Chapter 11 #3
Moving fertilizer isn’t as glamorous as doing my hair and being cheered on by thousands of people, but it’s gratifying in its own way.
Honestly, at times it’s hard for me to choose between the two.
After years of waiting on my dance dreams, I started forming other ones.
The thought is a little concerning. The Avery who decided to leave home and move to Vista City could never have guessed hauling around fertilizer bags would ever be part of something she enjoys.
But here I am, sore legs and stinging arms, moving flower food around and loving it.
Some days, when I’m sweating my face off learning a routine, I find myself daydreaming about what kind of plants will go in my future garden.
If my mother knew, she’d die. I’ve spent too much time—too much of her money—pouring it into becoming part of a professional team.
But the thing is, though I haven’t quite admitted it yet, during my wait, I changed in a lot of ways.
I’m not quite sure what all of them are yet, but I have.
I think that’s the scariest part.
I pour every drop of my anxiety into the chicken piccata.
A chef I am not, but I did watch a five-minute tutorial earlier while scrolling.
Except I forgot to pick up capers on my way back from Mary’s today, so instead I chopped some green olives I found in Ty’s mini-bar in his study.
Who knew he had a study? I didn’t. Who would have guessed he liked olives in his drinks?
Not Me. Ty a garnish guy? Never. Apparently he’s not much of a tour guy either because somehow every turn I take in his house I’m still finding something new.
Since I moved in a few days ago, Ty has been pretty hot and cold.
His hours have been weird, and I haven’t forced him to hang out with me.
With my practices beginning in a few days, I figured it doesn’t hurt to carb up.
Everyone else may be following strict food guidelines, but half the time I get so focused on what I’m doing I forget to eat anyway. Though I know that’s unhealthy.
I stir my pot of boiling water. I only had a box of mac and cheese, so I ditched the sauce packet and kept the noodles. All in all, my dish is coming out like I’d anticipated. At least it smells good so far.
Outside, the garage door opens, and Ty’s steps echo through the empty space as he makes his way toward the kitchen. The door flings open, and I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
“Hey,” I finally say, staring into the bubbling water.
Ty grunts.
“How’s it going?” I try again.
“It’s going.”
And then nothing but the shuffling of him removing his shoes fills the kitchen. When I turn around, his eyes are locked on his forearm as he peeks under some white medical tape.
My brow furrows. “What happened to you?”
“Got tackled at practice.”
“Are you okay?”
He snorts. “It’s just a turf burn. I’m gonna go shower.”
“Well, make sure you wash it with soap and water and put a fresh bandage on after.”
“Sure thing, doc.”
I roll my eyes. “And then come back down for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” Soft steps fade into the silence as he makes his way upstairs.
Did Ty really blow me off like that?
Dollyboy, who has been less than interested in socializing with me, darts down the hall and up the stairs. Traitor.
My gaze slides to the two plates I set out. I know Ty’s been distant, but surely he still needs to eat. It’s dinner time. His fridge looks almost empty, save for the plastic containers of pre-prepped food he whipped up days ago. What kind of guy turns down a fresh meal?
A sinking feeling starts inside. When he invited me to stay with him, I thought he might actually want me here.
My eyes trail to the door. It’s right there.
I could leave. Pack up dolly, shove everything back into Ol’ Harriet’s trunk, and be on my way.
I could drive home… stay with my parents for the night, see Ellie…
Stop it, Avery. Retreat back to your parents’ house? Don’t even think it. You’re staying in the city. You’re staying with Ty, whether he actually likes it or not.
He can’t just invite someone to come live with him and then completely ignore them.
Plus, what if something’s wrong? Maybe he needs someone to talk to.
I take a cue from Mary. I can be unapologetic.
I don’t need everyone to like me. Ty and I just have to tolerate each other temporarily.
We don’t have to be best friends, but it might be nice if we could at least be cordial.
It’s okay that Ty doesn’t want to be your friend, Avery. Calm yourself.
But it bothers me that he doesn't want to be. Because why not? What’s wrong with me? Maybe Ty would have more friends if he learned to be friendly.
I start my way up the stairs. I’m not living in a house with another guy who ignores me.
Been there, done that. Hot-Chad wasn’t so hot to me anymore after I saw the state of his bathroom.
I fell out of like fast, and he could tell.
But at that point, we were in too deep, and he let me stay for a few more months.
