Chapter 16 #3
Ames freezes. I pause mid-chew with a mound of pasta in my mouth and glance up and down the table. I called Vivian and told her shortly after Lissa and I broke up, but I haven’t talked to anyone else about it yet.
Still, no one seems surprised by the news. No one’s offering me condolences or asking for explanations. And no one seems to think there’s anything weird about Luis asking me this either.
The Axfords are just rolling with it. Like, yes, it was a thing that happened, and we’re not gonna not talk about it, but we’re also not going to discuss it unless I want to .
The unconditional acceptance chokes me up a little.
I swallow my pasta. “It was, uh… a little place out by the nursery school on Route 2,” I say before taking a gulp of water. “I forget?—”
“Suit Yourself,” Ames pipes up. “They had a good selection for groomsmen.”
I nod my agreement and notice that the strap of Ames’s sling got tangled somehow and is digging into his neck, so I straighten it and smooth it away from the tender skin of his neck.
Griffin winks at me from across the table, and I smile back uncertainly.
“I think we need to look there,” Luis tells Eliza. “The tux place out at the mall hasn’t had a new style since 1987?—”
“Oh, shoot!” Vivian exclaims. “I forgot the Caesar! I made homemade croutons and everything. Hang on.”
She starts to push out her chair when Holden, who’s sitting closer, stands up and motions her back down.
“I’ll get it.”
“Not too much dressing,” Ames advises. “Remember last time?”
“And don’t forget we like extra parm,” Grant says, clearly not giving a shit about his post-heart-attack cardiac diet.
“Jesus Christ. You’d think I’d never tossed a salad, people,” Holden mutters.
The phrase takes a minute to land, and then Ames and I swivel our heads toward each other in slow motion like we’re being pulled by magnets. His face turns beet red.
“I hate you so much,” he says under his breath, trying not to laugh, which is really unfair since this is his fault .
I want to say something snarky in reply, but I’m too busy laughing into my napkin.
“Could you two stop giggling?” Holden complains. “You’re like the weird twins from Psycho .”
Of course, this only makes the two of us laugh harder.
“So I met this guy in Colorado,” Wilder says, “who’s rebuilding a vintage motorcycle from 1947 using all period-accurate parts?—”
“How’s that even possible?” Grant wonders.
“It’s called dedication, Dad,” Beckett says.
“Called insanity,” Grant mutters.
“Probably has to forge some of the parts himself,” True muses as he passes some chicken to Greta, who’s begging silently from the rug.
“Like I said.” Grant waves a hand.
Wilder continues his story, and when the salad gets passed to me, I automatically hold it out to Ames.
“You aren’t having any?” he whispers, frowning. “When was the last time you ate a vegetable, Robert?”
“Uh… do french fries at lunch count?” I grin and smack his leg before he can work up any steam. “Kidding. I’ll have some, baby. You go first.”
Ames shoots me a look that says my diet’s not funny and puts an extra-large portion of salad on his plate and mine.
When I look up, True’s smothering a smile. I don’t really understand why, but I nod and smile back anyway.
The dinner is amazing. Vivian really outdid herself. I’m having fun, and Ames has relaxed to the point where he’s leaning against me, which is awesome. It’s just nice to reconnect with everyone this way and to be, like Ames said, normal .
Holden and Beckett clear the dishes while Vivian brings out some custard thing she calls Snow Pudding for dessert.
While she’s dishing it up and telling a long story about how she promised her grandmother she’d never reveal the secret ingredient, Ames turns to me and says in a low voice, “I think it’s going good, right? No one suspects anything?”
He’s got a smear of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth that makes him look about thirteen again, and he’s so adorable I can’t help reaching out my thumb to wipe it off.
“Going good,” I agree, licking the sauce off my thumb.
Ames’s eyes heat, and he leans in closer before remembering he’s not supposed to.
When we turn back to the table, everyone is staring at us like someone’s hit Pause on a video. As soon as they see us looking, they resume their conversations like someone’s hit Play again.
For half a second, I manage to convince myself I imagined it. Then Holden pipes up, “Okay, so are we really not talking about Ames and— ow !” His whole body jerks upright, and he turns outraged eyes on Vivian. “Mom!”
“As I was saying,” Vivian says blithely, patting Holden’s arm. “The secret to Snow Pudding is the lemon zest.”
I clear my throat. “Fascinating, Vivian. Tell us more.”
Holden snickers.
The rest of the meal passes without incident. Even the dark looks Ames shoots Holden and the shit-eating grins Holden gives him back are almost routine. It’s not until we’ve said our goodbyes and we’re pulling out of the driveway that Ames unloads in a rush .
“Oh my god, that was awful! We suck at being normal.”
I laugh because he’s not wrong. “Ames, it’s okay?—”
“It’s not! Bloodhounds , remember? They definitely know something’s going on.”
Thinking back over all the little smiles and winks I received, I can’t argue. Still…
“Would it really be the worst thing if they knew?” I ask, focusing on the road.
“Yes. Because this is temporary, we said!”
“No, you said. And I agreed because you seem to need that,” I correct calmly. “But whether they noticed or didn’t, it doesn’t change a damn thing for me. I want you, Ames. Not just for?—”
“Can we please just go home?” he interrupts. “I’m tired.”
I exhale slowly. Patience. Patience. “Yeah. Of course, baby.”
I navigate the way on autopilot and pull into my driveway a few minutes later.
It’s not late, but it’s a school night, and the neighborhood is dark and quiet. Down the street, Mrs. Rasmussen’s dragging her recycling to the curb. My little house watches as I shut off the engine, and it ticks quietly.
“Ames,” I begin. “I’m sorry if?—”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he assures me quickly. “It’s all good. I just need a good night’s sleep in my own bed.” He’s halfway up the path to my door before he stops and turns. “This… isn’t my home.”
My patience wobbles a little as I glance around, feigning surprise.
“No?” I demand. “’Cause you’re the one who put the wreath on the door.
Who picked the color for those shutters.
And helped me plant these flowers last year.
” I tilt my chin at the tulips lining the path, which are bobbing their heads in the evening breeze.
I wish I could connect the dots for him and show him this place has been his as long as it’s been mine, even if neither of us realized it.
But he’s not ready to see it yet. So… okay.
Fucking patience . I guess.
“I’m also pretty sure,” I continue, letting my voice go deep and rough, “it’s time for my next lesson.”
Ames’s blue eyes are washed-out silver in the moonlight as he stares up at me. “Lesson?”
“Mmm. I mean, not to brag, but I think I’ve aced handjobs and showers.” I step closer and slide my fingers into his belt loops. “Surely you have more to teach me?”
“I…” He licks his lips. “As a matter of fact…”
I bend my head and capture his mouth in a kiss. And Ames kisses me back, right there in the quiet yard, bracing his left hand on my chest and lifting up on his tiptoes to press our lips together harder.
He wants me just as badly as I want him, I know he does, so I let him take what he needs without demanding more than he’s ready to give.
Because eventually, Ames is going to realize I’m not going anywhere. That I’m his the same way he’s mine, and that we’ve belonged to each other all along.
If only he can be brave enough to let it happen.