Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
AMES
Sometimes things get worse right before they get better.
That’s what I’m telling myself as Auden and I walk down Whether Street on a Friday night in early April.
Winter’s clinging to Vermont by its fingernails. Cold air stabs my cheeks, and stealth ice patches lie in wait on the sidewalk—a souvenir from the “wintry mix” that melted as soon as it touched the ground earlier, only to freeze under cover of darkness.
But despite all that, some enterprising Winsomefolk have strung miles of white fairy lights across the street like a canopy.
Pastel-colored signs in shop windows show the calendar events for the Spring Fling, which starts in about three weeks.
And when we passed Chapel Creek Park a minute ago, purple crocuses were poking out of the ground, giving the weather a giant fuck you .
Which just goes to show that you need to be patient—not my forte—and let things work themselves out.
“—but it’s not exactly practical, you know?” Auden says, turning his face to check my response .
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and that’s not the first time this has happened tonight. Fucking fuck, Axford. Head in the game.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was just thinking how glad I am that we got our schedules to align and what a nice night it’s been.” I gesture vaguely at the town around us before quickly stuffing my hand back in my warm pocket. “My mind wandered.”
“Oh, gosh no. I’m sorry.” Auden ducks his head in his adorably bashful way.
“I’ve been going on about the idea one of my students had.
Remote-control retractable crampon-claws for walking on icy sidewalks?
” He shakes his head ruefully. “I get so carried away with this stuff, I might’ve walked us into the river.
” He glances around and adds, “But you’re right.
Winsome’s like something out of a movie.
Makes me really glad I moved to Vermont. ”
“It’s not just the scenery making tonight nice.” I bump his arm gently. “Thanks for suggesting that new Italian place. I can’t believe it’s been open for a month and I haven’t made it over there yet. It was great.”
“Yeah?” Auden smiles uncertainly. “I kinda worried you weren’t a fan of your pasta.”
I wince. “Was I being obvious?”
“No! Or maybe a little.” He laughs. “It seemed like you were having thoughts .”
The opinions fly out of me like a dam bursting. “The gnocchi was overworked. It’s a common problem. Mine used to be that way, too, until I learned a new technique using less liquid. But god, I really wished I knew the chef so I could tell them?—”
Auden claps a hand over his mouth, but his eyes sparkle. “Oh my god, you wouldn’t. ”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. “Er. No. I mean… Not unless I thought they’d want to know. Because I would.”
He laughs.
“Sorry,” I say. “Overabundance of opinions about food is kind of an occupational hazard of hanging out with me.”
He laughs again. “Meh. Like when I talked your ear off about retractable crampon claws just now, and during dessert, I was telling you about my seventh graders’ forensics unit? I’m a walking occupational hazard, Ames. Don’t apologize.”
“Yeah, but your stuff’s interesting. Hearing how you’re training up the next generation of criminal masterminds.” I grin.
Auden blinks and frowns. “Uh. Actually, it’s… kinda the opposite. It’s about scientific method and evidence collection. Crime solving .”
“No, I-I know. I meant the kids are learning how criminals get caught, so theoretically, they could commit the perfect crime? It was a joke.”
“Ohhh! Right. Now I understand,” he says, but I can see from his face that he doesn’t really.
Which is cute. Obviously.
We stop walking in front of Watchfire. Through the giant front window, it’s clear the dining room’s still busy.
There’s a fire roaring in the stone fireplace that dominates the center of the room, and warm white light from the antique fixtures I sourced spills out into the street.
Upstairs, the lamp I left burning in my apartment glows.
Usually, I love this place—the restaurant where I’m directing things from the middle of the action, the quiet sanctuary above where I can be alone with my thoughts.
Tonight, neither option is appealing.
“So,” I say. “Wanna come up for a bit?”
Auden’s cheeks, already pink with cold, get even pinker in the streetlight. “I do. But maybe not tonight?” he says apologetically. “I’m meeting some friends for a hike in the morning.”
I manage a smile. “Of course. Yeah.”
He looks relieved. “You’re so easy to be with, Ames.”
I’m glad to hear that, because I’ve been trying to be.
I’ve been on my best behavior with Auden the past couple of weeks, trying not to come off as too pushy or opinionated.
Making sure I respect Auden’s boundaries regarding taking things slow in terms of our physical relationship.
