settle down with.”

I reach across the table and grab her hands in mine. Her face softens and she rubs her thumbs across my knuckles. I wish I could stop time and save this moment forever.

Our perfect, beautiful connection is interrupted by our food arriving.

It smells delicious, and we order one more round of drinks before digging in.

Once we start eating, I change the subject and tell her about all the steps we have in the restoration and fill her in on some other prospective projects I have all over the South.

“Hopefully the next several months will be busy,” I say.

“How long do you think it’ll take for the hotel to be finished?” she asks.

“We’re looking at a year and a half, weather depending. The biggest thing is going to be fixing the foundation on the east wing. We basically have to remove a massive wooden beam from the bottom of the structure, hold the building up, and replace it without the side of the hotel falling off.”

“After that, you’re done with Magnolia Row?”

Now I get where she’s going with her questioning. “Not if I have a reason to stay,” I answer, and she smiles.