Chapter 3
3
AINSLEY
A fter I get home from the bar, I shed my bar outfit and throw on my sweats. I couldn’t help but giggle when I sent him the text. Honestly, I needed a way to make sure I still had his attention, not that I even doubted it for a minute. I felt that connection; he felt that connection. What I get back from him, the “yet” part, has me worried. Not in a bad way, at least I don’t think so. But to be on the safe side, I ask him.
So, when I do get to know you, I will hate you?
But seriously, can we talk about that kiss? I know I started it, but damn, he finished it. Twice! I haven’t felt an instant connection to a guy in so long. Not since Jordan. But since I don’t allow myself to think about him, I go back to thinking about Grayson while I wait for him to text back.
I’m not sure what came over me to make me kiss him. I had noticed him the minute we walked into the bar. It was pure luck that we ended up at that bar tonight. Tara wanted to go to a different one, but Kelcie convinced her to try that one. And since Kelcie is the only person that Tara will ever agree with, she went along with her pick. Can’t say I’m disappointed in the choice. Nope, not one single bit.
He looked a bit lonely sitting on the far side of the bar. The brim of his hat hid most of his face, including his eyes. It’s usually the eyes that draw me in, but since I couldn’t see them completely, it was something else about him. The scruff on his chin was certainly a plus. When I first spotted him, I noticed it right away, thought about what it would feel like against my chin. Guess my mind had already decided I’d kiss him.
Pouring myself a glass of wine, I settle onto my couch and bring up my Netflix queue. Since I have a rare day off tomorrow, I’m taking full advantage of staying up late and sleeping in tomorrow.
Just as I’m about to hit play on my movie, my phone pings with an incoming text. Hoping it’s from the handsome stranger, I reach over to the end table and pick it up. Disappointed, I see that it’s Tara.
I had fun tonight, ladies. Let’s do it again soon!
I choose not to respond with the first thought that pops into my head. Taking my time to compose my response, two texts come in at the same time. One is from Kelcie and the other one is from Grayson, who I programmed in earlier. When just his first name comes across the screen, I realize I don’t know his last name. I’ll have to remedy that.
KELCIE
Yes please! Next week?
Deleting what I was going to say to the girls, I close that thread out and open up Grayson’s.
If there will be more kisses like tonight, then yes, you will most certainly be hating me .
I can’t help but crack a smile. Furiously, I type back my response.
When? When will there be more kisses? And what’s your last name?
I watch as the three bubbles appear as he’s typing back his response.
Abbott. Name the time and place, and I’m there.
I add Abbott to his contact information and formulate my next response. Is tomorrow too soon? I think. It’s Friday night; I bet he already has plans. What the heck? I decide to go for it.
Tomorrow?
I chew the fingernail of my pointer finger as I await his response, and down some of the wine. After what feels like forever, the phone finally vibrates on my lap.
I’m out of town tomorrow. I’m back Sunday afternoon.
I so want to know where he’s going, but I restrain myself.
So like Sunday night?
Nothing like being desperate.
Sure
The three bubbles appear again, then disappear. After a few minutes, I figure he’s not responding anymore, but before I put my phone down and turn on my movie, I send a response back to the girls.
Next week works. Looking forward to it!
I toss my phone on the couch next to me and wonder when I became such the liar to my friends. I would rather gouge my eyes out than go out with Tara two weeks in a row. It’s bad enough that we already have plans at the end of the month for Kelcie’s birthday. Sighing, I hit play on the movie and sink further down into the couch.
About thirty minutes into the movie, I decide I need some popcorn. Pulling out the box from the pantry, I pop a bag into the microwave. Realizing there’s only one bag left, I add “popcorn” to my grocery list on the fridge. While I wait for the popcorn to pop, I pile my hair up on top of my head. The faint sound of my phone vibrates from the couch as the microwave beeps. I grab the popcorn out and make my way back to the couch. Checking my phone, I smile when I see Grayson’s name.
Settling back onto the couch with my popcorn, I abandon my movie and open up his message.
How did you get my number anyway?
I have my ways. *wink emoji*
He doesn’t respond right away. Hope I haven’t made him mad. When I left him in the hallway of the bar, shocked shitless, I knew I couldn’t leave without at least getting his number. Taking a chance that Bella would actually give it to me, and also hoping that Tara wouldn’t be even more pissed at me, I found Bella still sitting at the end of the bar. When I reached her stool, she practically grabbed my phone out of my hands and typed his number in. She had a huge smile on her face as she handed the phone back to me, and then she shocked me by pulling me in for a hug. As I pulled away from her and walked back to my friends, I couldn’t help but ponder what the smile and hug were for.
