Love and Other Champagne Problems

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

W hat did it mean to be an adult? Was it age? Independence? Did one magically turn into an adult at eighteen, or when something adultish happened to them? I often wondered. There were times I still felt like a teenager in an adult’s body, like I was still seventeen instead of twenty-two. There were times I felt passable as an adult, though. Moving in here. Graduating college.

Sitting in my hotel room all day Sunday and Monday, though, waiting for my mother or father to come charging in, had me feeling very much so like a child grounded to her room, slowly going insane.

Neither of them ever came.

I wanted to go see Nancy, but I didn’t feel up to batting back and forth with her yet. I wanted to go out for a drive, but didn’t want to call on Sumner in order to do so. Sumner, in general, was someone I tried not to think about. After spending time with someone nearly every day, it felt strange to not see him at all for two days straight, like something was missing.

The sound my hand made when it smacked his hand off my shoulder echoed in my head all weekend—probably because my hotel room was otherwise silent. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m not some little kid you have to comfort, I’d told him, but I’d been acting like one. And the humiliating fact of it was enough to keep me from emerging from my room.

To occupy my mind as the clock ticked down Monday night, I sketched in my art book. I’d begun keeping one in the later days of middle school, when fashion had just start piquing my interest, and had since filled so many pages with designs of suits and outfits. They weren’t anything spectacular, given that I was all self-taught, but the general idea could still be pulled off the paper. I was at least good enough to guide the clothiers at Gilfman.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments that I sketched a new piece, I wondered what life would’ve looked like if I had ended up going to one of the fashion schools in New York. The truth I rarely faced was that I could’ve gone. I had been eighteen, a legal adult. My parents might’ve wanted me to get a degree in business, but nothing said I had to. They might not have paid my tuition for fashion school, but I was sure that if I’d asked Nancy to invest her money in the degree to send me to New York, she would’ve. I could’ve been like Destelle and taken the first-class ticket out of this town when it’d been offered to me.

I hadn’t done that, though. I’d been too much of a coward, too much of a child afraid to lose the remaining respect of her parents. I was doing the same thing now, agreeing to marry a man because I was afraid.

I knew that. And I did nothing about it.

With a sigh, I sat back in my chair and dropped my pencil. The sketch I worked on now looked far too much like my last one, and the one before that. It seemed I only knew how to create one silhouette, one pattern. I’d never learn how to advance, but remain stuck sketching the same suit over and over again.

Needing a new distraction, I picked up my phone and typed ‘Aaron Astor’ into the search, hoping to find the article Sumner had read the other day. I doubted there’d be any more information, but I had the urge to see it with my own eyes rather than letting Sumner read it aloud to me.

I scrolled and scrolled, changed the keywords and search terms, but never came across the article again. Figured.

A soft double knock came at my door, pulling me from the depths of my wandering mind. I would’ve assumed it was my mother coming to check and make sure I was in my room, except it was after seven o’clock in the evening. Surely she’d gone home by now. My father, too. I hadn’t ordered dinner yet, and housekeeping had already stopped by to freshen up my room earlier. It left one person.

And sure enough, when I got up to peer through the peephole, I found Sumner standing in the hall. He had his hands in the front pockets of his light wash denim jeans, his loose-fitted shirt rolled up to his elbows and tucked into his waistband. His gaze was cast away from the door, but he rocked forward onto his toes as he waited.

The strongest desire to not open surfaced. In fact, that feeling was accompanied by another strong desire to never see Sumner Pennington again. After Saturday, the idea of facing him built to be something akin to meeting Aaron Astor in my head— awkward . I couldn’t think of the last time I’d formed an apology, but for the way I snapped at him, Sumner deserved one.

Sumner knocked again, firmer this time, startling me into unlatching the door.

“This is a surprise.” I launched into a greeting, clearing my expression. “Did you run out of things to do on your days off?”

Not an apology. Not even close.

He tried to be quick about it, but I watched as Sumner’s gaze scanned my body, as if on their own accord. “Wow. Is this the first time I’m seeing you in something other than a suit?”

