Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
HAPPY ENDINGS
D avis pulls into the blacktop parking lot and parks his car. My gaze flicks to the neon glow of Fisher’s Landing’s sign above its main entrance.
“Back to the scene of the crime?” A cheeky smile slants my lips.
He turns off the car, twisting his head to meet my stare. “Maybe this time you won’t leave halfway through our first drink.”
It’s a tease-filled comment, but I bristle nonetheless. As rude as leaving midway through a first date is, let’s not forget that Davis’s dismissive comments led us there.
“Maybe you won’t insult me this time,” I say, my tone stern but not curt.
“Georgia…” He leans back.
“Davis…” I narrow my eyes. “Or should I call you Kenny?”
“I’m both. Pop gave me the nickname when I was ten.” He sits up and shifts in his seat to face me. “And I never insulted you.”
“ Not everyone is lucky enough to live in a fairy tale, Georgia ,” I repeat his words from our date, pitching my voice low to mimic his deep timbre.
“I…” His indignant expression falls.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I say as hurt surges in my chest.
The snide remarks about romance aren’t what stung.
It was annoying, but not hurtful. As a romance reader and author, I hear those misguided characterizations of the genre all the time.
It lacks substance. It’s not realistic. All from folks who haven’t read the genre.
The twinge in my chest isn’t about that, but rather, from Davis’s assumptions about me.
Assumptions that are far too much like the ones my brothers— especially Rem — have about me.
“Just because I believe in happy endings doesn’t mean I live in a fantasy world.
Contrary to what you think of me, my life hasn’t been a fairy tale.
People have hurt me. Disappointed me…” A small tremor shakes my voice.
“But you wouldn’t know that because you weren’t present at our date.
The stimming with your phone aside, you weren’t engaged. ”
“I was engaged.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, like one-word answers and very few questions about me scream engagement.”
He releases a heavy sigh. “Peopling is hard for me.”
“It’s not easy for anyone.” Despite the certainty in my retort, my squared shoulder slump at the hint of sadness underscoring his confession.
What I know about autism is that it can create barriers to connecting with others. It’s different for each person, but there are varying degrees of challenges with social interactions.
“Sorry. I’m being insensitive.” I meet his stare.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I shouldn’t dismiss your experience like that. I don’t know what it’s like for you.”
“To be fair, I don’t know what it’s like for you, either.” His mouth tugs up into a boyish smile.
“I’d like to know.” I rake my top teeth over my bottom lip.
“Okay.” Warmth shimmers in his eyes. “Social cues aren’t my forte.
I can’t always read them, making it hard to know when I need to talk more or less, or even if what I said was appropriate.
I sometimes tend to say the quiet parts out loud, and that may offend some people. ” His face twists with self-reproach.
“Like asking if someone self-published because they can’t get an agent or publisher?” My tone is teasing.
Groaning, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, I can’t believe I said that. This is what I’m talking about. I often don’t realize what I said is inappropriate until it’s too late. There are interactions I think went great, only to find out they did not. Like with us.”
“You thought our date was going well?” I guffaw.
“Until you walked out… I thought it was banter.” He laughs.
“But this is what I’m talking about. There are times, like with us.
Then there’re interactions that leave me knotted up thinking it was shit, only to find out it wasn’t.
It doesn’t erase the self-loathing and the tendency to avoid that person in the in-between. ”
My mouth pulls into a reassuring smile. “I’ll never know what life’s like in your shoes, but I understand the challenges with people. It’s difficult for me in a different way.”
Social cues aren’t an issue for me. Between my training as a social worker and my natural ability to read people, I tend to be tapped into most interactions.
Though, maybe too tapped in, at times. I’m prone to spinning a bit.
So much of my interactions with others is tied up in managing their emotions or, even, the emotions of those not directly involved in that exchange.
“I have this ever-present need to keep people happy, to smooth away any potential wrinkles,” I say, fiddling with my shirt’s hem.
Outside of Hope, it isn’t something I talk about with most people.
Not my mom. Certainly not my brothers. But for some reason, I’m sharing this with Davis.
Maybe it’s his openness. Maybe it’s this strange comfort that relaxes me in his presence.
