Odette

7

We didn't get to catch up.

Dinner Wednesday?

Gavin

T he card is attached to a large bouquet sitting on my doorstep when I get home. It's like the one I had in the foyer the day of the party. But bigger. Enormous, really. He must have spent a pretty penny. Gavin's number is written below his name.

Regardless of how pretty the flowers are, regardless of how pretty Gavin Vaughn is, and good grief has that man aged to perfection, he's not my fucking type.

He's single. Unattached. Available.

Which can only lead to strings, complications, heartache.

I think I'll pass.

Even though I rub my finger across his name and number, remembering those weeks we spent together…I can't make myself call him. My time with him was happy and stress free. I bloomed into a woman with him. But those memories are tainted by something else. By the sharp pains of rejection and heartbreak. That's not who I am anymore, though. I reject; I don't get rejected. Avoiding situations that cause me any kind of hurt is a specialty of mine. It's how I maintain sanity with what's been a busy lifestyle.

It's not so busy anymore. Fallon is succeeding in his attempts to take over my client list. He hasn't needed me, and the amount of downtime I have now far exceeds what I anticipated.

So much so that I'm now trying to find hobbies. Hobbies. Something I never had time for before. Vanessa has been firing off ideas, but none have stuck. I'm not a yoga class type of girl and the only thing appealing about a wine and painting night is the wine.

Quinn is quickly becoming a homebody, it seems. If only New York City could see me now. I've gone from rarely eating in to rarely eating out. Granted, I eat a lot of takeout because my skills in the kitchen haven't been honed over the years. That was another thing Vanessa suggested…take up baking. With eating gluten free, it wasn't a bad idea. So, I bought some cookbooks and went on a horrifically expensive grocery trip. I can't believe how much more it costs to live allergen free. What kind of bullshit is it when poison costs less than actual healthy sustenance?

I know I've been privileged with the amount of wealth I've amassed in a relatively short time. Truth is, I've done little with it. For myself or for others. I ignored it, mostly, pretending it wasn't there unless I was buying myself some rare and expensive article of clothing or pair of shoes.

Or this house with more history than most. Some would say I squandered a fortune on this place, and they'd not be wrong. I'm committed to her now, but that doesn't mean I don't still have money to put elsewhere. Somewhere needed, someplace that helps others. I've been a workhorse and a socialite for twenty years, maybe it's time to be a philanthropist and use my meager superpowers to make a difference in more than just making people look and feel fabulous in their clothing.

Charity can be one of my newfound hobbies . It's long overdue.

I suppose I could say the same thing about Gavin. Our meeting again is long overdue, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea.

After reading the small card a few more times, I deposit it in the trash and try not to think of it again. Seattle is a fresh start for me, a chance to change my life, and bringing old stresses in won't help me.

Preston:

There is a showing at a local gallery Friday night. Promising new artist. Accompany me? There is a piece I think will be perfect for your dining room.

My phone chimes with the text message.

Whatever relationship Preston and I are nurturing hasn't progressed much. In some ways he's been brave, texting me often. In other ways, the man is far too timid, as if he's afraid to make any advancements. Whether he's afraid of me, himself, or his estranged wife, I'm uncertain. Which only keeps me holding him at arm's length. While I'd love to fuck the man, I don't think he's ready for that. I don't chase any man.

My mother once told me I fight for what I want in every aspect of my life except the one that involves love. It's a hard truth to swallow, but I know that some battles aren't worth waging. Some wars you are destined to lose.

Some things you don't deserve, anyhow.

Me:

Sounds fantastic. Send me the details and I can meet you there.

This is not a date; I mentally add to my response, then head to the kitchen to try my hand at double chocolate cookies.

"Coming," I holler to whoever is knocking at my front door while I frantically try to figure out a way to pause. Not finding one, I drop the controller on my couch and rush to the door. "Gavin?"

"You didn't answer my question," he says, stepping in and leaning against the jamb.

"Which would imply the answer is no."

"Would it? It could just as easily be a yes." He smirks, and like last weekend, it does something to me that I'm choosing to ignore.

"How?"

"Fifty-fifty shot that it was a yes?" He grimaces, charming as ever.

