Николас Спаркс - The Choice

“Yeah,” she agreed. “That’s probably a good idea.”

They packed up the remains of the food and placed the containers back into the basket, then folded up the blanket and retraced their steps to the motorcycle. Over her shoulder, Gabby saw people beginning to crowd the restaurants for a late lunch, and she found herself envying the simplicity of their choices.

Travis refastened the blanket and basket, then put on his helmet. Gabby did the same, and they pulled out of the lot a moment later. Gabby clung to Travis’s hips, trying and failing to convince herself that he’d said similar things to dozens of different women in the past.

They pulled into her drive, and Travis brought the motorcycle to a halt. Gabby let go of him and dismounted, removing her helmet. Standing before him, she felt an awkwardness she hadn’t experienced since high school, a notion that seemed ridiculous, and she had the feeling he was about to kiss her again.

“Thanks for today,” she said, wanting to preserve a little distance between them. “And thanks for the riding lesson, too.”

“My pleasure. You’re a natural. You should consider getting your own bike.”

“Maybe one day.”

In the silence, Gabby could hear the engine ticking in the heat. She handed Travis the helmet, watching as he placed it on the seat.

“Okay, then,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Hard not to, us being neighbors and all.”

“Do you want me to check on Molly for you?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m sure she’s doing fine.”

He nodded. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. It wasn’t my place to pry like I did, or make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It didn’t bother me at all.”

“Sure it didn’t.”

She shrugged. “Well, since you were lying, I figured I’d lie.”

Despite the tension, he laughed. “Do me a favor? If this whole boyfriend thing doesn’t work out, give me a call.”

“I might just do that.”

“And on that note, I think I’ll take my leave.” He turned the handlebars and started walking the motorcycle backward, getting into position to leave her drive. He was about to start the engine when he looked at her again. “Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

She crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“A man’s got to seize the moment. It’s kind of my motto.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

She took a step backward, but in spite of her reservations, she found herself smiling at his persistence. “How about if I make you dinner tonight instead? At my place. Seven o’clock.”

“Sounds great,” he said, and a moment later she was standing in the drive, wondering if she had taken temporary leave of her senses.

Thirteen

With the sun beating down mercilessly and the water from the hose icy cold, Travis had a hard time keeping Moby in one place. The short leash didn’t seem to help much; Moby hated baths, which struck Travis as ironic, considering how much the dog loved to chase after tennis balls thrown into the ocean. On those occasions, Moby would bound through the waves, dog-paddling with fury, and showed no hesitation about shoving his head underwater for a better grip if the tennis ball bobbed away from him. But if he noticed Travis opening the drawer where his leash was kept, Moby would seize the opportunity to explore the neighborhood for hours, usually returning long after dark.

Travis had grown used to Moby’s tricks, which was why he’d kept the leash out of sight until the last instant, then hooked it to Moby’s collar before he could react. Moby, as usual, had given him his best “how could you do this to me?” expression as he was being walked around back, but Travis had shaken his head.

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t tell you to roll in dead fish, did I?”

Moby loved to roll in dead fish, the more foul-smelling the better, and while Travis was parking his motorcycle in the garage, Moby had trotted up happily with his tongue hanging out, acting proud of himself. Travis had smiled for only an instant before the stench hit and he noticed the disgusting chunks embedded in Moby’s fur. After giving Moby a tentative pat on the head, he had sneaked inside to change into shorts, tucking the leash in his back pocket.

Now out back, with the leash secured to the deck railing, Moby danced from side to side, trying and failing to avoid getting even more wet than he already was.

“It’s only water, you big baby,” Travis scolded, although truthfully, he’d been spraying Moby for almost five minutes. As much as he loved animals, he didn’t want to start shampooing until all the . . . debris had been rinsed away. Dead fish parts were disgusting.

Moby whined and continued to dance, tugging backward on the leash. When he was finally ready, Travis set aside the hose and poured a third of the bottle of shampoo on Moby’s back. He scrubbed for a few minutes and rinsed, then sniffed the dog and winced. They went through the process two more times, at which point Moby was despondent. He fixed his eyes on Travis with a mournful expression that seemed to say, Don’t you realize I rolled in fish guts as my personal gift to you?

Once Travis was satisfied, he brought Moby to another part of the deck and secured him again. He’d learned that if allowed to roam immediately after a bath, Moby would return to the scene of the crime as quickly as possible. His only hope was to keep him secured so long that he forgot about it. Moby shook away the excess water and—realizing he was stuck—finally lay down on the deck with a grunt.

Afterward, Travis mowed the lawn. Unlike most of his neighbors, who rode their lawn mowers, Travis still used a push mower. It took a little longer, but it was not only decent exercise, he found the repetitive back-and-forth nature of the activity relaxing. As he mowed, he kept glancing reflexively toward Gabby’s house.

A few minutes earlier, he’d seen her leaving the garage and hop in her car. If she’d noticed him, she hadn’t shown it. Instead, she’d simply backed out, then headed down the road toward town. He’d never met anyone quite like her. And now she’d invited him to dinner.

He didn’t know what to make of that, and he’d been trying to figure it out ever since dropping her off. Most likely he’d simply worn her down. Lord knows he’d been oiling that wheel ever since they’d met, but as he mowed, he found himself wishing that he’d been a bit more subtle about the whole thing. It would have made him feel better about her dinner invitation, knowing that it hadn’t been coerced somehow.

Wondering about all of this was new to him. But then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so thoroughly with a woman. He’d laughed more with Gabby than he had with Monica or Joelyn or Sarah or anyone else he’d dated in the past. Finding a woman with a sense of humor had been the one piece of advice his father had given him when he’d first begun to get serious about dating, and he finally understood why his dad had considered it important. If conversation was the lyrics, laughter was the music, making time spent together a melody that could be replayed over and over without getting stale.

After finishing the lawn, he dragged the mower back to the garage, noting that Gabby still hadn’t returned. She’d left the garage door cracked open, and Molly wandered out into the yard, then turned around and headed back inside.

Back in his kitchen, Travis downed a glass of iced tea in one long gulp. Knowing better but not caring, he let his thoughts drift to Gabby’s boyfriend. He wondered if Kevin was someone he knew. He found it odd that she’d said so little about him and that it had taken her so long simply to tell him his name. It would be easy to attribute it to something like guilt, except for the fact that she had shied away from the topic from the beginning. He didn’t know what to make of it, and he wondered what the guy was like or what he had done to make Gabby fall in love with him. In his mind’s eye, images floated past—athletic, bookish, somewhere in between—but none of them seemed exactly right.