Making sure I don’t talk too much. Making sure I don’t find myself thinking about…
people I shouldn’t be thinking about while on a date with someone else.
But I don’t know if I’m doing it right because it seems like it should feel more natural over time, but instead?—
When Auden presses his lips to mine, it’s so unexpected I freeze for a second. His lips are cold but soft. They taste like the wine we had at dinner.
He pulls back slightly, and I realize I need to get on board, so I pull him against me and kiss him back, closing my eyes and trying to lose myself in the sensation.
It’s good . Auden knows what he’s doing—the right amount of pressure, the perfect tilt of his head. When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and Auden’s glasses are askew.
“Wow,” he says happily. “That was?—”
I adjust his glasses for him. “Yeah. ”
“I should go,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
“Probably,” I agree, but I don’t move either.
He kisses me one more time, quick and sweet, before stepping back toward his car, which is parked just a couple of doors down. “Text me tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
I stand on the sidewalk, pressing my lips together, and wave as he drives away.
It was a good kiss. And it’ll get better from here, because that’s how things work.
You don’t start out making stellar bread—or gnocchi, as the case may be—you learn as you go.
You analyze the recipe and refine your technique.
So it makes sense that good kisses will lead to great kisses, which will eventually lead to the kind of sex that makes us forget our own names if I’m patient.
Just look at the situation with Robbie. It’s been just three weeks since I decided to make a change, and I’m completely over him.
Or close enough that it doesn’t matter, anyway.
And yeah, we went through a shit period for a few days, but since I apologized last week, things have gotten better. We’re texting regularly again, and when we’re together, I can talk to him with none of the old sexual tension.
Or, like, almost none.
So, things are good. On an upswing. I just have to keep doing what I’m doing.
The only fly in the ointment is that Auden wants to take things slow. Which, yes, might objectively be the right approach to building a relationship that’s not based on sex, but is subjectively killing me because I’m horny as fuck.
I haven’t masturbated so much since I was seventeen. And let me tell you, being stuck with my hand and my own wayward thoughts while jerking off is… dangerous.
I blow out a breath and head into Watchfire, needing a distraction. The warm air hits me immediately, along with the smells of fresh bread, woodsmoke, and the garlic from tonight’s special, a spicy sausage flatbread.
Jana is working behind the bar tonight, and she greets me with a smile and an eyebrow wiggle. “Boss man! How was the date?”
Perky Halloran is just beside me, and his ears twitch like little gossip-seeking antennae.
“Wonderful,” I say firmly. “Auden’s a great guy.”
“Good for you, Ames.” Perky raises his wineglass in a toast. “To new beginnings and all that.”
I don’t know what he means—at least, I’d like to believe I don’t—so I change the subject. “Good to see you, Perky. Where’s your better half tonight?”
“If you mean David, I have no idea.” He sniffs and lifts his chin. “But I hope, wherever he is, he’s thinking about what he’s done and repenting .”
A long-suffering sigh comes from the other side of the bar, and Perky’s husband shakes his head. “It was a book, Perky. Mafia romance isn’t your cup of tea, you said. One star, you said. Dee-Enn-Eff , you said! And the library was asking for donations, so…”
Perky shakes his head sadly. “Ames, I really can’t imagine where David might be tonight, as I said…
but if you do happen to see him at some point, perhaps you could tell him that not finishing a book is a temporary state—one I might change at any time when the mood strikes—whereas, being betrayed by my soulmate, by the ma n I loved and trusted above all others, is a permanent wound that will never be forgiven or forgotten? ”
Jana meets my eyes and presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh. I don’t blame her.
Perky and David do this dance every few months, where David commits an unforgivable crime—I feel like the last one was eating Perky’s peanut butter cups at Halloween, and the time before that was him saying Jacob Elordi was hotter than Perky’s beloved Jonathan Bailey—and Perky launches into the drama stratosphere until David makes amends.
It’s funny because David’s as undramatic as they come—the man owns five different ties in the same shade of brown and has ordered the same soup-and-sandwich combo every Friday for years. But he’s gone along with it every damn time for literal decades.
“Soulmates don’t come along every day, Perky,” David points out. “You can’t just cast yours aside willy-nilly. We’re not as easily replaced as a secondhand copy of Impaled by Love .”