From the short interactions I witnessed, it seemed that she and Grayson were close. I finally settled on that even she could see the connection her brother and I had and wanted to help us out. After all, it was her that actually sent the drink over to me, not him. That little fact didn’t go unnoticed by me.
What are you doing right now?
Watching a movie on Netflix, complete with popcorn and wine.
What movie?
Draft Day. You know it?
Yup.
That’s all you’re going to give me?
He’s quiet for a bit, so I go back to my movie. I watched this one with my brother when it first came out, but nothing else on my queue looked even remotely entertaining. Talking to my brother on the phone yesterday made me somewhat nostalgic, so when I saw the movie on my recommended list, I hit play automatically.
I’m about halfway through the movie this time when my phone vibrates next to me, making my leg jump a little when I feel it. I don’t pause the movie this time; I just grab the phone.
Bella is really into football so anything even remotely football-related, she attempts to drag me to. Sometimes I go willingly, like to see Draft Day.
Which team does she root for?
She’s a Steelers fan. We grew up in rural PA.
His text has opened up a whole new can of worms, and I decide Kevin Costner can wait. I shut off the TV, down my glass of wine, and focus my attention on my phone. Making a split-second decision, I dial his number, not too worried about the consequences.
When he answers, his voice sounds surprised. It’s really cute.
“You grew up in Pennsylvania and she doesn't even like the Eagles?” I practically spit in his ear.
Reacting quickly, he comes back with, “Have I hit a nerve, Ainsley?”
I think I hear a faint chuckle on his end.
“I'm a diehard Eagles fan. Always have been. This won't work if you are a Steelers fan.” I hold my breath for a minute.
“Well then,” he starts, “I guess this isn't going to work out. It's too bad too because I will miss your kisses.”
Before he can hang up, I cut him off, thinking fast. “Wait! You said Bella was a Steelers fan.”
“I did.”
Sometimes he’s a man of few words. That's not going to work for me.
“How about you?” I ask tentatively. I chew my nails as I wait for his response.
“Personally, I'm more of a baseball guy myself,” he replies.
Don't say the Pirates. Don't say the Pirates, I think. When he clears his throat, I realize I said it aloud. Shit.
“Actually, I'm a Mariners fan. It's a long story. But right now, I wish I was a Pirates fan.” He laughs.
“Shut up! I'll stop hating you.”
He's silent for a bit. When I think I've lost him, he says, “Are you into baseball?”
“Not as much as football,” I tell him, “but I can't stand the Pirates.” I don't give him anything else and decide to change the subject. “So can I ask where you are going this weekend or is that too forward of me?”
He snorts, then goes quiet for a few minutes. “Less than two hours ago you asked me to marry you.”
Hmm, he makes a good point. “So then where are you going?”
“On a fishing trip. ”
“Nice! You like to fish?”
“I do. It's not so much about the fish; I just love being on the boat on the water. Gets me out of my head.”
I would like to be in your head .
I pop some popcorn in my mouth before I speak again. “Sounds calming.” I sigh.
“Have you ever been?” he asks.
“On a boat, yes, but not specifically for fishing.”
“You would love my boat.”
“ Your boat?” I squeal. “You have your own boat?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of boat?”
“A big one,” he replies. As if that answers the question.
I sit up on the couch. “How big?” I ask hesitantly.
“Sixty feet or so.”
I squeal again. “And it's yours? Not like your parents? But yours?”
“Yes,” he answers like it's no big deal.
“Are you rich?” I wonder aloud. I figure this isn't the worst question I've asked today.
He's quiet a solid five minutes. In that time, I manage to convince myself that maybe this isn't a good idea. And then silently laugh at the absurdity of that because well, that connection. No denying that. Then he finally speaks. “Rich is a relative term.”
“Good point.” Sensing he doesn't want to talk about that anymore, I don't push him.
He clears his throat. “As much as I'm enjoying getting to know you, it's late, and I'm up very early for work in the morning.”
I glance at the clock. Wow, it's after eleven!
“Yeah, okay,” I concede. “Are you like off the grid while on your fishing trip?” I hope he doesn't hear the eagerness in my voice as I ask the question.