"It wasn't."

"But it could have been, and I wouldn't have known had I not shown up."

"In your experience, does this kind of bullshit work with women?"

"I don't have much experience," he says, and I nearly feel bad for asking. Of course he hasn't; he's been married since he was eighteen. He holds up a large bag in offering. My stomach growls, making him smile wider.

"I'm not dating you, Vaughn."

"Who said anything about dating? It's dinner between two people who grew up together, Quinn. I know you want to say yes."

"To the food, yes. To you, I don't know."

"Fair enough. Let me feed you."

"What's in the bag?"

"Let me in and I'll show you," he says in more of a question than a demand. My stomach rumbles again.

"Fine, but don't think this will work again next time, Vaughn." My intrigue, and hunger, apparently, overrule my disdain for his presence. I don't hate Gavin. I never could, though I tried. It was only the circumstances I hated, and the pain that I felt alone in. I hated that the most.

"Deal."

I open the door and step aside so my biggest mistake can walk through it. The smell of the food follows me as I lead him to the kitchen.

"I hope Thai food is okay? Without knowing your preferences or allergies, I ordered a variety figuring something would be safe."

That's surprisingly thoughtful. Or maybe it's not, he always was before…until, well.

"Pad Thai and fried rice are both good options for me. I need to avoid gluten," I answer as he takes out and opens box after box.

"Avoid or eliminate? Are you celiac?"

"No, just avoid. I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease recently. Apparently, gluten is the devil and I need to make it my bitch." I pull the plates out of the cupboard while trying not to stare at him too much. He's big and takes up a lot of space. And air. And attention. I can't help but trace the lines of his body, taking in his casual outfit. It's my job, after all. "Did you just roll out of a workout, or do you always dress down for dinner with…whatever the hell we are?"

"I came straight from practice." He chuckles. "What autoimmune?"

"Hashimoto's. It's a thyroid thing," I say, and Gavin stops unpacking food and turns to me. "What?"

"Shh." His hand comes to rest on my collarbone, his thumb at the base of my throat. Slowly, he moves it up, stretching my neck taller, forcing me to look up at him while he studies the column he fingers. Gavin's tall, six feet or more. I'd forgotten. Or it's something I repressed, like the feel of his touch and what it always made me feel.

"You can't see my disease," I snark.

"I can see if it looks enlarged," he murmurs. "How are you coping with it?"

"I have my good days and bad," I say, blinking a few times, confused by the tender voice and the heated touch. "I was having more bad than good before I made the move here."

"Were you living too fast, ?" His voice is nearly a whisper when he leans down and settles the question in my ear. Blood pools in places it shouldn't, and I hate my body for it. I battle it enough with my disease; I don't need to fight sexual urges on top of it.

"Yes, and it was fucking delicious," I purr, stepping back from his body heat.

"But you're paying for it now."

"Everything decadent catches up to us at some point, Vaughn."

"I hope that's true," he says, piercing me with his light eyes—a contrast with his dark hair and the light scruff at his jaw. I don't think we're talking about the same thing, though. Or maybe we are, but our perspectives are worlds apart.

My stomach makes another low rumble, and Gavin grins.

"Sorry," I say, rolling my eyes.

"How often do you eat? You're so thin."

"I work in fashion," I remind him with a raised brow.

"Doesn't mean you should waste away. It can't be good for you."

A busy schedule and societal pressure have a way of taking a toll. For years, I only ate one meal a day, typically dinner with friends or clients, accompanied by booze or wine. Yeah, that kept me slim enough to fit into all the great fashion but at a price.

"I'm working on that."

"Maybe I can help," he says, going back to the food and distributing portions on each plate.

"I'm still not getting on ice skates, so I don't see how you could be of any benefit." It was something he'd tried to get me to do several times. Each time he asked, I'd laugh it off. Athleticism isn't in my wheelhouse.

"My whole career depends on me being healthy and in shape, smartass. I know a thing or two about healthy weight gain."

"Why would you help me? We aren't friends."

"We were once," he says, his eyebrows dipping together.

"We were never friends, Gavin." He finishes plating food without responding. "What would you like to drink?"