I looked down at the loose floral lounge shorts and the dark long-sleeved shirt I wore. My legs were pale, ghostly, since rarely did I ever expose them to the sun. The long sleeves were tight, a shirt with a higher percentage of spandex so that it stuck to my figure. Most definitely not a suit. In fact, he was seeing more of the shape of my body than he ever has.

I had the overwhelming urge to shut the door between us. “What are you doing here?”

Sumner’s hands were still in his pockets, and he still rocked on his heels. “I thought I’d stop by.”

“I don’t need to go anywhere.”

“Not as your secretary,” he replied. “As your friend.”

It was the most beautiful chance for me to apologize, wasn’t it? Speaking of being friends, I was a bad one on Saturday, lashing out at you when it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry. My ego wouldn’t form the words. “You’ve grown attached in all the time we’ve spent around each other, hmm?”

“I’m bored out of my mind,” he admitted without shame. “Who knew you were my main source of entertainment?”

I could’ve said the same. Since the housekeeping and room service rarely spoke more than five words to me when they stopped up to my room, even this brief interaction with Sumner felt like I was a dry sponge and just the briefest conversation with him poured water back into me.

I stepped backward into my room, offering the door open. “Want to come in? I can have room service bring us up something to eat.”

Sumner peered past me and into the interior of the hotel room for only the briefest moment. His eyes snapped back up to mine, as if he was embarrassed about something he’d seen. “Let’s go for a walk instead. After being cooped up for the past two days, I’m sure you’re ready for some fresh air.”

“How did you know I stayed in my hotel room?”

Sumner opened his mouth to speak but wavered, as if he knew the excuse he’d been about to give wouldn’t hold water. “Yeah, fine, I was listening for your door to open. I was going to ‘bump’ into you in the hallway, but since apparently you were never going to come out, I figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

I drew in the slightest breath at the words. He’d been keeping tabs on me. Giving me space until he couldn’t stand it anymore. How I treated him on Saturday hadn’t sent him running. He hadn’t thrown his hands up in annoyance, in exasperation, and walked away from me. He’d just been giving me space, but never planned to leave.

A warm feeling unfurled in me, near painful. “Let me grab my hotel key.”

I let the door fall shut between us as I retreated to retrieve the key. Before heading back out, though, I looked at myself in the mirror beside the door. My eyes were wide and dark, and my hair looked a bit rucked up, as if I hadn’t run a brush through it. I combed my fingers through it, smoothing it down against my collarbones as best as possible.

It's just Sumner , I reminded myself. There is no one here to impress .

I smoothed my hand down my hair once more, and when I thought it looked good enough, I opened my hotel room door.

We walked down the hallway in silence, and when we came up to it, I reached for the button to summon the elevator at the same time Sumner did. Our fingers brushed an inch from it. It was a millisecond of contact, but enough that the warmth of his skin jumped to mine. We both jerked back, and Sumner curled his hand into a fist as I cleared my throat.

Awkward . I pressed the button. “So, what did you do yesterday?”

“Caught up on sleep. Called a few friends back home. Watched bad TV. You should tell your parents they need to invest in getting Netflix for the rooms or something.”

“I’ll share my password with you.”

“Ah, we’re that close now, are we? ”

His words were teasing, but they only aided in increasing the awkward tension in the air. I wasn’t sure if I should’ve laughed at it, but by the time I decided yes, it was a joke, I should’ve laughed, the moment passed.

The elevator arrived then with a blessed ding. “What did you do?” Sumner asked me as we stepped on, putting a respectable space between us.

“Nothing.” I kept my gaze on my feet to avoid Sumner in the elevator’s mirrored doors. My fingertips fluttered at the hem of my shorts, and I half wished I’d changed into pants so it covered more skin. “Sketched. Read my horoscope. Stared out the window. Exciting times.”

“Your horoscope say anything good?”

“‘ You will not die of boredom, but it will feel like it .’”

“So, I’m your main source of entertainment, too, huh?”

I lifted my chin. “Maybe a little.”