Even when I was angry with him, I was secure enough to walk out on him, despite knowing how it would upset Jackson.
Normal Georgia would have just sat through that terrible date, if only to make my brother happy.
Somehow, with him, I’m not normal, but strangely right.
“You could have fooled me. When I walked into the bar, you were chatting with other customers like you’d known them for years.
You were so relaxed and free. I was immediately in awe of you.
To be that self-assured to just be.” Admiration and self-doubt glisten in his eyes.
“There are few people I’m truly relaxed around to just exist as I am. ”
“It’s easier with strangers. There’s nothing to lose. As much as I want them to like me, it’s not like how it is with the people in my life. There isn’t an insistent tug to make them happy.”
He nods. “No wonder you’re a social worker. It fits.”
“Thanks.” My brow creases. “No wonder you do so many sports. Do the rules make it easier for you to be around people without having to actually people?”
He huffs a breathy laugh. “Look at you, Counselor Troi. Is someone psychoanalyzing me?”
A large grin curls my lips at the Star Trek: The Next Generation reference. I’d noticed the TNG phone case during our first date and will admit it ignited some of those initial butterflies about Davis. Butterflies that seem to be waking up again.
Smiling, he goes on. “Pop got me into athletics to help me have structured ways to engage with others. It also helps me exercise the anxiety that often twists inside me. It’s still my comfort zone.”
“How very Commander Riker of you,” I coo.
His entire expression brightens with the comparison. “God, I wish I were as smooth as Will Riker.” He leans his head against the headrest, a lopsided grin kicking across his face. “Jackson had mentioned our mutual love of the show.”
“Yeah?”
He grins.
“Is Star Trek: The Next Generation one of those topics you get a little fixated on?” For some reason, the question comes out breathy.
“Perhaps.” A seductive quality oozes from the slow way he pronounces the word, sparking a tingle low in my belly.
“Yeah?” Twirling a tendril of my hair, I bat my eyes.
The notion of Davis the jerk dissolves with every moment we spend together. Our flirty exchange doesn’t erase what he’d said, but somehow the memory gets a little fuzzier. The desire to know more about him pulses within me, demolishing any lingering annoyance.
“I have a Captain Picard bobblehead on my nightstand,” I breathe.
“God,” he groans. “That may be the sexiest thing a woman has ever said.”
“If you think that’s sexy—” I lean across the console, my mouth scant inches from his, and murmur, “I still have a DVD player, so I can watch the complete series with the special cast and crew commentary.”
In the inches between us, the air crackles with a dare. His minty breath caresses against my lips, teasing with the promise of how he’d taste.
“I’m sorry.” His gaze melds with mine.
Breath ragged, I blink. “For what?”
“That I hurt your feelings on our bad date. That I insulted your writing and implied your life is a fairy tale. I didn’t take the time to get to know you… I’d like to get to know you, if it’s not too late.”
I pull back, taking both him and his words in.
The earnest plea in his voice extinguishes the lone remaining embers of frustration with this man.
Davis hurt my feelings, but he’s adult enough to own that.
To listen to me. To apologize. He doesn’t offer excuses.
He doesn’t twist this into being my fault.
It's so different from Will. Georgia, you pushed me to make a commitment when I wasn’t ready yet.
Will’s words from the day he’d picked up the last of his things from my place prick inside me.
It would take another six months to learn the truth, that it wasn’t my fault.
But Will had no problem with me taking on his actions as my sins.
“It’s not too late,” I say, meeting his gaze.
“Okay.” A hopeful smile curls his lips. “How about a grilled cheese? I think we’ve both earned one after the day we’ve had. The GF Finder App ranks Fisher’s Landing as the number two gluten free grilled cheese in the US.”
“You know about GF Finder?” I gape.
It’s not a well-known App outside of the gluten free community.
It’s like Yelp, but focused on rating the safety of and menu offerings for gluten free individuals like me.
The App has both user-generated ratings and those by dieticians.
Up until it came out around five years ago, a lot of my knowledge about how GF-friendly places truly were came from what limited info was often available on restaurants’ websites.
Even if a place lists things as gluten free, it still may not be safe based on how food is prepared and, even, how it’s stored.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I designed it.”
“ You designed it!”