Forced induction, p.12
It Would Have Been You, page 12
“Guys, come on. It’s not like that. I am here on a mission—”
“Letting yourself have fun is the mission,” Monika reminds me. “And having a fling with a beautiful man sounds like something right up Epic, Uncursed Drew’s alley.”
“Drew in any form would never be interested in a fling,” I correct, but my words are drowned out under their overlapping encouragement. When they don’t let up, I wave my hand in front of the camera to get their attention and say, “Guys, I love you. But I need to go.”
“Hang on,” Monika says. “Drew, I need you to call me later, please. We need to talk about Evelyn’s book signing at the shop tomorrow. I have some questions about the instructions you left me.”
“Of course,” I say, and make a mental note to email Evelyn to wish her good luck later too. When I told her that I was going to miss her book signing at the Book & Barrel, she was disappointed that we wouldn’t be able to meet in person. But when I told her that I was missing it to attend a book retreat featuring her new release, she was tickled.
“Are you going to tell the other guests that you are friends with Evelyn?” Gabe asks.
“No, that’s weird. And we aren’t friends. We are just friendly. Now I really have to go . . .”
“Fine. Be safe. We love you.”
I hang up and take a deep breath before I head back out to hear whatever Cameron needs to talk to me about in private. He stands just inside the door where I left him, looking far more serious than in any of our previous interactions.
“Sorry to interrupt your call.”
I wave off his apology. “It’s fine. My family is crazy, as you already know from my brother’s call earlier. They’ll probably call a thousand more times throughout the weekend, even though they are the ones who insisted that I deserve a vacation.”
A smile turns up the corner of his lips. “Sounds like they love you a lot.”
“They do. I’m very lucky.” I reel at my own use of the word. Lucky has never been in my vocabulary, and now it has been used to describe me twice in one day. “So, what’s up? You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yeah, I . . .” he starts, while he rubs the back of his neck again, which I’m starting to think must be a nervous habit.
I look at the clock on the nightstand. I am officially five minutes late for the wine tasting. At least it’s being held downstairs now.
He follows my gaze and stiffens. “Sorry, you must be anxious to get back to the group.”
I do want to finish getting ready, mostly to keep my promise to help cover for Leah, but I am also curious about what he has to say. “It’s fine, I have a few minutes.”
He nods silently and looks down at the hardwood floor for a solid minute before he continues. “I wanted to finish our conversation about the records. From when we were in my office earlier.”
“Oh.” I rock back on my feet. Something tells me that this is not what he actually came here to say, but I play along anyway. Maybe he just needs a little time to warm up. “Do you mean about the Christmas record I was looking for?”
“Yeah, that.”
“I didn’t see it, so I don’t think you have it,” I say, and sneak a glance at the clock again.
He tilts his head to the side as he meets my gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. Unless you keep more somewhere else, but I think I looked through all of your holiday albums.”
“What’s the name of it?” he asks. “I own every holiday record worth having.”
I laugh out loud at how pretentious he sounds, and he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
I accept his apology, but I still have the overwhelming urge to mess with him and push back against his confidence. It’s not like Christmas with the Chipmunks is a musical feat, but it’s my family’s favorite holiday album, so that’s worth something.
“The one I am thinking of came out in the sixties, so maybe that’s why you aren’t familiar,” I say, knowing for a fact that my comment will strike a nerve because every collector knows that the sixties and seventies are the golden age of vinyl.
He scoffs, just like I knew he would. “I have Christmas with the Miracles, The Beach Boys album, Barbra Streisand’s—”
“Yeah, I saw all of those. The one I was looking for is pretty niche. You probably haven’t even heard of it, honestly.”
“I’m sure I’ve heard of it. Try me.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I shouldn’t take pleasure in teasing him like this, but it’s the most fun I’ve had all day. “I don’t know. If you’d heard it before, you definitely would have considered it one of the greats.”
“Tell me,” he demands, but his tone is playful.
“I really need to get dressed,” I say, changing the subject. I turn towards the bed where I discarded my dress and pick it back up.
“Not even a clue?” he asks from behind me.
“Are we making this a game, now?”
He nods. “I think we should.”
I head back towards the closet to get changed since this might take a while, and leave the door cracked so we can continue our conversation. “So, you try and guess what record I am thinking of with what? Ten hints?”