Sumner smiled, and my own threatened to tip up in response. Am I pretty when I smile?

You’re pretty when you don’t, Sumner had said. You’re beautiful when you do.

The elevator opened on the fifth floor, where a group of four men stood waiting to get on. Sumner stepped closer to me, our shoulders brushing once before he shifted to stand slightly in front of me. I had the perfect view of where his golden hair curled against the back of his tanned neck, where the fabric of his shirt lay against his skin. I thought about when I’d pressed my thumb to the side of his neck on Saturday, about how he’d jumped in response. In disgust? Something else?

If I reached out now, he’d surely jump again. My gaze slipped to his shoulders, ones that seemed stiff even through the fabric of his loose shirt. If I traced the tension, he’d be sure to stiffen further. A part of me wanted to test it. It was an impulsive sort of want.

The doors to the ground floor opened before I had a chance to, and the elevator unloaded its occupants. “Did you have a lot of friends back home?” I asked him as I headed off to the left of the hallway, toward the lobby, feeling almost shy.

“A few. Only two that I was close-close with.” Sumner tipped his head one way, and then the other. “These past few months were really busy for us all, though. One got engaged, started wedding planning, and the other was busy with work most of the time.”

“People grow apart,” I murmured with a nod. “I know what that’s like.”

“Yeah. We talk often, though. One of them, I’ve known since, like, pre-school. I talk to him practically every day.”

I scrunched my nose. “The beans on toast guy?”

“That very one.” He smirked at the disgust on my face. “He’s the busy one. We both started working for the same company right out of college, but he took on a position… higher up. Good guy—a little socially awkward, drinks too much sometimes, but I think he’s finally ready to settle down.”

I listened to his fondness for his friend quietly. The words seemed somewhat of a ramble, but it was rare for Sumner to reveal anything about himself, and I soaked it up. “He’s ready to settle down… and you? ”

He shrugged. “If I ever meet someone.”

“You haven’t met anyone yet?”

“I haven’t really had time to.” We made it to the lobby then, and in a wordless agreement, we turned down the passageway that’d lead us to the country club. There weren’t many people about; the country club itself closed at eight on weeknights, so it’d be ghostly soon. “High school, college, work, moving here—maybe one day.”

It all sounded very normal, ordinary. I liked the simplicity of it. I also liked knowing that there wasn’t someone back in California waiting for him to come home, but I didn’t let myself think about it long.

Sumner glanced at me, an obvious attempt to be casual. “So… How did you and Aaron—well, meet isn’t the right word, is it?”

“We were at the same social event this past December. Apparently, he saw me and fell in love, but not enough to walk over and introduce himself. He’s either more of a social outcast than I am, or the ugliest man alive.”

Sumner seemed offended for him. “Maybe he’s just socially awkward, too. Shy.”

“Too shy to talk to me, but not shy enough to reach out to my parents and ask them to ‘save me for him.’”

“He didn’t say that.”

I sighed. “Fine, he didn’t, but it was probably along those lines. He did reach out after that event, though, and ever since, my parents have been full steam ahead for an Astor-Massey collaboration.”

The lobby of the country club was empty, not even a staff worker seated at the desk. I started down the left corridor, and Sumner followed along after me. “You said yes, though. You talk as if you didn’t have a say in marrying Aaron.”

I looked at him and realized that he didn’t know that I hadn’t had a say. Of course, he wouldn’t have known, since I’d never told him, but it was still a shock to realize he assumed I was excited about being set up with Aaron Astor.

My silence must’ve made him suspicious. “You do want to marry him, don’t you?”

I answered immediately. “Of course.”

It was another one of those things where I said it, but I wasn’t sure if I meant it. In a way, it was truthful. I wanted to marry Aaron Astor, because marrying him meant keeping all the things I held dear. My suits, my car, my financial status. I’d rather marry him than lose it all.

“I don’t want to go for a walk,” I decided suddenly, taking a left when we entered the country club and continuing down the empty hallway, knowing Sumner would follow. “I want to go to the golf course.”