Moving in with a man based on desperation is never a good idea.
But unfortunately, with my financial woes, it seems to be the only way to stay in the city.
It was then, and it is now. At least I’m not dating the guy this time around.
Pushing a stray hair from my eyes, I square my shoulders.
There will be no repeat of Dirty-Bathroom-Chad.
I made Ty dinner. And he’s gonna eat it.
He’s going to acknowledge me. In the back of my mind, something begins to chip away at my gall.
What if he gets mad at me? What if he yells and kicks me out?
Ty is intimidating. From everything I’ve gathered over the years, the guys I’ve been around are more prone to outbursts than anything else.
The thought gives me pause, and I find myself waffling halfway up the curving staircase.
If something happens, you’ll make it. You always do.
I swallow hard, trying my best to toughen up my exterior as I crest the landing. When I make my way down the corridor and come toe to toe with his door, Dollyboy is already waiting. “Gosh, Dolly. Take a hint.”
He chirps up at me, and I swear there’s judgment in his tone.
Sucking in a deep breath, I reconsider. Maybe I’m the one who needs the hint.
Am I intruding? Something tells me that although making someone food is a nice gesture, interrupting them when they clearly want to be in the solitude of their room is not as nice.
In fact, it may fall in line with some of the things I’ve heard whispered and shouted at me over the years.
I take a moment to collect myself. Am I being intrusive?
Or annoying? Am I naive to think he actually doesn’t have any plans for his Saturday night?
I take a step back, staring at the stairs longingly.
And then the last little piece falls into place, lining up the final name like a Yahtzee game. Am I being too much?
Despite the labels people have placed on me, I’ve managed to salvage my confidence.
I know I may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I’ve got to be someone’s.
Part of me wonders which category Ty would fall into: the Avery-is-definitely-my-cup-of-tea one or the other.
The Avery-is-annoying-no-tea-for-me one.
My stomach twists. I know I only met him a handful of days ago, but I kind of hope he likes Avery tea.
Just when I decide to give up, Dollyboy lifts a paw, and before I can stop him, trails his claws down the base of Ty’s door.
I gasp in horror at the loud scrape that rings out and dart back over, scooping a displeased Dolly up.
My heart pounds. Maybe Ty didn’t hear it.
Maybe I’m safe to go back downstairs, forget I was about to force someone to eat my homemade meal, and move on with my night.
But alas, Avery Joy Hinkley could never be so lucky.
The door edges open, and soft music—Tom Petty, I think?
—echoes from the tiled room attached to his bedroom.
His bathroom. It’s then that I notice the soft hiss of his shower.
Heat crawls up my neck and settles in my cheeks.
Why do I always seem to interrupt him when he’s in the bathroom?
I try to keep my head down in hopes he won’t see the blush that’s formed.
But now I’m staring at his bare feet, and I’m feeling even more awkward than I did seconds ago.
Trailing my gaze from his pasty toes to his face, I attempt to ignore the fact that he is—yet again—shirtless.
And standing very close to me. I wonder if he knows his jeans are unbuttoned.
I divert my eyes the second they make contact with the tattoo swirling over his taut chest.
“Yes?” he asks.
“I wanted to tell you I made dinner, and you… You’re welcome to join me.”
His tawny brow arches.
“If you’re hungry,” I amend, opening my eyes.
The silence drags on so long, I debate running away.
He huffs out a breathy laugh as he stares down at me. “Yes, generally that’s when I eat.”
“When?” I ask, curious.
“When I’m hungry.”
“Oh, yeah. Duh.” I laugh.
Ty gazes down at me, his eyes clear and blue. And beautiful. His face glistens with sweat as light halos around him, shining into the dark hall. He looks… ethereal. Like an angel that stepped out of a cloud.
An angel that stepped out of a cloud? Do you hear yourself?
I clear my throat. “I’m sure you’re getting ready to go out or something, but it’ll be in the fridge for when you get home.”
He shakes his head. “Not going out. Just showering off my workout. I’ll be down in twenty.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll be… It’ll be waiting for you.”
Ty’s door shuts in my face. Dolly and I back away and make our way toward the kitchen. Ty didn’t put up as much of a fight as I thought he would. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding me after all. I drop Dolly off at the bottom of the stairs, and much to my dismay, black smoke rolls from the stove top.
Son of a buttered biscuit.
I forgot to turn the stove off.