Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(40)

I’ve let Brent do most of the talking as we walked, because I’m still afraid of saying something ridiculous, even though I know I shouldn’t be. Brent said he likes me just the way I am. And let’s face it, I can be quite ridiculous.

“I’m gonna need to know what that sign is all about.”

Brent stops both of us on the sidewalk in front of a house right next to Lola’s, pointing to a hand-painted, wooden sign in the front yard. The sign reads If you park here without paying, your car will be towed to Iowa.

I laugh and tug a little on Brent’s arm to get him to continue walking as I give him an explanation.

“So, we have this thing here called Nickel Dickel Day. It’s a festival that—”

“I’m sorry; what was it called again?”

“Nickel Dickel Day,” I repeat.

“My apologies. One more time?”

“Nickel Dickel—” I stop abruptly in the middle of the parking lot of Lola’s when I glance up and see Brent trying to contain his laughter. “Oh my gosh, Brent!”

After I gently smack his arm in admonishment, he finally lets his laughter fly.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it. You are just so damn adorable, and hearing you say Nickel Dickel in that accent of yours is the best thing ever and makes it really hard not to kiss you right now.”

Oh my God, did he just say what I think he said? If saying Nickel Dickel makes him want to kiss me, I wonder what saying nickel dick would do. Or maybe just nick dick. I’ll have to try that out on my next podcast.

“Okay, it’s out of my system. Please, tell me everything about this Quarter Dickie Day,” Brent says, making me laugh as we continue walking the rest of the way across the parking lot.

“Uff da, it’s not Quarter Dickie Day, and you know it!” I scold with a smile. “Anyway, it’s a festival in downtown Waconia, with a classic car show, tons of good food, shopping deals all around town, and stuff like that. The sign you saw in that front yard was put there, because some people who have homes close to downtown will rent out their front yards for parking, since it gets a little crazy around here and hard to find a place to park for the festival.”

“Okay, I get that. But I don’t get the Iowa thing. Why would their car be towed to Iowa?” he asks.

“Let me give you an example. Pretend you’re from Iowa, and I’m going to tell you a joke that will explain it all.” I clear my throat and give him the biggest smile. “So, hey, do you want to hear an Iowa joke?” I ask him.

“Oh hey, I’m from Iowa!” he plays along.

“Okay, I’ll tell it reeeally slooowly then.”

I can barely get the words out without giggling, and I’m pretty sure Brent is just laughing along with me because I’m a dork, and not because he gets the joke.

“So, basically,” I tell him through my laughter, “there’s kind of this rivalry thing between Minnesota and Iowa. Minnesotans tell Iowa jokes, and Iowans tell Minnesota jokes. And that’s why the sign is funny. No one from Minnesota wants their car towed to Iowa, so they will make darn sure they pay before parking in that yard.”

“Have I told you recently how adorable you are?” Brent asks as we get to the double wood entrance doors to Lola’s.

“Not in the last two minutes. You’re slacking, mister.”

Look at me, being all confident and joking. Thank you, Heidi’s Discount Erotica!

I let go of Brent’s elbow as he removes his hand from the top of mine to pull open the door, resting the palm of his free hand on the small of my back to allow me to go in first. My skin feels like it’s on fire where his hand is touching me, but not bad fire. Really, really good, tingly fire. The kind of fire that makes me want to ask him to touch my butt.

Oh my God, I feel so scandalous!

Walking up to the hostess stand, Brent requests a table for two, and I quickly ask the woman if we could have a table outside on the deck. She grabs our menus and guides us through the restaurant toward the sliding glass doors that lead outside. Not even the distraction of having to stop every five feet when someone I know calls my name can make me stop thinking about Brent’s hand still pressed against my back and how close he stands to me as I make quick introductions, spending a few seconds chitchatting before moving on.

“This really is a small town,” Brent jokes as he pulls out my chair for me when we’re finally outside, after I’ve spoken to every person in the room I know.

“It’s worse, because I was a teacher. Those were pretty much all parents of my former students,” I explain as he sits down across from me, and we both look out at the view of Lake Waconia, the setting sun in the distance creating an orange glow on top of the water, and the sounds of the gentle waves lapping against the deck instantly put me at ease. “Honestly, a lot of people give small towns a bad rap, but I couldn’t imagine living somewhere else. I love that I can go anywhere and run into someone I know. It makes you feel not so alone in this great big world.”

“Well said. And exactly why I wanted to move to Waconia after living in Minneapolis for a little while when I came here from L.A.,” he tells me.

I knew he was from L.A., but I didn’t know about the Minneapolis things. I open my mouth to ask him more about why he moved here, when our waitress comes over to take our drink orders, and Brent changes the subject as soon as she leaves. We chat about the current construction site he’s working on, and I tell him more about Waconia and other surrounding areas and the different fun things to do around here while we place our food orders and eat our dinner.