I hated golfing. My father, in his desperate attempt to pretend I was a son instead of a daughter, took me out with his friends once when I was little. The businessmen had a wonderful time instructing their sons how to line up a swing, how to aim with the wind, the perfect posture. When it’d gotten to my turn, my father hadn’t even wanted to touch me to adjust how I held the golf club.

Golfing wasn’t a fond memory, but taking the carts for a joyride was right up my alley.

It wasn’t hard to procure a golf cart, even though rentals were supposed to have stopped at six. One glimpse of Margot Massey, and everyone jumped to accommodate. I’d gotten lucky, though, and the staff member renting out the carts was a new hire, which made the whole process even easier. Sumner had simply followed my lead, much as he always did.

The sun crept closer and closer to setting on the horizon, which meant that almost all the straggling golfers had packed it in. Meaning we had free rein over the entire course.

Sumner insisted on driving, though I quickly regretted letting him. “Can’t you go any faster?” I asked him as we drove away from the first hole. Crept away, really. “You’re going ten miles per hour.”

“It’s a golf cart, not your sports car.”

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I said I wanted to take it out.”

Sumner acquiesced to my complaints by setting his foot down a bit firmer on the gas pedal. The speedometer didn’t even raise by five. “Now is it more fun?”

At least there was finally enough wind to pick up my hair. I folded my arms across my chest. “Slightly.”

We meandered through the next four holes in silence, though it was the comfortable sort. I could hear the softness of Sumner’s breathing mixing with the musical tones drifting through the speakers. He’d picked a playlist that had soft instrumental music, and it fit the tone of the evening perfectly. Nothing loud, nothing harsh. Just simple and comforting, just like his presence.

The longer the quiet stretched between us, though, I knew I needed to bring up Saturday. I needed to apologize and actually clear the air instead of just pretending it was clear. I wasn’t sure why it was so hard for me; perhaps because I had little experience in crafting apologies. I didn’t have much experience in hearing them, either—it’d been a while since I’d received an apology that didn’t have a hidden motive behind it.

I cleared my throat again. “I still can’t believe you missed the hair-pulling match on Saturday,” I said in a deadpan voice. “I told you there’d be one, didn’t I?”

“Oh, I heard about it. Someone asked me to take out the trash. Maybe I can bribe the guys at security to let me watch the CCTV.”

“So that’s why you got in trouble with my mother, hmm? For being on trash duty instead of keeping an eye on Miss Margot?” My mother would’ve argued he should’ve been taking care of the trash—of me.

Sumner’s hands flexed a little over the golf cart’s steering wheel, tightening, and then loosening. “Does your mother talk to you like that often?”

“Only when I go too far in testing her patience.”

Bringing her up soured my mood. My mother had resorted to giving me the silent treatment. Even back in New York, her cold shoulders were frequent. We did always work better when we never spoke to each other. Either she didn’t tell my father about the whole incident—doubtful—or he couldn’t bring himself to waste any more energy on scolding me—probable—because he hadn’t approached me over the whole incident.

I picked at the hem of my shorts again. “About Saturday?—”

“Why did you do it? Why spill a drink all over Mrs. Astor?” Before I had a chance to say anything, Sumner clarified, “The other servers were talking about who the woman in the fancy suit was when I was collecting the garbage. The staff does talk, you know. Maybe not as much as the people in your circles, but there’s also gossip behind the scenes.”

Of course there was. I couldn’t imagine that there wouldn’t be. “You’re just assuming it was on purpose?”

“You said to your mother that it was.”

I looked out over the green, the sunset turning the world a beautiful shade of yellow. I hadn’t realized he’d been there for the entire conversation.

“I don’t get you sometimes.” Sumner did sound confused, and in a way, maybe even a little exasperated. The sound of his voice took whatever warmth that’d been trapped in my chest and froze it cold. “You want to marry Aaron, so why do something that could sabotage it?”

“My mother told you—I’m impulsive.”

“And yet, in the short time I’ve known you, I learned that you don’t do anything without a reason. Even if it seems like the opposite.”