“Unfortunately yes,” he utters with a sigh. Then in a lower voice, he adds, “This may be the first time I'm bummed about that.”
“You and me both,” I concur. “Text me when you get back on Sunday, and we can make plans.”
“Will do,” he responds. “Ainsley?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the kiss.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. Way to leave a girl hanging and wanting more. So much more.
I decide to turn in for the night. After shutting off all the lights in the condo, I walk to my bedroom. I change into PJs, remove my makeup, brush my teeth, and then hop into bed.
I'm asleep before I can even think of getting myself off to the memory of the best first kiss I’ve ever had.
W hen I wake up, there’s a text from Grayson.
Have a good day and rest of the weekend.
Ah, how sweet, I think.
Thanks. You too. See you Sunday. Hope you catch some fish
I spend all day Friday lounging on my couch, alternating between catching up on my shows, napping, and reading. It’s nice to have a day off and since I caught up on laundry and housework earlier in the week, I can truly enjoy lounging without feeling guilty that I’m not doing anything.
Saturday passes slowly so when my mother texts me and invites me for dinner at their house with their friends, I reluctantly agree. My dad is an awesome cook, and while I like to think that I’ve gained some of his skills, I still have a lot to learn to keep up with him. Some of my favorite memories growing up are helping him in the kitchen, gathering ingredients, reading recipes, but mostly just laughing and having a good time.
As soon as I walk in the door, Dad tosses me sweet potatoes. “Grab a knife and cube these for me,” he requests, moving to the stove where he’s got two pots simmering. He’s wearing my mom’s apron around his waist even though he’s got plenty of his own.
Placing the potatoes on the cutting board on the counter, I grab a knife from the knife block and pop a kiss on his cheek. “Hi, Dad. Good to see you.” I laugh.
“Oh, hi back,” my dad calls over to me after I’ve walked back to the counter. “How goes it?”
That's my dad for you.
“Smashing,” I reply, chopping the ends off the sweet potatoes. “What are you cooking?”
“Stuffed turkey burgers, roasted veggies, sweet potatoes, and a salad. Mom was in charge of dessert.” I look over to him, hoping he says what I've been drooling about since my mom mentioned dinner. Sensing me looking at him, he grins at me. “Like there was any doubt?” he asks.
“Phew.” I wipe my arm across my forehead. “You never know. One time, she's going to switch it up on me, and I’ll be so disappointed.”
My mom makes one dinner and one dessert. That's it. She leaves the rest to my dad, which we are all grateful for.
My dad continues to dance his way around the kitchen, stirring, sautéing, forming turkey burgers. I chop the sweet potatoes and plop them on the cookie tray for him to season, all the while staying out of his way. When I’m done with all of them, I hear Dad say, “Grab me a beer from the fridge, will ya, Agee?”
My dad’s been calling me that for as long as I can remember. It’s his own nickname for me because I’m Ainsley Grace.
In the fridge, I find a variety of different beers in there. “Which one do you want?” I ask him, peeking my head from behind the door. “And why is there so much beer in here? Who’s coming tonight anyway? ”
“Newcastle,” he states and then continues with, “The usual gang. The Millers, the Stephens, and the Lanes.” He garbles the last name.
My breath catches and my heart leaps into my throat. No way I heard him correctly. “What?” I whisper into the fridge. I’m not sure I even want to turn around to face him. Even if it’s just his parents, I don’t know if I could handle seeing even them. Slowly, I grab the beer from the shelf and manage to shut the fridge door. I place the beer on the counter near my dad and go over to the table and have a seat. Once I sit down, I rest my elbows on the table and my head in my hands.
There’s no way I would have agreed to dinner if my mother had told me who was coming, precisely the reason she didn’t tell me. She’s still holding out hope that Jordan and I will as she likes to say “find our way back to each other.” No matter how many times I’ve tried to tell her it’s never going to happen, she insists it will. In my head, I hear my brother’s voice. “ This is why you stick your tongue down random guy’s throats. You’ve got something to prove to Mom.” I’d like to think he’s wrong; it’s been one random guy I’ve kissed. Random guys I’ve slept with? Well, that’s another story. Arguing with myself, I know I didn’t kiss Grayson to prove anything to anyone. It was about him.
Abandoning his cooking duties, my dad joins me at the table when he sees my reaction. “Agee, don’t shut down.” He moves my palms out of my face and tips my chin up with his fingers, to really gauge my reaction. My father knows the history with Jordan. All of it. He knows more than my mom, but she doesn’t know that nor would she care.
