Page 20 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“You have expensive tastes in chocolate.”

She rolls her eyes, knowing the chocolate was not the prime offender. “We can get something cheaper.”

“No, we can’t.” I lift her hand from my arm and kiss her fingers before I pull my wallet from my pocket.

Back at my place, it feels almost disrespectful to pour this champagne into generic wine glasses, but that’s all I’ve got. It’s been a long time since I’ve cared about anything so esoterically tied to my past. The correct stemware left my conscious concern years ago, but tonight, I wish I had crystal flutes.

“Congratulations on your outstanding accomplishments.”

She takes the glass I’m offering. “I’d like to thank my supporting cast for allowing me to shine.” The rim of her glass clinks against mine.

“Supporting cast, huh?”

“Cheers to my costar?”

“Cheers.”

I sit on the bed with my back against the headboard and spread my legs so she can take her place between them. “Get in your spot and tell me more new things about you like the last time we sat here.”

“The last time, you were trying to keep my mind off the pain of my scorpion sting.”

“Partly. But I wanted to get to know you, too. I still do.”

“I want to know more about you, too.” She slides into position, and I wrap my arm around her ribcage, hold her back against my chest. “Why’d you come here?”

She not only strikes first; she goes straight for the jugular. Okay. “I was looking for somewhere that felt right when nothing else in my life did.”

“Was it right after your parents died?”

“No. After I sold the winery, I went to school. Becoming a mechanic seemed like a good fit. I wanted something that would keep my hands busy, a job I could leave behind when I clocked out. A way to be productive but not be expected to do more than go through the motions.”

“How old were you when they died?”

“Twenty-three.”

“What happened?”

“Car accident. My dad was driving.”

“It must’ve been awful to lose both your parents so young. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Losing them wasn’t the hard part.”

“You weren’t close?”

“My dad loved the winery. Loved being a big shot, mostly. But I’m not sure he really ever loved my mom. And I don’t know that either of them actually wanted kids. Or maybe they just weren’t prepared to raise one.”

“Still, losing them both at once had to have been hard.”

This is the fork in the road. The moment where I have to make a choice. If I don’t tell her everything now and things work out between us, at what point do I share the rest? How long do I keep holding it back?

I think too long and she moves on with her questions, steering the conversation away from the accident, leaving my losses behind like I’ve been trying to do since I got here four years ago.

“How long were you a mechanic?”

“I was almost twenty-five when I got certified. Landed a job at a dealership right away, but after two years of school, I lasted less than six months. Just woke up one day and couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t need the salary, which made me feel like an asshole. All I knew was that I needed another change. A bigger one.

“So, I packed up my clothes, sold or gave away most everything else, and started driving east. Figured I’d stop when I found a place that felt right. Or when I reached the Atlantic Ocean, whichever came first.”

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