I said nothing in response to that, and Sumner didn’t probe again. Perhaps he was waiting for me to cave. I ruined her ten-thousand-dollar outfit because she was about to show everyone a photo of her son . It didn’t quite give off the sophisticated vibes I was going for. Then again, spilling a drink on someone wasn’t sophisticated in the slightest, either. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me so much, the idea of Sumner thinking negatively toward me, but it was all I could think.

Sumner had quickly become almost like a depressant for me, settling my mind and calming my nerves just by being around. Whereas people drained me, sucked me dry, Sumner was different. I found myself wanting to share my mind more with him, even though it went against everything I’d ever done.

So even though it wasn’t sophisticated, or classy, or remotely adultish, I was honest. “Mrs. Astor said she had a photo of him and was about to show everyone his picture. Aaron’s.”

“You say about to—so I’m assuming she didn’t?”

“No, a rogue mimosa stopped her.” I shifted on the bench of the golf cart. “With the way everyone was crowding around her, they were going to see him first. I wasn’t trying to sabotage the whole thing, I just… I truly did just act on impulse.”

The defensiveness in my tone was clear, though I wasn’t certain the desperation was. Please don’t judge me too harshly . I would’ve accepted that he couldn’t understand it, but I didn’t want this to change how he thought of me. I wanted it so badly that it almost made me feel sick.

“I want to see him before they do,” I went on when Sumner didn’t interject. “And it felt… wrong, I suppose, to see him through a photo.”

“I get that, I guess.” Sumner turned the steering wheel to bank us around the seventh hole, where the flag waved in the wind. With how absent his gaze was, he got close enough that I could’ve reached out and grabbed it. “If he wanted you to know what he looked like, he wouldn’t have canceled the video chat.”

I’d begun nodding, since that was where my thoughts had been as well, but paused. “How did you know he didn’t show?” I asked. “I didn’t tell you about it.”

He blinked. “I just assumed. You weren’t in the meeting long enough, and you seemed upset after?—”

“I wasn’t upset,” I argued, but my posture deflated a little. “About that , anyway.”

An uncomfortable current ran underneath my skin. Perhaps it was the mere mention of Aaron to begin with, bringing him up even though Sumner was supposed to be my safe place from the topic. “It’s strange, not knowing what he looks like, though. I’ve never even spoken with him. He could be anyone in the world, and I’d never know.”

Sumner nodded. “I could be Aaron.”

It was such a nonchalant way he’d said it. I could be Aaron . It was a thought that made no sense at first, a harmless joke, but it slowly sank in further. He was the same age as Aaron Astor. He was from California… like Aaron Astor. He’d garnered my parents’ approval. Saturday, at Mimosa Morning—what if he hadn’t been hiding from Mr. Roberts, but from Vivienne? Because it was his mother?

On a slow pivot, I turned my head toward him, staring. The uneasy feeling once again reared its head in full force.

Feeling the intensity of my gaze, Sumner shifted uneasily in his seat. “I just meant, like, since you don’t know what he looks like, I could be him for all you know. I’m not, though.”

I continued to stare.

“No, seriously, I’m not. It was a joke.”

“If you’re him, I’ll kill you.” My tone left no room for negotiation. “I really will.”

Sumner held one hand up from the steering wheel, leveling it with his shoulders. “You can even look at my license. I’m not Aaron.”

His insistence calmed me a little. As logic set in, I realized Sumner couldn’t have been Aaron Astor, for many reasons. He told me about not wanting to walk a path that others had set out for him—that wasn’t something a rich man like Aaron Astor would say. My mother had even snapped at him Saturday morning. Him being my secretary alone seemed to be the biggest reason. I couldn’t imagine Aaron Astor hired to follow me around for… what? Undercover recon on his future fiancée?

Except that sort of sounded like something the rich would do.

His golden hair was quite a bit darker than Vivienne’s, but from what I remembered from photos, Mr. Astor had blond hair. Sumner’s nose—did it look like Vivienne’s?

I held out my hand, palm up.

Sumner blinked at it in confusion for only a moment. “What?”

“Your license.”

