Chapter 4
Dawsen
Birdie Banks is sitting directly across from me, avoiding any chance of eye contact and I’m trying to resist every urge to stare at her.
An urge I’ve had since we were teens, so I should have a pretty good grip on that by now, yet here I am, wanting to fully take in the view of a freshly rolled out of bed Birdie.
Her dark hair is up in a bun on the top of her head, or at least the remnants of a bun are on top of her head.
Most of it has fallen out, and it’s all over the place…
which is so very her—all over the place, but just so damn pretty.
I fake cough, hoping nobody noticed my trance-like ogling. I grab my cup of coffee and take a big swig, hoping to pull myself out of my spiraling thoughts consisting of Birdie and her messy hair and how I want to be the one to make a mess of it.
It’s been several months since I’ve last seen her.
Honestly, I think it’s almost been a year.
She up and left for the big city with her big city dreams about five years ago.
She got an internship at some prestigious publishing house and her goals were to climb the ladder until she landed her dream of getting to write.
We don’t talk regularly, so I’m not really sure what she’s doing home, but I’m not complaining.
Saturday morning breakfasts with the Banks family happen fairly often.
We can usually count on getting a call from Sophie Banks at least twice a month.
It’s been this way long before mom was gone.
Mom and Mrs. Banks turned into close friends over the years.
I think they bonded over the fact that they both had some anti-social tendencies honestly.
They both were the kind of moms that were so focused on their own children and what was going on within the walls of their own homes, they didn’t really have extravagant social lives outside of that, and I think that’s why they fit together so well.
They both understood and respected what was important.
As long as we’ve known the Banks family, my parents have made teasing me about Birdie Banks part of their full time parenting gig.
Their teasing was usually in the form of a shoulder nudge and eyebrow raises from dad whenever Birdie was around and dressed up in one of her outrageously mismatched outfits that somehow worked so well together.
Mom would usually wink at me from over Birdie’s shoulder if she ever caught us having a conversation that would absolutely be nothing but small talk—which, something about Birdie is that she could make small talk feel like it had some deeper meaning to it.
I don’t know how. She has always left me feeling confused and unsteady and I hated not having a hold on things.
Speaking of—I need to suppress all this confusion from seeing Birdie this morning and get to work.
I bring my empty dish to the kitchen sink and start to help Mrs. Banks clear the table while everyone continued their conversation about why some television shows are better with less seasons, to which Bird stands up on her soapbox and dives into some passionate monologue about how “more is not always better. You can travel far and wide and still not experience a place, whereas if you look deep and near, you’re going to experience a whole lot more that’s worth experiencing.
” Something about character development and not getting to really know a character with more seasons and cheapening the story line.
I try to hide a smile as I finish stacking some dishes and make my way back into the kitchen where I find Sophie at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes.
“Mrs. Banks, allow me to do this. You go relax. You’re missing a very passionate rant by your daughter. I don’t think you’ll want to miss it.”
She pauses what she’s doing and pops her hip against the counter and smiles at me in the most loving way. The way a mother would smile at her son.
“That girl is something else, isn’t she?! Just never stops talking, and sometimes I don’t even know what she’s going on about.”
I just huff out a little laugh and start working on the stack of dishes next to her.
I know what she means. I don’t have to know what she’s talking about.
I just know I love the way it sounds. And the way her eyes get wide and her voice gets louder and louder as she works her way through her thoughts.
She’s not really a woman who thinks before she speaks—She’s more of a speak-as-she-thinks type of woman. I’ve always loved that about her.
“Dawsen, honey. Don’t worry about any of this. I’ll take care of it. I insist.” She says, as she gives me a little whip with the dish towel.
“Thanks Mrs. Banks—I’ve got to head to the winery to get ready for the Fall Wine Fest tonight!”
She nods at me, leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Love ya, kid.”
Mrs. Banks had a way of making me feel like one of her own, which meant even more now that my mom was gone.
It’s that unspoken understanding between us as I leave the kitchen and head back to the dining room.
River and Mr. Banks are now trying to convince Birdie and my dad that there is no such thing as too many episodes of Ted Lasso.
My dad would take Birdie’s side. He loves the girl. And I know for a fact that he’s never even seen an episode of Ted Lasso in his life.
“I’m heading out. Gotta get the shop ready for tonight’s event. Will I see y’all there?” I announce and pummel over their mindless debate.
“Oh, what event?!” Birdie basically jumps in her seat with a jolt of excitement, it made me sweat a little.
Before I could answer, River says, “Dawsen’s kind of became a big deal since you left, sis.
He’s like a full on entrepreneur and business mogul.
He owns the general store and the winery next door.
It’s pretty bad ass, and it’s like a full on tourist attraction now, and he gets lots of babes too.
” He winks and throws out finger guns at me.
Jackass.
I huff out a nervous laugh. “Not a big deal, and definitely not a business mogul, but thanks Riv. But anyways, we’re hosting this Fall Wine Fest tonight, I have a few local restaurants catering, we’ll have live music and obviously wine tasting.”
I decide to just ignore his comment about all the babes I get too, which is not something I want discussed over family breakfast, and especially not in front of Birdie.
Birdie claps her hands together with excitement, “Oh hell yeah. Wine, musicians and free food? I’m there, baby! Wait, what kind of musicians? Are we talking like old men singing covers or—”
River interrupts her inevitable line of questions, “Shut up, Birdie. Yeah, we’ll be there Daws.”
I try not to make any lingering eye contact, so I just give a general nod. “Alright, Cool. See y’all!”
I walk right past Birdie, close enough to brush her arm as I walk past her as I make my way to the front door.
I’m grabbing my coat off the hook and I try not to think about how jealous I feel about her questioning which musicians were going to be there.
Because everyone that knows Birdie, knows she’s into all that stuff. Musicians. Hipster music assholes.
Whatever.
I pull my beanie back on and head to my truck, practically running because I need to get away from these feelings. I liked it better when I had distance between them. It was easier to hide from them.