In a quivering voice, I ask, “Why doesn’t she get it? Why would she invite me when she knows they are coming?”
He shrugs; he doesn’t have an answer. He’s tried telling her to back off, but my mother has a mind of her own, especially when it comes to my relationships. Or one in particular.
I want to ask the question I need answered, but I don’t want to know the answer. I can’t bring myself to ask it .
He shakes his head, as if he knows what I’m going to ask. “He’s not coming.”
I let go of the breath I was holding. My dad wraps his arm around me and pulls me tightly into his chest. When I don’t pull away, he lets go, commenting about finishing dinner. He places a kiss on the top of my head before making his way back to his cooking.
It’s at that moment that my mother decides to come into the kitchen. At least I’m not crying.
She takes one look at me and asks, “What’s wrong?”
My dad answers for me. “You didn’t tell her the Lanes were coming.” He doesn’t even turn around. It’s not necessarily accusatory but of course, that’s how my mother takes it.
“Sheila is my friend, and I’m not going to not invite her to our get-togethers.” She looks back over to me, a look of uncertainty and a scowl on her face, a look she’s perfected over the years. “I hope you’re still planning to stay.”
“You could have at least mentioned they were coming,” I reply to her.
“You wouldn’t have come,” she retorts. She comes over to the table where I’m sitting. I think she’s going to sit down, but she just places her hands on an empty chair and stands there, waiting for my answer.
She’s right. There’s no way in hell I would have agreed to come, even for my father’s cooking. I hate that she didn’t tell me on purpose, and if I say I would have come, she would know I was lying. She always knows when I’m lying. My brother got away with shit all the time, practically lying his way through life, and she never once didn’t believe him. I’m still not sure if it’s because she thinks he walks on water or that she didn’t care that he was lying to her. It’s probably a combination of both.
I go with the truth, because it’s what she wants to hear anyway, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of saying she’s right. “I wouldn’t have come,” I confirm, “but now that I’m here, I’m going to enjoy Dad’s cooking.” I push out of my seat and walk back over to where my dad is still busy tending to dinner. “Anything else I can do to help?” I ask him.
He shakes his head no. He glances up at the clock. “Everyone will be here in about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you go outside and make sure the table and chairs are all set up?”
“Will do,” I call out as I start outside. He knows everything’s all set up; Kim Bradford wouldn’t have it any other way. But he also just saved me from anymore of my mother’s antics for the time being.
Once outside, I grab myself a beer from the cooler and take a seat at the table. The first swig of beer is always the best, and I relish it as it coats my throat. I lay my head back against the back of the chair and allow my eyes to close. The spring sun feels good on my face.
I hear the sliding doors open behind me. I don’t open my eyes, listening for a clue as to who’s joining me. When I hear the grill open, I know it’s my dad. I open my eyes and tilt my head back down so I can watch him. Grilling is the one thing I hate to do. Every time I try, my food is either charred or undercooked, no matter how many lessons I get from my dad. At this point, I figure I’ll just leave it up to him.
“Mom says you spoke to Drew the other day,” my dad speaks, even though he’s got his back to me.
“He tells her everything,” I mumble. At that, my dad turns to face me. I know that he’s heard what I’ve said even though I wasn’t clear.
“You can’t be surprised,” he states, giving me an incredulous look.
“That’s why I don’t talk to him on regularly.”
My brother and I used to be close. It was only the two of us growing up, him older than me by eighteen months. Since there was only a year between us in school, I would hang around him and his friends, and he was totally okay with it. Until Jordan got more than just interested in me. Considering how everything eventually played out, my relationship with Drew never really improved, despite our mother’s attempts to rectify it. And by rectify it, I mean for me to smooth things over by taking all the blame. Sensing the pattern, yet? I sometimes wish I could work it out with him, but somehow my mother always gets in the way. If it were up to Drew and me, we could probably work out our differences because we’re civil during the few times a year we see each other. Secretly, I love that he lives a plane ride away, and I don’t have to see him all that often. We talk on the phone on rare occasions, like the other night, but that’s about the extent of our relationship.
My thoughts about my brother are thankfully interrupted by the arrival of my parents’ friends. Of course, Sheila and Fletcher Lane are right out in front of the group. I contemplate waiting until they come over to greet me rather than standing up, but I think better of it at the last minute. My mother expects me to always be on my best behavior, even at twenty-five years old.