He sighed before braking completely, putting the golf cart into park. Once we were still, he leaned backward so he could fish his wallet from his front pocket. “You’re a little ridiculous, you know that?” His voice held no heat, though. He pried out his license, offering it over to me.

The first thing I looked at on the piece of Californian plastic wasn’t the name, but the ID photo. It was a photograph of Sumner, of course. His hair was shorter, cropped closer to his head, which made him look younger. He didn’t smile at the camera, but there was still an undercurrent of happiness that was evident in the photo. Apparently, he’d always been perpetually cheerful.

“See?” he said, expectant. “Not Aaron Astor.”

My eyes drifted over to the name, and sure enough, Sumner Pennington was written in blocky letters. “This could be a fake ID,” I said.

“Do you have any idea what a fake ID looks like?”

Admittedly, no. And if this was a fake, it’d have to be a really good one. Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, I passed the card back.

“You’re a conspiracy theorist, aren’t you?” he asked as he tucked the license back in. “I bet you believe the earth is flat.”

“It is.”

He gave a louder sigh.

Sumner had parked beside one of the many ponds the golf course had, and I looked out at the rippling water. It reminded of Nancy and the pond in her yard. This was what I wished hers looked like—serene, calm, clean. If I could’ve swapped the water out and gave the country club the algae filled depths, I would’ve.

“I shouldn’t have…” I began, and trailed off. I wanted nothing more than to stop, to sweep everything under the rug. Sumner seemed like he was able to easily move on; I wanted to, too. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you Saturday.”

“You’ve still been thinking about that?”

“I don’t often worry about hurting people’s feelings,” I went on, pinching my shorts tighter. “It doesn’t matter, really, because it’s not like I have anyone I want to keep close to me, anyway.”

Sumner leaned forward to catch my eye, smugness filling his expression. “But…? You want to keep me in your life, is that it? Are you finally acknowledging our friendship, Margot Massey?”

His voice was full of amusement, and it lightened the weight on my shoulders a bit. “I don’t have many friends, and it would’ve sucked to lose one.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t know enough about you yet to walk away.”

“Meaning once you learn more about me, you’ll stop being my friend?”

“The jury’s still out.”

I sat in the lightheartedness for a moment, allowing the barest tug of my lips. “I want a turn,” I said, standing up as best I could underneath the cramped golf cart top. Sumner looked up at me where my neck was craned against the roof as if stunned by my sudden movement. I waved my hand at him. “Slide over.”

There wasn’t enough space for him to slide across the seat without touching me, and his knees brushed the bare backs of mine in the process. My skin felt far too hot given how quickly the night was cooling off, that fire already simmering underneath my skin.

I fell behind the wheel with a little huff, flexing my hands across the smooth leather. “I should tell you,” I said, reaching for the parking brake. “I’m not technically allowed to be driving one of these. ”

From the corner of my eye, I caught him looking at me. “What? Why not?”

“I’ve crashed… three? Four?”

His hand shot to the handle on the side of the cart. “ What ?”

“We got lucky with the person at the rental earlier—I don’t think they realized I was on the ‘do not rent’ list. Either that, or they were too afraid to tell me no.”

Alarm filled his voice. “Wait?—”

But I didn’t let him finish before slamming my foot on the gas pedal, causing the tires to tear up the green as we launched forward. I had to twist the wheel to avoid going into the pond, the tires slipping as they got a bit too close to the edge. Not close enough to dump us in, of course, but enough to feel the cart think about it.

Sumner braced his other hand on the dash, peering over the side as if considering jumping. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

The wind tearing through my hair, the sunset surrounding us, the speedometer on the golf cart tipping higher and higher, Sumner’s palpable anxiety—I couldn’t help but laugh at it all. It arose like a wave in my chest, undammable. Ridiculous, of course, to be laughing at the meager speed of a golf cart tearing through a course, but the little things always did bring me joy.

Sumner gaped, probably thinking I’d lost my mind. Probably worrying that I’d lost my mind and was sitting behind the wheel.

When I tried to look over, he yelled out, “Eyes on the road!”

“The road?” I snorted. “You mean the green?”

