Chapter Eighteen
Miles
Miles lowered himself onto the picnic table bench.
Ah, soothing sunshine, salt air, and warm wood.
Like getting into a car on a hot day, his entire body melted into a relaxed state.
He and Avery had been shopping for furniture in Portland for the last few hours and it felt good to finally sit down and not have to evaluate what he was sitting on.
Ever since they’d arrived, he’d tested countless couches and chairs to determine if he liked any of them enough to live with them for the foreseeable future.
“Miles,” she had said on the hour-long drive down that morning. “The goal today is to put you in your comfort zone, not take you out of it. I want you to love coming home. Snap your fingers if you don’t like something.”
A few nights ago, Miles had suggested finger snapping as their safe sign.
He’d found it funny when she appropriated it for his interior decorating anxiety.
Picking a piece of furniture only to have to pick another piece in a complimentary color, while keeping the mood of the room consistent, required talent beyond his faculties.
Had he been alone, he’d have left the store overwhelmed and empty-handed.
What would’ve taken him years took Avery three hours. She’d zigzagged all over the showroom, equipped with a clipboard containing measured layouts of each room. Every time she discovered something perfect, she called him over, asked his opinion, and made him sit or lie down on it.
“You’re going to nap on this couch. Make sure you like it,” she had said. “Lie there while I see what else they have.”
Avery’s concern with his comfort made him trust he’d like the end results.
Miles needed her genius. And there were a lot of other people like him.
What felt onerous to him was a breeze for her.
She took charge, but in a relaxed, comfortable way.
When she found the right thing, her eyes lit up. It clearly made her happy.
His decorator in New York had never asked if he liked an item, much less made him test it out.
She’d repeatedly mentioned “creating a curated aesthetic” and he’d never wanted to admit he didn’t know what she meant.
Today was the polar opposite. Avery was carefully crafting a home.
His home. All that mattered was his comfort and that he liked it.
Avery returned from freshening up and sat across the table.
The patio was almost empty, given the late lunch hour.
The warm sun felt so good he wanted to take a nap.
A couple of seagulls landed on the roof next door.
He wondered if she recognized this restaurant, this sunny patio, this table.
She’d said nothing when they’d placed their orders.
Ten years ago, they’d had lunch here the day Sam sent them to pick up boats in Portland.
He considered that day their very first date, even though he didn’t officially ask her out until a week later.
“We got a lot done today.” She pulled her lip balm from her pocket, slathered it on, and smacked her lips with satisfaction. “I want to be sure we didn’t forget anything.”
She flipped through her room plans, double checking her lists.
“We didn’t get bedside tables,” she said. “But I think you should wait until Wes installs your bed, so we have exact dimensions.”
Miles nodded. He was fine with boxes, old milk crates, or stacks of books for a while.
“Pepper, I love all of it.” He reached across the table and took the clipboard. “If we forgot something, we’ll come back. Thank you.”
He placed the clipboard on the bench beside him. They’d done enough for one day and he wanted to enjoy one another.
“Do you recognize this place?” he asked, as the other table of late lunch diners stood to leave.
“Of course I do.” Avery blushed and arranged her napkins and utensils. “You taught me how to eat a lobster here. I just reunited with the hand dryer I used when I tried to dry off my shirt in the bathroom after I refused to wear the plastic bib and got soaked with lobster juice.”
The other diners passed by and walked off the deck.
Avery ran a hand down her pink cheek. “Ugh, I was an embarrassed, southern girl, eating lunch with a cute New England boy. I didn’t want to come across like I had no idea what I was doing.”
“It was a good thing I’d already fallen for you.
” He laughed. Back then, she’d been everything he hadn’t known he needed.
Flirty, fun, kind. And new. He’d become enchanted with her on the drive to Portland when she noticed a digital clock bank sign and asked him his favorite time of day—as in actual time.
Hers was 10:01 because she liked symmetry and 11:11 was too popular an answer.
“I got cold. You gave me your sweatshirt.” She smiled.
Avery still seemed to enjoy collecting his clothes. She hadn’t returned his jacket or his flannel yet. He’d hung onto her Vanderbilt baseball hat as collateral.
