Page 27 of Heart to Heart
“I’m—I’m. Oh, God,” I stuttered as I took a step back, nearly stumbling again before I kicked off my shoes. “Here, let me get that.” Without thinking, I began wiping away bits of cake and pink frosting from Tristan’s trousers without taking a second to realize how that must look with a camera positioned directly behind me. “I’m so sorry. I’m?—”
“Avery, Avery.” He reached down and intercepted my hand before I could make another pass to brush more frosting away from his crotch. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Really, I’ll get it.”
I peered up, meeting his eyes with tears in my own. I’d half-expected him to be furious, to send me home on the spot for being a blundering, uncoordinated dolt. Rather, I was greeted bythe same kind, soul-piercing, panty-dropping, smoldering eyes from the poster on my wall.
Those same eyes wandered to where his hand still grasped my own, quickly dropping it as he cleared his throat and bent down to retrieve my broken heel.
“This is so embarrassing. I’m so sorry. I may be a bit of a klutz, but even I don’t normally fall into people, pelt them with baked goods, and accidentally get to third base with them. It’s been a banner night for me.”
Tristan looked up from where he was kneeling, the faintest smile tugging at his lips when he stood up. “That just broke right off,” he observed, inspecting the heel and handing it to me. “It’s a good thing you weren’t still climbing those stairs when it happened. Are you all right?”
“You’re the one who was practically assaulted when you saved me from face-planting on the ground, and you’re asking me if I’m all right?”
“You can’t help that your shoe broke, Avery. My pants can be dry-cleaned. I’m more concerned about your ankle.”
“If I’m being honest, I think my pride is more damaged than my ankle.” I wiped a rogue tear from the corner of my eye, sucking in a deep breath before letting it back out again. “Can we start over again?”
He nodded, smiling as a glob of pink icing fell from his crotch, splattering on the ground. “I’d like that.”
“Hello, I’m Avery, and I’m nervous but excited to meet you.” I held out my hand, still caked with frosting, to Tristan. He accepted my peace offering, shaking it and wiping the frosting that transferred from my fingers to his hand on his pant leg.
“It’s a pleasure, Avery. I’m just upset I won’t be able to eat any of that cake you brought. It’s strawberry, right? That’s my favorite.”
“I know! I did some light Google stalking and had my mom make it for tonight. She owns a bakery.”
Admitting to stalking him online after striking him with a baked good—fuck my life.
“Well,” he chuckled, “I hope that’s the only thing printed about me online you paid any attention to.” The slight squeal of a brake behind me told me that the limo carrying the next eligible bachelorette had arrived. Tristan confirmed my suspicion, stealing a momentary glimpse over my shoulder before returning his attention back to me. “That was very thoughtful of you, Avery. I’ll see you inside later?”
I nodded, forcing a smile. “I can’t wait.”
On the ground behind Tristan, my other heel lay where I’d kicked it off, and as I began my slow-motion walk to the house, I bent down to retrieve it, dangling it between my fingers with the broken one. Behind me, the camera stopped filming, and a production assistant whisked Tristan away to—I presumed—change his clothes as someone else instructed the next contestant to remain in the limo.
My first day of filming and I had already single-handedly brought production to a screeching halt, ruining a suit that cost more than a month’s pay for the average person in the process. If not for the abject humiliation, I’d almost be impressed with myself.
Bare feet slapping against stone, I plodded to the door, pausing before opening it. With any luck, the others had been ushered into another room. Preferably one without windows and a clear view of the fiasco that is my life. Maybe I’d at least been spared that.
The sudden silence, hushed whispers, and smattering of giggles that greeted me when I walked into the foyer told me otherwise.
My face burned as I walked past the women who had gathered to watch their competition meet Tristan for the first time. Alliances had already formed; the girls who I presumed were popular in high school had already found each other as though they’d each been born with the innate ability to recognize their own kind and had once again formed exclusive cliques. I wasn’t sure which was worse: the smirks coming from them or the pity smiles coming from the others.
From somewhere in the corner of the foyer, near the floor-to-ceiling windows, and just within earshot of me, someone began singing about sunny days sweepin’ the clouds away, which made me both hate and miss Kiki at the same time.
In the middle of that group stood Bianca, her sapphire eyes sweeping down the length of my arm, landing on the thrift store shoes dangling from my fingers. I could see the judgment written all over her face. Had I been wearing the red bottoms she had on, this all could have been avoided. But now, since I was poor and had to wear flimsy footwear, we would all be standing here waiting while Wardrobe cleaned up my mess, ultimately taking away valuable Tristan time.
All I knew was that I didn’t want to be in the foyer anymore. Under the watchful eyes of practically everyone in the room, I climbed the cold marble stairs to my room, allowing myself to breathe a sigh of relief when I walked over its threshold and threw myself on the tiny twin bed that had been assigned to me. I wanted to cry, except the tears wouldn’t come. So, instead, I scanned the floor for my slippers, which I hoped had been brought back. Nestled and tucked part of the way under the foot of the bed, I found them. One thing was going my way this evening, at least.
I had just thrown down my broken shoes and slid into the slippers to resume my sulking on the bed when I was startled by a voice from the doorway.
“Hey, so rumor has it there’s a French fry bar downstairs, and Taylor and I have decided to ditch the others and throwdown. Do you want to come?” I discreetly wiped my eyes before rolling onto my side to see Sasha standing in the doorway. Behind her, a petite woman with olive skin stood just barely visible over her shoulder.
“I’m not really all that hungry, but thanks.”
Sasha studied my face and shook her head. “Nope, I don’t believe you. Anyone who could help me decimate a cheese tray would appreciate a good French fry bar. You’re coming with us.” Before I could say anything to the contrary, she bounded over to the bed and plopped down next to me while Taylor waited by the door. I’d only seen Taylor in passing and hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her. But if Sasha considered her okay, then she must be.
“Public humiliation has a way of killing an appetite.” I rolled over onto my back, covering my eyes with the forearm I had draped over my face.
“Technically, you haven’t been publicly humiliated as the episode hasn’t aired yet.”