“Whatever—just—eyes—” He gestured frantically in front of us. “— forward .”

I took a hard left around a sand dune on hole twelve, the cart bouncing with the acceleration. Instead of continuing bracing himself on the dash, he reached his arm around and lined it against the seats, his hand gripping the back of my headrest. “See, this is how fast you’re supposed to go,” I said, looking down at the speedometer with a proud smirk.

“I completely disagree.”

The holes from thirteen on were larger, giving us a lot of ground to cover. I took another sharp turn around the deep grass, and Sumner slid in the seat, his shoulder colliding into mine. Even after I straightened out, he didn’t move away. In the pocket of my pants, my phone began vibrating with a call. I fished it out and glanced at the screen. Destelle .

“You are not going to—” Sumner began, but I already answered and put the call on speaker.

“Hi, Destelle,” I greeted, holding the wheel with one hand and my phone with the other. “I was beginning to think you lost this number.”

“I know, I’m the worst,” Destelle groaned. “In my defense, it’s been crazy.”

Sumner pried my phone out of my hand, grabbing my wrist and forcing my fingers to curl back around the steering wheel. “I can multitask,” I whispered to him, low enough for Destelle not to pick up. Sumner vehemently shook his head.

“What’s that noise? Are you driving?”

“A golf cart. ”

“How’d you get one? I thought you were on the ban list.”

Sumner had an expression that said oh, so everyone knows but me . I slowed down so the engine of the cart wouldn’t be as loud, and so Sumner wouldn’t have a heart attack and drop my phone. “I’m offended you doubt me.”

Destelle laughed on the other end of the phone, but it was riddled with tension. “Listen,” she began in a hesitating voice and then paused again, which raised my guard. Disappointment set in even before she spoke. “They added one last show to the tour. One of the bigger venues in San Bernadino had a spot open up, and the band booked it.”

I lifted my foot off the gas pedal, the golf cart slowing in a relieved response. Even with preparing for her guilty tone, it hadn’t softened the blow. “So, you won’t be home for Annalise’s wedding.” It was a statement.

“I know, I know,” Destelle rushed, and I could imagine her rubbing her hands into her features. “Their manager didn’t check with everyone before they agreed, and they?—”

“You could still come home. You don’t have to be there for every show.” Immediately, I wanted to suck the whining words back in, especially since it wasn’t just Destelle who’d heard them.

“I know, I just—it’s the last show, and everyone will want to celebrate, and I really wish I could?—”

I hated everything about this moment. I hated the fact that I made Destelle stumble over her words in defense, making her feel guilty for living her life. I hated the fact that the call was on speaker and Sumner could hear all of it. I hated the sunset and the golf cart and myself. “Don’t give yourself premature wrinkles,” I told her, affecting a firmer, nonchalant tone to replace the childlike plaintive one. “Save those for your thirties.”

“I’d totally rather be there for the wedding,” Destelle said, though we both could hear the lie. She was just trying to make me feel better.

It made me even more pathetic. “Please, even I’d rather be at a concert than the wedding, and that’s saying something. Enjoy listening to your boyfriend perform.” … the same songs they’ve been playing for the past month and a half .

“I’ll still be coming the day after. I can meet Aaron then—if you’re still going through with it, that is.”

I’d never gotten a chance to tell her about the video call that didn’t happen. At the mention of Aaron, though, Sumner returned his gaze back to me. I refused to look over. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re always so independent and strong, I have no doubt it’s going to go just fine. Have Nancy give you a pep talk beforehand, then, okay? Or call me—I should be free in the morning if you need someone to talk you out of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Destelle and I hemmed and hawed on the phone for a few more moments before we hung up. Even after the call ended, Sumner and I sat still in silence, thoughts brewing like a storm in my mind.

It was more than Destelle not being able to show up for a wedding. A wedding didn’t matter. But she was going to be by my side and get me through one of my first encounters with Aaron, and that was the most important thing. Disappointment welled, causing the back of my throat to tighten.

“Margot,” Sumner began.

“Don’t,” I warned, but the word came out tired.

