Chapter 40Avery
Chapter Forty
Avery
The cool evening air wraps around us, a silent spectator to the tension that hums between Victor and me. On my porch, under the dull glow of the overhead light, we're just two shadows hesitating at the brink of something uncertain.
"Would you like to come in for some coffee?" The words tumble out before I can second-guess them.
"Sure," he replies with a nod, his voice a low rumble that doesn't betray a hint of the unease I feel.
We step through the doorway, the familiar scent of home washing over me. It's grounding, but it does little to steady the nerves dancing beneath my skin. In the kitchen, I move on autopilot, fetching the coffee carafe and filling it with water. My hands tremble slightly, betraying the inner turmoil that churns with thoughts of Victor—temporary, unpredictable Victor—and what his presence in my life could mean.
"Is this really smart?" I mutter under my breath, more to myself than anyone else.
"Everything okay?" His voice cuts through my reverie from the other side of the kitchen counter.
"Fine, just—" I look down and curse silently. Water spills over the edge of the carafe, pooling onto the counter. "I'm making a mess."
"Hey, it happens." There's a warmth in his tone that feels like a hand on my shoulder, grounding me.
"Sorry, I'm not usually this... scattered." I grab a cloth, mopping up my mistake, all too aware of his gaze on me.
"Nothing to apologize for." His words are simple, yet they carry an unexpected weight.
I toss the cloth aside and lean back against the counter, feeling the cool stone against my palms. It steadies me, reminds me that no matter how fast my world seems to spin, this place—my sanctuary—remains unchanged.
"Here, let me." Victor's smile is a mix of amusement and kindness as he nudges me gently aside. He takes the carafe from my hands—my flustered moment apparently an endearing spectacle to him.
"Thanks," I murmur, retreating to the safety of the kitchen table, where I watch him with a curious eye. He moves with an ease that speaks of many solitary nights and self-taught lessons, his hands sure and steady as they scoop the coffee grounds. It's a strange comfort watching someone else navigate my space so confidently.
"Most guys aren't quite so... domesticated," I say, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden intimacy of sharing my kitchen with him.
He glances over his shoulder, a half-grin playing on his lips. "Fend for yourself long enough, you pick up a thing or two."
I can't help but think of the countless meals prepared in silence, the unshared triumphs of a dish well done, how each bite was a reminder of his solitude.
The aroma of brewing coffee fills the room, comforting and rich. He sets a mug in front of me, steam curling up between us like a tentative bridge. I wrap my hands around the warmth, offering a small smile in thanks.
Victor pulls out a chair and sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. A silent beat passes, charged with unspoken thoughts before he breaks it.
"I want this month to count," he says softly, eyes holding mine. "To really understand what makes this place special. And... to get to know you."
"Me?" The word is tinged with disbelief. "I'm not all that interesting, Victor. "
"Disagree," he counters with quiet certainty. "Everyone has a story worth telling."
His belief feels like a gift I'm unsure how to accept. But there it is, an invitation hanging between us, warm and sincere as the coffee in my hands.
"Not sure that's true for me," I mumble.
"Of course it is," Victor insists, his blue eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and curiosity. "You've got this giant mosaic on your porch. That's pretty interesting."
I let out a small chuckle, dismissing the weight of his words. "That old thing? It's more of a reminder of what won't ever be finished—just leftovers from past dreams, I guess."
"Past dreams?" He leans forward, elbows on the table, genuinely intrigued. "Tell me about them."
I take a slow sip of the coffee he made. "Alright," I start, setting down the mug. "I ended up in Worcester because of a guy—typical young love story." My voice wavers slightly, but I push on. "I was eighteen and head over heels. Eric, that was his name. He had this grand plan to start an art studio together."
"Sounds ambitious," Victor comments, his tone softening.
"It was," I admit with a half-hearted smile. "My parents had passed away, and they left me a little money. Not a fortune, but enough to get me started in college." My fingers trace the rim of my coffee mug, not really seeing it. "But I believed in us, in the dream. So, I gave it all to that instead."
"And then?"
"Then life happened," I say, a bit more sharply than intended. "Found out I was pregnant, and just like that—Eric disappeared. Never heard from him again."
Victor's jaw tightens, and I can see a flicker of something in his eyes—anger, maybe, or understanding. It's hard to tell with him. But it's clear he's listening, truly listening, and that alone feels like a rare treasure.
I inhale deeply, searching Victor's piercing blue eyes for some kind of reassurance, but all I find is the reflection of my own fears. "Victor, I need to be honest with you," I start, feeling the weight of each word as it leaves my lips. "I've been down this road before and got burned—badly. Olivia, she needs stability, a father figure that won't just vanish. If you're here for a good time, then planning to skip town once your development's up, we can't do this."
Victor's expression hardens, his gaze sharpening like he's seeing the ghost of Eric in the room with us. "The guy was an idiot," he spits out, and there's an unexpected ferocity in his voice. "He had something beautiful—a family—and he left it all behind?"
His hands clench into fists on the table, and I can practically feel the tension radiating from him. It's clear he's grappling with more than just disdain for Eric's actions; it's personal for him .
"Victor..." I say softly, setting my coffee mug aside, the ceramic making a gentle clink against the wood. I reach out, my hands gently framing his face, drawing his attention back to me. His skin is warm under my touch, and I feel him exhale slowly, the anger dissolving under my palms.
He looks at me, really looks at me, and there's a vulnerability in those blue depths that catches me off guard. "If I had a family like this," he murmurs, his voice laced with a raw sincerity, "I'd never leave. Not ever."
And before I can process the gravity of his words, he leans in, and his lips meet mine in a kiss that steals my breath away. It's deep, filled with promises and a longing that resonates deep within my chest, echoing all the silent vows we're too scared to speak aloud.