Chapter 20
Charlotte
“So let me get this straight,” Josie says as we sit on the floor in our pajamas. It’s Sunday, the universal day of pizza and laundry, and we are in the middle of doing both, chowing down while sorting socks. She’s having pepperoni while I eat the pizza with the bacon topping.
“You went to the bakery to pick out the wedding cake and Gavin didn’t fuck it up,” she says. She pads barefoot into the kitchen, careful not to trip over any of the folded stacks of clothes.
“Nope,” I say.
“And he is the one to suggest red velvet,” she goes on.
“Yep,” I nod.
“Do you want any garlic dip for your pizza?” she asks.
“No, but can you grab the maple syrup?”
“And he didn’t try to talk you into some wacky flavor even though he had plenty of opportunities and all the gumption to do so?” she asks, handing me a bottle of maple syrup.
“You got it,” I say, popping the lid open and drizzling the syrup on my pizza.
“I guess I’m failing to see the problem,” she says, eyeing me strangely.
“That’s the problem; he behaved. It’s twice as infuriating than when he deliberately annoys me,” I tell her. “I mean, if anything, I was the crazy one. I ate like six samples of bacon maple cake, and I ordered one to go.”
“You brought home cake?” she asks with a giggle as she dunks her pizza in ranch.
“I did. I would have shared it with you, but I ate the whole thing…in one sitting,” I say, opening the syrup bottle again.
“Pregnancy craving.”
“I don’t know?”
“I’m not asking,” Josie says. “I’m stating.” She points with her eyes at the syrup and bacon pizza. I cover my mouth to chuckle.
“Listen,” she says. “He seems like a pain in the butt sometimes, but isn’t it a good thing that you’re getting along better? If the two of you have to work together, I’m sure it’s easier if you’re not at each other’s throats.”
“It is,” I agree. “It’s just…I don’t know. It’s still frustrating. He is frustrating.”
“Why do you think that is?” she asks. I can tell just by the way she asks that she’s already psychoanalyzing.
“Because he’s irritating and smug and always thinks he’s got the upper hand.” I conclude.
“Or…because you like him?”
“What do you mean, I like him?” I ask.
“I mean, you might not hate him as much as you think you do.”
“I never said I hated him, but I definitely don’t like him,” I say.
“Is that why you keep sleeping with him?” she asks. That’s what I get for telling her everything.
I toss my half-eaten pizza slice on the plate. “I only slept with him once, and that was before I knew who he was. It was supposed to be a one-night-stand, a one and done. I thought I would never see him again after that night.”
“Still, I wouldn’t call the tongue lashing he gave you nothing, but he is definitely not an enemy in the relationship,” she says.
“That doesn’t mean I like him,” I say. “Can we stop phrasing it that way? We sound like we’re in middle school at a sleepover. If we are going to keep talking like that, then I’d rather stop talking about him. I’d be happy to discuss The Vampire Diaries and which Salvatore brother is better.”
“Damon, obviously,” she says. “Fine. We can use different verbiage, but you do have feelings for Gavin.”
“I do not,” I say immediately.
“Well, something is going on because you’re flustered around him,” she says.
“That’s because he drives me nuts!” I argue.
“Ha!” Josie points at me. “You just said he doesn’t always drive you nuts, and that sometimes he’s not a dick, but is actually pleasant. So regardless of your mood or what he’s saying or doing, he still gets you all flustered. You get all giddy around him, and that means you have feelings for him!”
“Says who?!”
“Says everyone!” she laughs. “If you stop thinking about vampire men, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”
My friend knows me and knows me well. She is on a roll, but I’m not buying it. I shake my head and stand up, grabbing a pile of clothes. “Say what you want, Jo, but I think we are just going to have to agree to disagree.” I head down the hall to my room, but I can hear Josie’s footsteps behind me.
“Would it really be so bad, Char? Loosening up? Having fun with him? Having fun with all of this? Would it be the worst thing in the world to just chill out for once?” she asks.
I shove my clothes in my drawer and slam it shut. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like it means. You are never chill.”
“I am too…” I trail off. Even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. “Or I could be. If I wanted to be.”
“So do it,” she says. “I mean, Gavin is chill,”
“Painstakingly so,” I drone.
“And the bride and groom are chill,” she adds.
“Thank you for not saying his name,” I say.
“You know what? I have a challenge for you. I want you to find one detail of the wedding that you and Gavin don’t butt heads on,” she says, and I blurt out a laugh.
“Yeah, right.”
“No, I mean it. Prove you can be chill working on the wedding plans with him. If you actually agree on things without butting heads, who knows, maybe you’ll see a new side of him. You might even discover a new side of yourself too.”
* * *
Whether I like it or not, Josie’s words stick with me.
I’ve never really seen my OCD as a problem. I know I’m type-A, anxious, and over-analyze. I can see how it can be off-putting. If it’s off-putting to others, maybe I am holding myself back too.
When it’s time to figure out music for the wedding, I let Gavin suggest where we meet up. I don’t just let him suggest a place; I ride with him. I sit quietly in the truck while he drives us to the destination of his choice.
