Page 6 of You're So Vine
“Two bourbons on the rocks,” she tells the young man. “Double shots.”
“Right away, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” Ava mutters to me. “Way to make me feel like my mother.”
We get our bourbons. There’s a twist of orange peel hanging off the side of each glass because I guess standards must be maintained. Ava takes her peel and mine and flicks them onto a nearby empty plate.
“Let’s find somewhere no one else is,” she says.
That proves to be behind an artful pile of barrels and pumpkins. Lee got the pumpkins for free from a local farmer. Lot of people round here love Lee and wish she hadn’t moved up the coast. But she loves her artist studio. It’s what she’d always wanted.
“You know, I come from a biggish family,” says Ava. “Five kids. Fivecompetitivekids. We were always full-on and alwaysin each other’s faces, so you’d think I’d be used to being surrounded by people and noise. But I’m not.”
“People and noise aren’t my thing, either.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asks. “Don’t answer if it’s too personal.”
“It’s not,” I say. “One sister. Blair. Five years older. She lives in Oregon with her family and a bunch of goats.”
“Goats?”
“For the milk. One of the earliest-known superfoods, according to Blair.”
“You should mention that to Ted,” she says. “He can put it in a cocktail. Along with fifteen hundred other startling and incomprehensible ingredients.”
The band hooks into a line dance number. Most of the folks here are locals, born and bred close by. They’ve been good to me, but even after almost ten years, I still feel like I’m only here temporarily. Like tomorrow I could pack up and head out.
Ava’s staring up at me. Guess she doesn’t have a lot of choice, being a foot shorter.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “About hitting on you at the wine pressing. Took you by surprise and that’s never a good thing. Sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
I feel a weird flinch in my gut, like I’ve been pecked hard by an invisible goose. That apology took a whole lot of courage. Her asking me out at the crush also took a whole lot of courage, and even though it’s true and she did take me by surprise, I’m not sure she’s the one who should be apologizing. I rejected her without giving her a chance. And that’s not something to be proud of.
In this dim light, her blue eyes look indigo, like the sky settling into night. Hard to read but it doesn’t matter—the way she shows expression is all around the mouth. When she’s happy, her mouth’s all smiles, mobile, generous. When she’s unhappy, it tightens up into a kind of wavy line. Right now, it’s in between. She’s curious but not tense.
Two things suddenly occur to me. One is that Ishouldhave given her a chance. First moment I met her, there was a spark between us. If I’d said “yes” a couple of months back, we might have kindled that spark into something hotter. But I’ll never know because I reacted in my usual way, otherwise known as the three Rs: Resist, Refuse, Retreat. I hurt her for no reason except my own fear.
And that’s the second thing that occurs to me: that she can apologize because she’snothurt anymore. She’s moved on. And put me in the friend zone.
Okay, so a third thing has suddenly occurred to me. You know what I said about wanting to only be her friend? Now that I’m there, I realize without a doubt that I lied.Great sense of timing, Hollander. I think it’s commonly known as “way too late”.
“Cam, there you are.”
It’s Lee, all smiles and beauty. Her hand on my arm.
“Ava, I’m sorry,” she says. “I need some help putting out some more lights. Didn’t think it would get so dark in here. People start dancing with one partner and end up with someone they don’t even know. Is it okay if I steal Cam away?”
“Of course,” says Ava. “I’d better go talk to Nate and Shelby, anyway. Don’t want them thinking I don’t love them.”
She’s gone, into the crowd, her pace quick and athletic. Too late for me to say anything.
Lee’s hand is still on my arm. So I follow her. Because that’s what I always do.
ChapterThree
AVA
My heart’s racing, and I’m afraid I’m going to throw up right in one of these frigging jelly jars. Which, let’s be frank, couldn’t make me feel any worse than I do right now.
