Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(43)

“Because they do.”

“Like . . . what string would I attach to an expired ticket to a circus? Make me dinner afterward? Although, by the smell in here, I’m not sure I’d want you cooking for me.”

I pick up the flyswatter and smack it at him. He ducks, laughing so freely that I can’t help but join him.

His laugh is addictive. It’s interesting that he doesn’t know how normal it is to have strings attached to everything. He’s almost . . . naive. There’s not a hateful bone in this man’s delectable body. And I like it. I like the easiness of this in the face of the kiss.

It feels good. I didn’t expect it to be like this, and I’m not quite sure what to do now.

Once we’re settled and the room is quiet again, I take a deep breath. I don’t want to go too deep with this and tell him who my mother is or that I grew up with the family known as America’s New Camelot. I don’t want that. I like the way he looks at me now. Like I’m just Avery Perry, hairdresser and painter.

Still, he’s made an attempt at friendship, and I should do the same.

I take a deep breath and prepare to open up to him a little. It only seems fair. Maybe it’ll help him understand where I’m coming from.

“One of the reasons I moved here,” I say carefully, “is because everyone I know wants something from me. Not just me, but from everyone. No one just does anything nice for the sake of being nice. It’s to get a leg up, to move up the ladder.”

He narrows his eyes. “And you were able to move people up the ladder.”

“In some ways, yes,” I say with a gulp. “But I just . . . I don’t trust people. I think people are fake more often than not. Whether they try to be or not is a different question and one I’ve battled with therapists over my whole life. Either way, I’m tired of all that. I just want to relax and be surrounded by people who I know aren’t putting on airs.”

“That must have really sucked.”

That sentence, five simple words, sums up my existence in California to a T. It sucked. It always sucked. It sucked from the day I caught my mom doing cocaine in the bathroom and she bought me a fancy watch in return for never telling my dad. I knew, from that moment on, that nothing was as it seemed. If my own relatives kept secrets with bribery and lies, how much worse would it be outside the family unit? Nowhere felt safe from the manipulation.

“Yeah,” I say softly.

I rip open the candy and offer Penn one half. He takes it. We eat the chocolate in silence, kind of feeling each other out through the quiet.

The longer we sit, the more comfortable it gets to share the same space with him again.

We nibble on the candy, exchanging little smiles here and there. It’s peaceful and relaxing, and I find myself letting go of the stress of the afternoon.

“Want to go for a walk?” I ask.

His face lights up. “Sure.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PENN

Well, this isn’t how I expected this evening to go.

Avery’s hands are in her pockets, her hair floating behind her in the breeze as we walk toward the field behind Harper’s house.

But I’m not complaining.

She’s calm and collected and so unbelievably pretty. I hope she’s like this partially because of me. Or even because of the chocolate, since I gave that to her. Either way, I’ll happily claim responsibility for putting that look on her face.

I feel lighter now that there’s no weirdness between us. The weight that was on my shoulders is mostly gone, and I have no intention of ever letting that happen again.

“Do I have to use the ticket for this?” She glances at me cheekily from the corner of her eye.

“Nope. This is a freebie. But it won’t be as interesting as the Dogwood Lane Tour. Just warning you.”

She grins, dropping her gaze to the grass. We move along quietly as the sun makes its final descent over the horizon. Birds call good night as we pass through a grove of trees.

“Thank you,” she says. “Your present was really thoughtful.”

“It’s not a big deal. Just stuff I had in my truck, mostly.” Even though that’s true, there’s still a surge of pride in my chest. I felt like a moron putting that bundle of randomness together, but I didn’t know how to actually say, “For once in my life, I’m worried I fucked up by kissing you.” “But I’m glad you liked it.”

She stops walking and stares off across the field. The grass is so green this time of year, and flowers fill the ditches and ravines. I wonder if she likes it because it’s natural artwork in a way. But something about that feels too personal to ask.

“You like to fish, huh?” she asks.

“Was the tackle box your first hint?”

“That, and you have a fish tattooed on your arm.” She points to a piece of my sleeve. “Is there a reason you have that permanently inked in your flesh? Or do you just like fish so much that you wanted to live with one forever and ever?”

I hold out my arm. Colorful ink is etched on my skin from my shoulder to my wrist. Each tattoo holds a story, whether it’s a sentimental memento or just a relic from a drunken night. I like them all. I don’t regret any of them.

“I got the fish when my grandfather died,” I say. “He was a great fisherman and probably the reason I love it so much. I was a little rambunctious as a child. I know that’s hard to believe,” I crack as she laughs. “He taught me how to sit still and focus on one thing while we were fishing.”