“This was very trusting of you,” he says as we approach the entrance of the brick building in the alley.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I trust you? It’s called The Classy Joint,” I say, and my words fall short when we walk inside. “It’s a dive bar.”
“Is that a problem?” he asks.
I am anxious and trying not to sweat. When I sweat, I break out in hives. The last thing I want is to give the impression that I’m allergic to being chill about things.
“Not at all,” I say as he leads me to a table. I force a smile, doing my best not to judge the sticky wood floors, the paint peeling on the walls, or the cook’s face tattoos. “I have one question though,” I say as he pulls out a chair for me.
“Shoot,” he says before taking a seat across from me.
“You have a lot of money, right?” I ask.
“I have a decent amount, yes.”
“So why do you frequent places like this?” I ask before saying, “That sounded snobby, didn’t it?”
“No, I understand. I actually get that a lot,” he says. “I’ve been to all the high-end places. Michelin rated restaurants and Five-Star Hotels and honestly? I think they’re overrated.”
“Overrated?” I laugh. “You think fine dining, good wine, and a swanky atmosphere are overrated?”
“I do,” he nods.
“How so?”
“In short? Places like that are full of rich people, and rich people suck,” he says, and I laugh again. It makes Gavin grin.
“What? You don’t believe me? Listen, I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, and I have learned, especially as someone with money, that status doesn’t matter.
Not as much as good times with good people and good food.
Don’t let the plastic red and white checkered tablecloths and bowls of pretzels fool you.
This place has the best burgers this side of Parker. ”
“Really?” I ask. “Because I happen to love a good burger, and that’s a high bar.”
“Don’t believe me?” he asks. The waiter approaches, and Gavin gives him our order. “We’ll take two burgers with the works, one basket of onion rings, one basket of fries with house seasoning, and two chocolate shakes.”
“I’ll take bacon on mine,” I add. “The burger, not the shake.”
After the waiter walks away, I study Gavin with a smirk. “You better be right,” I tell him.
“What if I’m not?” he asks. “I know I am, but if you decide I’m not?”
“Then I guess you’re buying,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry. I was planning on it either way,” he says with a wink. I really wish he wouldn’t do that. It makes it incredibly hard to prove Josie wrong.
“Oh my god…” I say with a full mouth.
“I know,” Gavin grins.
“This seriously might be the best burger I have ever eaten.” I admit.
“What did I tell you?” he asks as he takes a bite of his own.
“You were right.”
Gavin stops chewing, tilts his head up and points at his ear. “I’m sorry, what was that last part?”
“You were right,” I say.
“One more time. You were mumbling.”
“You were right!” I say loudly enough that the people at the neighboring tables look over at us. “God. Eat your burger and get over yourself.”
Gavin laughs and grabs a french fry, popping it into his mouth. Then he dusts off his hands. “I gotta say, I was surprised when you texted me and told me to choose the place to meet up.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yes, really.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“No offense, but you have a tendency to take the reins on things like that. If I’m being honest, you have a tendency to take the reins on most things,” he says. I stop sucking on my straw to stir my thick shake.
“How so?” I ask, and Gavin shakes his head.
“This feels like a trap,” he chuckles.
“No trap. I want to know,” Josie says. “You have no chill.”
“Josie knows you well,” he says, and I frown.
“Well, I like to think that’s not always true.”
“Yeah?” he asks, raising his voice to compete with the music. There’s a live band on stage that is playing covers of everything from Matchbox Twenty to Green Day. Suddenly he pushes up from his seat and holds out a hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Dance with me,” he says.
“Here?” I ask, my heart speeding up in my chest. “Now?”
“No, at the wedding in a couple of weeks,” he says, clasping and unclasping his hand a couple times impatiently. “Come on. It’s just dancing. It’s a very chill thing to do.”
I’m not much of a dancer, but saying no would definitely not be chill. So I put my napkin on the table and take Gavin’s hand.
“I have to warn you,” I tell him. “I wasn’t a party-girl in college and didn’t go clubbing much. The only dance I think I ever formally learned was the lindy hop. Even when I do that one, I have two left feet.”
“Lucky for you, I have two right feet,” he teases.
He pulls me to the floor where a few other couples are dancing to something by Hootie and the Blowfish, and we fall into step in a sort of casual swing. I have no idea what I am doing, but Gavin seems to. He’s good at leading, and after a minute or two, I catch on and find I’m actually not bad.
“There you go,” he says, spinning me. I shriek and laugh, and Gavin smiles, pulling me against his chest. He smells like oranges and cinnamon, and his eyes are alive and focused on me.
As the song ends, he lowers me into a quick dip before pulling me back into his arms again.
The room claps and cheers for the band, and we hug.
“These guys are really great,” he says as we watch the band kick into another song.
“Yeah, they’d be great at the wedding,” I agree.
“Totally,” he says, and we both stop and look at each other. “Holy shit. Did we just agree on something?” he asks.
“Hiring this band for the wedding?” I ask.
“Yes!”
“I think we did,” I laugh.
Then he laughs too and kisses me. It’s sudden and unexpected and public, and I don’t even care. Josie may have been wrong about one thing, but she might have been right about another.