Page 23 of Driving Beats

“When you hit the stage, no. How about we bring the rest of your wardrobe up to the same caliber.”

He leans back. “I’m very impressed with your vocabulary.”

That’s what happens when you break free from a cult and spend almost every waking moment reading anything you can get your hands on. “Thanks. I think.” Is he poking fun?

“You said you are twenty-four, right?”

I nod.

“Where did you go to college?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t.”

“You must have had one hell of a solid English program in high school then.”

“Something like that.” I pick up my phone. “Ready to start looking for replacement shoes?” I don’t wait for him to answer, simply slide out of the dinette. Pausing at the threshold, I say, “Let me get my stuff. I’ll meet you back here in twenty.”

“Sounds good.”

I scurry off before my mouth decides to spill my secrets. He may be surprisingly easy to talk with, but he’s not my confidante or boyfriend or anything. He’s just a job. Nothing more.

In my room, I change my purse to a smaller one. Best not to knock over a display with a large bag! I also refresh my makeup and review my notes from our conversations. He doesn’t know it, but I’ve been documenting my observations since we met up. In addition to thoughts, I wrote down about his so-called style when I got this assignment.

I’m pretty sure I have a handle on his style preferences—fast and easy. Ha! In the wardrobe department only!

Focus, Nese.

I’m almost out the door when I remember my sunglasses. Coop’s always wearing his—his signature piece, so to speak—so I might as well mirror him. They make him look sexy during the day. However, I should try to wean him off them at night. Unless he’s on stage.

I take my time to meet back up, appreciating his artwork and the general architecture of his house. Nothing here screams bachelor. I round the corner into the kitchen, where he’s sitting. “I was admiring your interior decorations. Did you do them?”

“I’ve gathered a lot from my travels with UC. My mom helped organize them, though.”

“Makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

His tone carries an undercurrent of defensiveness. “Nothing bad. Most single guys I know don’t have your level of taste.” Very diplomatic, Nese.

He doesn’t respond for a while. “Meaning, most single men live like they’re in a fraternity?”

I laugh. “Yeah. Something along those lines.”

“Glad I don’t fit your stereotype. Although, most guys you’ve probably met are your age, so my description might not be too far off.”

Many older men were in the cult, and they all lived like slobs expecting their maids to clean up after them. Which they did. Meaning, me. “Let’s stop procrastinating and get you more clothes, starting with shoes.”

“I can’t wait.”

He opens a door that goes directly into the garage. I wonder why he didn’t use this last night? Would’ve prevented me from walking across his Zen Garden.

He interrupts my thoughts. “I moved the Rover into the garage this morning.” We hop into the SUV and he plugs the first store into his GPS.

One store turns into three. We’ve purchased a pair of sneakers as well as dress shoes, which I consider a major score. As we walk toward the third shoe store, he grumbles, “I don’t really need or want eight pairs of shoes. These two should last me another decade.”

“They might, so long as you treat them with respect and take good care of them.”

“They’re shoes, not a woman.”