Page 34 of The Voice We Find

“That’s sounds wonderful!” Sophie replies with an enthusiasm I don’t share for multiple reasons. The biggest having to do with a certain friend we haven’t yet discussed in context. “I actually got started with acting at a small drama club not too far from here.”

“Can you stay for dinner?” Gabby asks abruptly. “I’m making homemade fettuccine Alfredo. August says I’m almost as good of a cook as our mother, and she was fantastic—right, August?” Then to me Gabby says, “Can Sophie stay for dinner? Please?”

Though I’d imagined asking Sophie to dinner many times over the last few days, this wasn’t what I’d had in mind.

“That’s okay, really.” Sophie waves her hand dismissively. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.”

“Most of what I have to catch Gabby up on involves you.” My honesty is almost as unexpected as the way Sophie’s gaze locks on mine. “If you’re available, we’d love to invite you to have dinner with us tonight.”

9

Sophie

Am I available for dinner tonight? No. But do I want to be available? So much.

Of all the nights to have a shift in the tasting room, why does it have to be tonight?

Truth is, it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten dinner away from the winery. Most nights I end up eating in the pool house while Phantom circles my feet. It’s not until right now that I realize how nice sharing a meal with someone else would be—two someones, in this case. Going from a communal living environment in New York City where I slept, ate, worked, played, and memorized lines with an entire cast to living alone with my cat has been far lonelier than I thought possible.

“Your dinner sounds delicious,” I tell Gabby apologetically, making sure to look at her when I speak. I’m still not sure what she can or can’t hear, but I want to learn. “And I appreciate your offer somuch.” I swallow against the growing lump in my throat. “But I’m scheduled to work a shift tonight.”

“I missed that,” Gabby says as she signs to her brother.

“Sophie has to work tonight,” August confirms.

Gabby looks around. “But I thought you worked here? With my brother?”

“I do,” I say, “but I also work for my brother.” Admitting that out loud splinters my pride.

“Then maybe you should call him and ask for the night off?” Gabby places her palms together like the prayer hands emoji. “Please?”

If only. “My brother is not . . .”

“What?” Gabby asks, focusing on my lips.

I chide myself for letting yet another sentence run away from me.

“Sorry,” I say, looking at her now. “My brother isn’t nice like yours.”

Gabby points at August. “You thinkhe’snice?”

August stuffs his hands into his pockets and glances at the ceiling. “You’re so hilarious.”

Gabby beams at him self-indulgently, and something in their exchange makes me want to better understand their dynamic. Why does Gabby live with him? Where are their parents? I think back through our morning conversations when I changed his bandage—how I purposefully steered us toward light and easy discussions. August had seemed more than willing to wade in the shallows with me.

We talked about his surfing hobby and how much I was gonna miss NYC in the fall. We spoke about our favorite comfort foods, movies we rewatched annually, and the book series I wished I could read for the first time—a question only relating to me as August was still warming up to fiction. I didn’t ask him about his family simply because I didn’t want to reciprocate. The information I provided him during our morning chats was generic—mostly history about the winery that could easily be found on any search engine online.

And then, today, I’d gone and cracked the code on his secret prodigy genius.

Even now, as my mind flashes back to the way he looked at me when I sang those runs, I feel the faintest fluttering in my chest.He’s only a friend, I’m quick to remind myself. In a way, I suppose August is also a colleague. The last thing I need is to read into something just because I’m desperate for companionship.

“Another time, then,” August says, but I don’t miss the disappointment I hear in his tone or the disappointment I feel. “Don’t let Gabby’s glowing review of me fool you. She loves boring nights at home with her big brother.”

But Gabby doesn’t comment on her brother’s teasing jab. Her eyes are too honed on me. On second thought, I’m not totally sure she heard him at all. The mystery surrounding her hearing continues to grow.

“I’m sorry,” I offer her again. “I’d be happy to talk theater with you any time I’m here.”

She gives me a smile that makes me wish I could give her something more than a declined invitation to a dinner she’s obviously excited to share.

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