“What happened to that sweatshirt? You gave everything back at the end of the summer. Except that.” He winked.
“It’s back home under my bed, in a bin of college stuff. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”
Miles’s chest expanded. The idea that she knew its exact location and that it no longer held his scent meant she’d wanted to hold onto the memory of their day in Portland.
That day had marked a turning point for him.
With a simple hug on the beach, and a piece of sea glass, Avery had opened his eyes to the potential for happiness in his future.
He rested a hand on top of hers.
“That day,” he said, brushing his fingers over her knuckles. “You changed my life. You took my crippling sadness and despair and gave me hope. Without you and your hug, I’d have just kept sinking.”
Her blush returned and she swatted her hand away. “You give me too much credit.”
He shook his head. She never gave herself enough credit. He said nothing because their server arrived with a tray of food.
“One salad and two watahs.” The server placed the items between them. “Lobstahs’ll be right up.”
Avery let go of his hand and drizzled her side of the salad with balsamic vinaigrette. She stuck her fork in a tomato, then a carrot, and finally lettuce. It occurred to Miles that Avery ate like she did everything else: precisely.
“Victoria’s coming and she’s requested a specific French-milled bath soap and the matching hand and body creams.” Avery rolled her eyes. “There’s a store on Commercial Street that carries them. They might carry the sea-salt-scented candle she wants. Can we stop in after lunch?”
“Of course.”
“Her poor assistant.”
“Oh, she’s not bad. Vic has eczema, so she’s careful with skincare.” Miles tested the waters. “Admit it, you’re irritated because you’ve never liked her.”
Avery grimaced and concentrated on adding more dressing to her side of the salad.
“Wanna tell me why?” he asked.
“I imagine it’s a lot like the reason you don’t like Paulson,” she said. “Hard to explain, but something doesn’t sit right.”
Touché. Paulson grated on him, even though everyone else loved the guy. Come to think of it, he had never called Miles about the retreat. Miles gritted his teeth and held back a growl.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Once I survive Queen Victoria’s visit, and I will, I get to meet Hayes and Anna Catherine, and we can all have fun on the Fourth of July. After that, it’s smooth sailing for the rest of the summer.”
“I’ll be in Wyoming the third week in July to observe another bereavement camp. I get back the day before the Camp Luciole fundraiser in the City.”
“Do you have a lot to do? Fundraisers are a lot of work.”
“Nope. Anna Catherine and Hayes put together a party committee, and all I have to do is show up and give a speech.”
He’d been thinking about whether he should take her.
She’d have to find a dress, fly to the City, and get all done up.
If Victoria’s requests were too much, who knew how she’d feel about an over-the-top Manhattan charity gala.
He didn’t want the stresses of his life to become an inconvenience to her.
Avery stabbed her fork into a cucumber, then a tomato, and scooped a crouton on top.
“After that, I have Lily’s bachelorette, and you have the bachelor party.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind overseeing the furniture delivery while I’m on the river?” he asked. The earliest possible delivery date had been the Friday he returned from Nate’s canoe trip.
“Not a problem. The next available day they had was in late August, and I want to see the new furniture in your house before I leave for Hanover.”
“Wait,” he said. “When do your classes begin?”
“Assuming I get around to signing a lease, I’ll move in the tenth for orientation. The landlord is taking forever to email it to me. Classes start on the fifteenth.”
Miles gulped a bite of salad. He’d assumed she started around Labor Day.
“That’s so early,” he groaned. “You’ll miss the Perseid meteor shower.”
She seemed so laid back for someone who had so many events coming up.
Hearing it all laid out made his head spin.
Adult summers were nothing like carefree college summers.
Their obligations were stacked like dominoes.
Ready to topple. Calendars that didn’t mesh would grow more complicated in the fall when she was five hours away.
Avery let out a long sigh and put down her fork.
“I know,” she said.
Miles mixed the remaining salad around in the bowl. He’d been so hungry a minute ago, and now he’d lost his appetite. His chest felt tight, and the warm wood table prickled under his forearms.
Avery took his hand back in hers.
“Miles, tell me what you’re thinking?”