I stand up and greet them with an awkward hug. I’ve never been their favorite person, and the feeling is mutual for me.
Sheila opens with, “So good to see you, Ainsley. Have you heard Jordan’s engaged?” She fake smiles at me while her husband just stands there looking totally uncomfortable.
I feign enthusiasm back. “No, that’s great news. Congratulations.”
“It is great news. We just love Maggie so much. She fits right into our family…”
I can’t even listen to her bullshit, so I cut her off. “That’s wonderful. Excuse me, but I have to help my dad with something inside.” I walk away from her, leaving her mid-sentence and mouth agape about Jordan’s fiancée.
I huff as I make my way back inside. The rest of the party members have arrived, and I stop to give everyone more awkward hugs. I’m seriously considering forgoing my dad’s burgers and feigning an illness. I’m not up to this tonight.
Grabbing my phone off the kitchen counter, I make my way into the living room and throw myself down on the couch. Pretty sure my mother would have a field day if she saw my legs draped over the couch, especially with my shoes on, but I’m beyond caring at this point.
Glancing at my phone, I see a text from Grayson. I immediately sit straight up, and my heart beats faster. I can barely unlock the phone with my sweaty palms. I realize I haven’t been this excited for a text message in a long time. Especially from a guy. Opening up Messages, I can’t help but smile at his message.
So, I’m back early. We had a little trouble with the boat. I wondered if you wanted to get breakfast in the morning instead of hanging out tomorrow night.
Sure, that works. What time and where are you thinking?
I don’t expect him to respond right away. His text was sent over an hour ago. However, the alert sounds within a few minutes.
There’s a cool café on Larchmont Ave. Have you ever been? 9 a.m.?
Never been but that sounds great. See you then.
I don’t want to stop texting him, but I also don’t want him to think I’m one of those girls requiring constant interaction. I waver back and forth with my decision for a bit before deciding that tomorrow morning will be here soon enough.
I’m just about to get up and go back and join the party—because I’m here so I might as well suck it up and try to enjoy myself, or at least the food—when another text comes through.
See you then
Thinking I’ve made the right decision, because there’s the brush-off for the night, another text immediately follows.
How was your day?
Debating on how to answer that question, I first settle back in on the couch. I figure that my mother won’t come looking for me until it’s time to eat.
It wasn’t too bad. Not as exciting as being on a boat, but I survived. Now I just have to suffer through a stupid dinner party at my parents’ house that I agreed to attend. (Beats head against the wall)
I kick off my shoes and make myself comfortable on the couch while I wait for his response. It takes a few minutes, not that I’m counting or anything. I try to focus on what’s going on outside, but from my position, I don’t really have a good angle to see.
My phone finally pings.
Wow, that sounds enthralling.
I begin to type my response but before I can finish, another one comes in.
I wish there was a sarcasm font. You should ditch the party and meet me.
I reread his message about five times, unsure if the sarcasm comment applies to the entire message or the one he sent before. I quickly erase what I was going to write, and start another comment. Another text comes in from him. Not so much the man of few words from the other night.
Totally serious about the last part of the message
I really should stay, although thanks for the offer.
I push up off the couch, pop my shoes back on my feet, and practically run to the back porch. Knowing my dad will take the news better, I hunt the backyard for him. Spotting him showing off the garden, I push open the door and go outside. I ignore the incoming text messages for a minute.
When I get over to my dad, he’s talking about his tomatoes. God, he loves his tomatoes.
Waiting for a break in his conversation, once he stops talking, I tell him, “Dad, I’m not feeling so great. I’m going to take off and get some rest. Hope that’s okay. Save me a burger please.” I place a kiss on his cheek, ignoring the shocked look on his face. As I walk away, without so much as a wave or a goodbye to the others standing there, I call out, “Tell Mom I’ll call her soon. Love you.”
Once I have made it to my car in the driveway, I climb behind the wheel and read Grayson’s message.
Oh, okay. Well, breakfast it is then. Have a good night.
I smile, pulling down the visor and flipping up the mirror. I look presentable enough, but I contemplate going home to change and put on some makeup. It takes me all of thirty seconds to decide that for once, I’m actually okay with the casual look.
I text him back.
What, you didn’t get the sarcasm in my message? Where am I meeting you?
I wait a few minutes for his response, getting just a little antsier with each minute that passes. Finally the phone pings.
The billiard hall on White Ave.
I pull away without even responding. A huge smile comes over my face; my night just significantly improved.