He didn’t. Instead, Sumner set my phone down on the seat between us, pulling his hand back to rest on his knee. Only for a second, though. When I reached for my phone, to tuck it back into my pocket so we could drive back to the country club, Sumner’s hand shifted back over and grabbed mine. A comforting warmth spread from his fingers as they gently wrapped around my palm, thawing the icy chill in my skin. The contact was like a spark, jumpstarting my heart.

I looked at our combined hands and then up to him.

“I figured your apology earlier meant I could touch you again,” he said, and then he must’ve seen the question in my eyes. “It’s meant to be comforting. Like a ‘ I’m here with you ’ touch. No one’s held your hand in comfort before?”

That was what this was meant to be? Our palms pressing together, holding hands for the first time ever. Comfort ? Granted, it felt as if his warmth thawed out a bit of my frost, but in a way that left me feeling uneven, like an ice sculpture out in the sun. Comforting would’ve been the last way I’d describe it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured. His fingers readjusted with mine, pressing our palms firmer together. “And Destelle not making it home for the wedding doesn’t mean you’re not important.”

“Of course not,” I returned, speaking past my aching throat. “It just means she’s busy. ”

“You say that, but I want you to believe it, too.”

The words irked me. “Why are you treating me like I’m fragile?” I looked down at our hands, but not pulling away. “I’m not a little kid who needs to be comforted because they’re disappointed. Life is full of disappointments. I don’t need someone to pat my back and tell me it’ll be okay.”

“Just because you don’t need it doesn’t mean you can’t have it. It doesn’t mean it’s wrong to want it.”

It was a comeback that left no room for arguing, too, which made everything even more frustrating. I was used to having the last word; how could he end the conversation every time?

Sumner seemed to grasp the fact that he’d won the upper hand, because he dipped his head down to try and catch my gaze. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked, squeezing my hand. “Comforting?”

I didn’t want to give him the win. Like a stubborn child, I turned away from the puppy-dog look on his face. “Marginally.”

Sumner gave me a wide, close-mouthed smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Aaron,” Sumner began, startling me once more. “Destelle doesn’t like him?”

“She doesn’t like the idea of everyone pushing me toward a man I’ve never met. Never even spoken with. She found her true love and thinks I need to find mine.”

“What do you think?”

“I think love causes more problems than it’s worth. When you grow up around here, you learn that quick.” I let out a sigh. “I’d rather have stability than something wildly unpredictable.”

The setting sun threw its reddish-yellow rays onto the planes of his face and the strands of his hair, casting him in a warm glow that almost looked like something from a magazine shoot. I couldn’t read his expression, whether he thought my take was interesting or sad. I doubted we shared the same views, though. When he’d talked about love, he’d said one day . For me, I was quite all right if it never came my way.

At least, I thought so.

The what if from earlier surfaced in my mind again like a whisper. What if… he was Aaron Astor? What if he’d come here to see me in person, to get to know me, and that was why he hadn’t showed up to the video call? What would that be like? A life with Sumner… a romance? I’d never been interested in the latter before, but what if I’d gotten to do it with him?

I let my own gaze drop to his lips, where they still had a little upturn to the corners. Lips I’d kissed once upon a time. Almost on their own accord, my fingers curled over the back of his hand, returning the firm pressure. As if they were connected, my heart skipped a beat.

It did me no good to hold on to useless thoughts. No good at all.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said as I pulled my hand away, laying it back on the steering wheel. I had to grip the leather to keep the shaking concealed. “I told you bitterness is one of my better qualities. I can’t let you thaw my frozen heart too much.”

Sumner laid his arm over the back of the bench seat, his hand brushing my back. “And like I said before.” He turned his head to look at me. His eyes were warm, and they flicked to my mouth as if to wait for my smile in return for his. There was something strange about the way he smiled while looking at my lips, something about it that triggered a tumbling feeling in my stomach. “Happiness is better.”

Without warning, I slammed my foot back down on the gas pedal, lurching us back into our seats, and the sound Sumner made in response was distinctly not a happy one.