Chapter 5 #2
But Alex doesn’t come off as the cracking jokes kind of guy, so maybe this moody disposition is how he always is. It’s unfortunate—if he didn’t look so miserable, he’d probably be quite lovely to look at. Almost like Amaury Guichon’s younger, hotter brother.
But, alas. That’s not the case.
Instead, we get to spend time with the steely version of Oscar the Grouch. Maybe he just needs someone to help pull him out of his shell.
“So, Big Al…” I swing my attention to him, smiling hard at the cheesy nickname I spontaneously bestowed upon him.
“Nope. Absolutely not.” He cuts a hand through the air.
“Absolutely not what?”
“Don’t call me that.” His eyes flare. “Ever.”
“Okay, okay… no Big Al. Got it. I was trying to be friendly, but no problem. Big Al is dead to me. RIP.” I laugh, raising my hands in surrender.
He doesn’t smile.
I keep mine firmly in place, even as it starts to feel a little too tight around the edges.
Cool.
Cool, cool, cool.
Love a man who hates joy and whimsy.
Today clearly isn’t my day, I’m batting a thousand here.
Okay, breathe, Taylor. Not your finest moment, but it can only go up from here.
RaeAnn clears her throat before speaking, breaking the tension. “Are you both from here, then? I mean, from California?”
“Yes.” I smile.
“Absolutely fucking not.” Alex huffs at the same time.
RaeAnn’s eyes widen at the disdain in his voice.
“Oh, yeah. Me neither. I’m actually from Kentucky, Pine Ridge to be exact.” Her gentle Southern twang comes out stronger when she says it. Joy leaps in my chest at the sound. I want to ask her to say it again, but I know better than to risk any more offense on the first day.
One arch nemesis is enough.
The meal progresses without much fuss or fanfare.
Forks clink against plates, and voices rise and fall in overlapping waves of conversation.
Brandon launches into a dramatic story about a catering disaster the restaurant he works for encountered last month.
Ace interrupts him three times. Jasper laughs loud enough to draw looks from the neighboring room.
I try to focus. I honestly do.
But my attention keeps snagging on Alex.
He eats quietly, efficiently, as if ingesting his medium-rare steak were a task to be completed rather than something to be enjoyed. He mostly keeps to himself, responding with short, clipped sentences only when required. It’s deeply unsettling.
I readjust in my seat.
“So,” I say, then immediately realize I have no idea where my sentence was supposed to go. “This place is really nice. Like… really nice. Definitely not the kind of place where they give you crayons to color on the tablecloth. Which is tragic, honestly. Crayons solve so many problems.”
Alex glances at me with a bored stare, brow knitting together in what might be confusion or might be irritation. Hard to tell.
I keep going, though, undeterred, because I can’t help myself. Once I get going, I stay going.
“I mean, not that I need crayons. I’m a fully capable adult.
.. Mostly. But there’s something super nostalgic about coloring a little horse or playing tic-tac-toe while waiting for food, you know?
Or an apple tree. Or scribbling all over one of those little kid menus that has a maze on it that’s almost impossible to solve. ”
I take a sip of water, nodding to myself like I have made several excellent points, and wait for his response. Knowing something like this has to draw out at least a small laugh, even if it’s at my expense.
But still, absolutely no reaction comes.
Okay, fine. New approach.
“So… where did you say you’re from?” I ask, unsure if he didn’t answer at all or if I happened to miss it while spiraling.
He looks at me again, slower this time. “I didn’t.”
“Right. Of course you didn’t,” I say quickly, deciding to take a page out of Kara’s book. “That would require talking, which you are clearly saving for a very special occasion. If you tell me where you’re from, I’ll gladly send you an official, written invitation to conversation.”
RaeAnn lets out a soft cough that sounds suspiciously like she’s choking back a laugh.
Alex opens his mouth as though he might respond. Something shifts on his face like he appreciates my sarcasm.
And that is the moment when my elbow catches the edge of my drink and the world slows down around me as the glass tips. Water sloshes and then spills, cascading across the table and straight toward Alex.
“Oh my God,” I blurt, grabbing a napkin that is immediately, uselessly soaked. “I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I swear I’m not usually this much of a disaster. Well, okay, I am… but not in public. Or at least not on purpose.”
I stand halfway out of my chair, dabbing at the table with the already dripping napkin, doing absolutely nothing to help the current situation but not knowing what else to do.
“I don’t know why I’m like this. I get nervous, and then I talk, and then I move too much, and then suddenly there’s water everywhere and—wow—this is really not making a great first impression, is it?”
I finally look up at him, mortified. Whatever amusement he found for me is gone. “Sorry. I get super chatty when I’m nervous. God, aren’t you nervous?”
“No,” he replies. “Why would I be?”
“Oh.” I blink, a little dumbfounded, and sit back down. “Okay. Well, that must be… nice.”
He tilts his head, studying me carefully, and I realize he’s waiting for me to go on.
I gesture vaguely between us. “You know. Social situations. New people. The crushing desire to be liked. The constant internal monologue that never shuts up. Oh, and the massively important baking show we all officially start tomorrow. Any one of those would be enough.”
He gives me absolutely nothing in response—just his cool, icy eyes that slice right through me. I let out a small huff of nervous laughter.
“Huh. Well, consider my flabbers thoroughly ghasted then. I thought we’d all be a couple seconds away from a panic attack, but I guess it’s just me.”
Alex’s lips twitch.
It’s a brief, barely-there reaction that’s gone almost as soon as it appears.
But I caught it. And oh, Alex.
Oh, I see you now.