Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ava
“Gotta love that small-town gossip mill,” I grumbled. “I’m giving him cooking lessons. He asked me to, and it was so that he could help his mom after she broke her arm. I couldn’t say no.”
Riley’s honey-brown eyes narrowed to slits, a little hazy after two margaritas. “The implication in the gossip is that it’s more than just cooking lessons.”
“What did they say?” I asked, feeling my hackles raise even though Riley was one thousand percent accurate with her accusations.
“What do you say?” She wasn’t overly belligerent, but I could tell she was ready to go to bat for Jules.
It made my chest ache thinking that anyone felt the need to protect one of my girls from me .
I didn’t want to lie to her, but I also wasn’t going to tell Riley what was going on before I talked it over with Jules. That would be like double backstabbing.
But, then again, if Riley found out I lied to her, she’d be upset with me, too. More so than if I just explained myself.
“It worries me that you don’t have an explanation ready,” she said softly. “Ava, what’s going on?”
I checked to make sure none of the other girls had come out to join us. “I don’t know what’s going on,” I answered honestly. “I need to talk to Ben first, then I need to talk to Jules.”
“You’re not seriously going to get involved with her ex-boyfriend? Ava, you do understand how awful that is, right?”
“It’s complicated,” I tried again. “And he’s trying to fix things with her. If you heard his side of—”
She held up a hand, her face darkening. “This isn’t about Ben. It’s about Jules. His side of the story doesn’t matter. She’s your friend. She’s the one you need to stand behind.” She let out a deep breath. “Look, I know Ben’s generally a nice guy. I’ve known him forever. I get it, I really do. But you just can’t do that to Jules.”
I swallowed. Riley was right. But for some reason I still wanted to argue. What the hell was wrong with me? “You’re right,” I relented. “I’ll fix it.”
“Good. And if you feel like you need to get set up, I think we would all be interested in helping you find an eligible bachelor.”
Though the thought of that was hilarious, I couldn’t bring myself to laugh.
Because I didn’t want to get set up. I wanted to spend more time with Ben.
Gianna and Viv headed back to Indy the next day after visiting their families. Viv was really close with her parents, but Gianna generally avoided family gatherings. I never understood it, because she had one of those big, loud families that everyone envied because it was such a community. At least I did.
I was an only child, and then I was alone. I would give anything to have a family like that. To have my parents begging me to come visit more often, to have wild family dinners and game nights. To have a grandma still around. I’d never even met my dad’s mom. She’d died before I was born.
Jules went back with Riley to help her pack up the last of her apartment and move in with us. They were going to be gone most of the week, which left me alone all over again.
The last time they’d all left at once, I’d been so deflated. The loneliness of an empty home had chased me around every corner.
This time I was a little relieved. While I loved having someone around, the guilt of my crush on Ben was starting to invade every interaction I had with Jules. And now, apparently, with Riley.
Who was right.
She was absolutely right.
I should not pursue Ben, even if he did make me feel all warm and fuzzy. I needed to get away from him before I couldn’t.
He was coming over for another private cooking class, and I was going to have to tell him this was it. Whatever it was, it was over.
I hadn’t worked this hard to get my girls back only to ruin it all on my own.
And over a boy, no less.
High school Ava would be livid .
At precisely seven o’clock on Thursday he knocked, and those butterflies came back yet again, like they hadn’t heard a single thing Riley had said.
“Hey,” I greeted him, taking one of the bags lining his arms.
He stopped in my tiny entry, before he’d even set foot in the kitchen, and eyed me suspiciously.
“What’s wrong?”
I swallowed. “We need to talk.”
“We aren’t even dating and you’re about to break up with me, aren’t you?”
We set the bags of ingredients down on the table. Ben leaned against the wall, drawing my attention to his rolled-up sleeves and forearms. Mouthwatering lines showcased the muscles that ran up beneath the sleeves.
“I can’t do this to Jules,” I blurted out. I didn’t have a cohesive argument. Hell, when Ben was around, I was having more and more trouble forming a cohesive thought, let alone a string of them long enough to explain what was going on between me and Jules.
“I know I’m getting way ahead of myself, but if we keep meeting up, and doing weird not-date dates, and making out in kitchens, and texting, and,” I took a deep breath, realizing I was getting into ramble territory. “We aren’t dating, but if I told Jules all that—”
“Then that’s the conclusion any logical person would reach,” he finished for me.
“Exactly.” I stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, my arms holding my stomach like that would keep it from dropping. “I don’t know what you’re wanting here, but my girls come first for me. Always.” Even though I may not have been acting like that recently.
“I don’t want to ruin your friendship with Jules,” he said, his face unreadable, “but I do want to date you.”
All the air left my body at his words.
“I want to date you, too,” I admitted quietly. “But I’m worried that it would destroy everything I’m working toward.”
God, that sounded dramatic even to me, but it was the truth. I wanted that bed and breakfast, but what I really wanted was to get my friends back. To be there for each other like we used to be, back before life tore us apart.
“I propose,” he declared, pulling a bottle of white zinfandel from one of the bags, “that we discuss this over wine. We cook, we talk. By the end of the night, we’ll have a decision and a dinner.”
In reply, I retrieved two wine glasses from my cabinet and set them on the table. I took a long drink of the sweet, fruity wine, closing my eyes and savoring the smooth texture.
We spent a few quiet moments unpacking the groceries and setting them out on the counter, then we measured and set out all the ingredients, bowls, and utensils we needed to make the dishes. Mise en place was one of the things that had been drilled into me in culinary school, and it really did make a world of difference in the process.
Even though we kept space between us as we organized our ingredients, I felt every movement he made beside me. It didn’t matter how far from Ben I stood. The warmth and weight of him followed me like a shadow.
When Ben finally spoke again, he took me completely by surprise. “The first thing we need to discuss,” he said, his tone deadly serious, “is your choice of home decor.”
I almost spit out my wine. “What? Are you seriously hating on my house while I’m contemplating dumping your ass?”
“Look, honesty is important. And I’m honestly shocked at how many shades of brown exist in this kitchen. Not judging. Just genuinely curious as to how this happened.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“In the world of interior design I think it probably is,” he grinned, “but that isn’t what I meant.”
“Oh?” I finished lining up the ingredients on the counter, then shot him an accusatory look. “What did you mean, then?”
He walked over to join me, but I noticed that he was careful not to touch me. “Your bakery is the most painfully adorable, quintessential small-town looking bakery I could imagine. Pastel pink everywhere, grounded with some nice black and white pieces. The pictures on the walls tell a story, and everything, from the tables to the displays, look well thought-out. Maybe I’m assuming too much here, but I always felt that the bakery really captured you, and this house looks nothing like it.”
I swallowed, my mouth going dry. “You’ve thought about things like that?”
He was trying to be conversational, but he clearly had paid way closer attention to me than I’d realized, especially considering how few trips he’d made into The Rolling Scone.
His tongue darted, wetting his lips, and he hurried to take a sip of his wine. “Just something I noticed when we were signing papers. It’s very colorful in there. It’s not in here. It made me curious.”
I wasn’t buying it. Even though he rephrased it to make it seem like a casual observation, the passion and concern in his voice during his original explanation was too genuine. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I knew it meant something.
And it felt like that something might be my undoing.