"Just water, please," he says, so I fill up two glasses and motion my head toward the living room. The dining room is large and formal, and I think it will only add to the awkwardness of this night. He follows me but stops when he sees the television. "Are you playing Animal Crossing ?"

Clearly, he's trying to hold back his laugh, his shoulders bunched as he tightly holds on to the plates.

"Fuck you, Vaughn. It was your daughter who suggested it."

"Did she now?"

"Yes. I needed a relaxing hobby and she said this was all about decorating homes and collecting clothes," I huff, dropping the glasses on the coffee table and taking my plate from him.

"So, right up your alley," he teases.

"Your mouth would be better full of food," I mumble as I switch the television to a local station. We eat in a strange silence for a few minutes. Why is he here? What's the end game?

If he wants a second chance, I'm probably the wrong woman for that. I don't even give most men a second night. It's never worth it.

While I may not hold grudges, I learn my lessons with people. That whole "fool me once" thing is a good motto and I live by it.

"Just say it, Ode. Whatever you're thinking."

Ode.

He used to call me that in more intimate moments. My heart clenches, but it's in a different way now than how it affected me then.

"What do you want, Gavin? Why are you here?"

"I told you already. I want to catch up. Our past wasn't something I wanted to bring up tonight, but if that's where you want to start, we can," he says casually. As if this is normal dinner conversation for him.

I like to think I read people pretty well, but this man confounds me with his level of ego and confidence. Maybe it's a hockey player thing. I wouldn't know, as I've never known another one besides him.

"We said all we needed to say on that subject twenty years ago," I say, looking directly at him.

"I disagree."

"Why?"

"So, you do want to talk about it?" he asks between bites of Pad See Ew.

"No."

"Then I'll wait to say it until you're ready to hear it. Until then, I'm offering a friendship, ."

"Can I decline your offer?" We both realize I'm avoiding whatever he was alluding to, but like I said, I don't want to talk about how I fell in love with him, only to watch him marry someone else.

"You can fucking try," he says, his voice low and guttural. I shouldn't find it sexy, but damn it, I do. "Why didn't you ever start your own line? Or fashion house? I'm not sure what to call it. But why did you head into styling instead?"

He's back to casual in a flash, as if he didn't nearly growl at me a second ago.

"It was easier to get a job as a stylist. New York is expensive, and money mattered. I thought design could come later, when I was making a decent living. But I fell in love with styling. It allowed me to be more creative because I was working with different personalities and body types. Designers are too often pressured to create for certain sizes, or lifestyles, and limited to one cohesive collection per season. I wanted something different. Besides, I still design, they're just very limited runs," I tell him. It's the question I'm asked most. I've spewed this answer so many times over the years, it feels almost rehearsed.

"That makes sense. You always were ridiculously creative," he says, taking his last bite and setting his plate down. "I knew you'd succeed at whatever you did. Never would have dreamed you'd leave New York, though."

Is that part of the reason he chose her over me? Because she'd follow him, and he thought I wouldn't?

No. No, that's not right. It was because of Tori. I know this.

"Tori is wonderful, by the way," I say, diverting the conversation from myself. "She's sweet, spunky, and so talented. You two raised her well."

I should get bonus points in the form of a chocolate chip cookie, gluten free, of course, for saying something nice to him. It's not like I hate him, but I didn't sign up for him to be in my living room comfortably eating dinner, either.

"Thank you," he says. "Though, Caroline gets most of that credit. I was gone so much with hockey; I feel like I missed a lot."

"She's just as much you," I say before I can catch myself.

"How would you know? We aren't friends, right?"

"You're right," I say, standing to collect both plates. He stands, too, and follows me to the kitchen. "I thought I knew you once, but that wasn't the truth."

"." Gavin traps me as I drop the plates into the sink. He cages me on either side. "You did know me. It wasn't a lie. The me you knew, was the most honest I ever was."

"I don't." My voice catches on the rest of the words, fingers tightening on the edge of the sink. I don't want to talk about it, but mostly, I don't want to remember. The cuts, the hurt, the scars…

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispers into my hair. "Upsetting you wasn't the plan. I just want to be in your world, Ode. However you'll let me. I'm fighting for it. This time, I'm fighting for it."