“Ten!” he repeats, offended, from back in the bedroom. “I bet I can guess it with one good hint.”
“I don’t know . . .” I call out from behind the door and kick my ratty airport clothes into the corner while I slip the periwinkle dress over my head. It is long-sleeved and knit, which will keep me warm, but it also clings to every single curve on my body, which I don’t love. “Doesn’t the fact that it’s a Christmas album from the sixties count as two hints already?”
“Fine, five hints,” he concedes.
I push open the door and head straight to the sink to use the mirror that hangs above it. Monika was right, the light blueish-lavender tone of this dress does make my eyes stand out. They look more golden than brown as I wet my hands and drag them through my unruly hair. The vanity part of the bathroom is open to the rest of the bedroom, so I catch Cameron watching me in the reflection. My breath locks in my chest as he continues to look at me with clear, but respectful, appreciation.
“Third hint,” he says, his voice a bit lower than before. “Is it a band, trio, duo, or solo artist?”
I look away from him to finish my hair and then turn around to face him. “It’s a very famous trio. They’ve even had movies and TV shows based around them.”
He considers that while I dig through my bag to find shoes. Monika clearly packed the nude heels to go with this dress, because the only other ones are a pair of white Converse and some tall boots, but I grab the sneakers and socks anyway and decide that what Monika doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
“Is the trio made up of men or women?” he asks next.
I hesitate. Can you consider fictional chipmunks men?
“Ah, a mix,” he says, misreading my pause. “That’s super helpful, actually. Narrows it down quite a bit.”
“No, no, no. Sorry. This trio is all male.”
He narrows his eyes in my direction as I pull on my shoes. “Then why did you hesitate? Are you trying to throw me off?”
“No, it’s just—” I start but wonder if saying it’s complicated would make it too obvious. “Let me try again.” I angle my body so that I face him straight on. “Males, yes. Three males.”
There’s a brief pause, and then we both break out in laughter. “You’re definitely messing with me.”
My jaw drops in mock horror. “No, I’m not! Maybe you just don’t know good music as much as you—”
“Fourth hint,” he interrupts with a grin.
“Fifth,” I correct. “Do you regret turning down my offer of ten hints now?”
He licks his bottom lip and shakes his head playfully at me, and my stomach does that involuntary somersault thing again. “Let’s get you downstairs. I need some time to decipher the terrible hints you’ve given me before I use my last one.”
I bend down to tie both of my laces and then follow him to the door that he is holding open for me to walk through.
“What do I get when I win?” I ask as we walk side by side down the hall towards the stairs.
“You don’t need to worry about that, because I’m going to win,” he says, and I shake my head at the return of that annoying confidence.
The staircase is wide, but we occasionally brush shoulders as we descend. Each time causes my breath to catch in my chest.
When we make it to the bottom, I say, “It’s only fair that we establish something. The satisfaction of you losing will be pretty sweet, but real games have prizes.”
He pauses in the middle of the foyer before we make it to where Ollie and the women wait in the dining room. I stop beside him just as he lowers his voice a bit and says, “I’ll give you whatever you want if you win. Just name it.”
Based on the size of this house and the car that he picked me up in, I could probably name something outrageous, and he wouldn’t blink an eye. There’s something about the way he said it, though, that makes me wonder if he is suggesting a different kind of prize. One that is not tangible. Or maybe he meant exactly what he said, and my hormonal teenage brain that takes over anytime he comes near me needs to be pulled out of the gutter.
“I’ll think about it and get back to you.”
A broad smile spreads across his face as if he somehow heard my internal monologue. “I can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”
Chapter twenty-one
CITRUS BOMBS OF DEATH
“I mean, seriously, what was he thinking?”
I nod in agreement as Leah continues her hushed rant while Judith narrows her eyes at us from across the table. Apparently, before coming up to my guest room, Cameron agreed to let her be part of our wine tasting, even after she almost started a fire and had that huge blowout with Delaney. If I had known, I would have challenged him on it, but by the time I walked into the formal dining room and registered what was happening, Cameron had already stepped into the kitchen to help Ollie with the final preparations.
“If Judith makes one comment about what I’m drinking, or not drinking for that matter—”
“She won’t,” I say, and sneak a glance at Cameron as he pushes up his sleeves to put the finishing touch on one of our tasting plates. Leah looks unconvinced, so I continue. “I’ll be drinking all of the non-alcoholic drinks with you, so you won’t be singled out, remember?” Leah wrings her hands under the table, and I reach over to put one of mine on top of hers. “I’ve got you. I promise.”
She meets my eyes and lets out a breath. “Thank you.”
Val’s face is unreadable, as usual, from across the table from where she sits next to Judith. There is one seat empty between them, but Judith still leans away from Val, as if the space between them isn’t enough. The table comfortably seats three people on each side, with two more at each end, so at least Delaney has options other than the space between them if she decides to join us. I haven’t seen her since Ollie showed up at the front door, and she stomped away to tell Cameron to stay in his lane. I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t show at all, since I doubt she was on board to let Judith join us.
Delaney and Cameron are clearly in some sort of power struggle, but I still can’t fathom why he would take Judith’s side over hers. Unless he thinks that Delaney should have just sucked it up and not been so affected by Judith’s antics, since she is the host. To be honest, I can see it from both sides, but if it were up to me, I would have asked Judith to sit this one out. Cameron did mention on the ride over that he was here this weekend to decide if he wanted to start being more involved in the retreats. Maybe this is his attempt at that.
I glance over the menu until Ollie comes out of the kitchen to stand at the head of the table. He claps his hands together to get our attention, as if his sheer presence isn’t enough to pull the gaze of everyone in the room.
“Hello again, ladies. I wanted to let you know before we start that there has been a slight change to the tasting menu.” He holds up one of the pieces of printed cardstock and points to it. “Our nonalcoholic pairing was supposed to be our signature sun-brewed teas, but our cashier accidentally sold off the last case that I had set aside for our group, so I had to replace it with our lemonade pairings instead. Delaney mentioned earlier that one of you is allergic to citrus, so I just wanted to make that clear before we begin.”
I stiffen as everyone looks around the table for who the person with a citrus allergy is and join in when I realize that I can’t admit that it’s me. I promised Leah that I would help cover for her being pregnant by drinking the nonalcoholic drinks with her, and I can’t imagine backing out now with Judith watching our every move. I am going to have to find a way to pretend like I am drinking these citrus bombs of death or actually ingest a little and hope that I can tolerate it. I wish I could say that this turn of events was unexpected, but I am actually not surprised at all.
When no one speaks up, Ollie’s brow knits together. “I could have sworn Delaney indicated that there was a citrus allergy in this party.”
“Maybe it’s Delaney,” Val suggests, and I nod vigorously in agreement because she isn’t here to correct the wrong assumption.
Ollie laughs. “It’s definitely not Delaney. She always insists I bring a bottle of our lavender lemonade for her to take home.”
Val and I lock eyes across the table, and she tilts her head a fraction. Apparently, I am failing at looking nonchalant, so I avert my gaze back to Ollie.
“Maybe I am misremembering,” he says. “Either way, I just want to reiterate that the wine and food are all citrus-free, but the lemonade is not.”
I start to panic as Ollie uncorks the first bottle of wine at the front of the table.
“Here we have our Sauvignon Blanc, with notes of lemon, grapefruit, and pomelo, but as a reminder, there is no actual citrus in the wine. It is all a result of the natural compounds in the grapes that I will go into further detail about a little later.” He puts down the uncorked wine to hold up the glass carafe of lemonade. “This is our classic lemonade. Both options work to balance the saltiness of the goat cheese toasted crostini that Cameron will be bringing around in just a minute.”
Ollie starts with Judith, who requests the wine. Then moves to Val, who does the same. Every muscle in my body tenses as he comes around the table to me, and I request the lemonade. He fills the glass, and I flinch when he accidentally overpours and some spills down the sides. I use my napkin to wipe it off as best I can, not wanting to come into contact with it until I absolutely have to. Leah also asks for the lemonade, as planned, and Ollie takes his place back at the head when we are all served. “By a show of hands, how many of you have been to a wine tasting before?”
Judith and I raise our hands, and then I zone out as he goes into the five S’s of assessing a wine, since I know them all by heart, and instead focus on finding a way to get out of this. I haven’t had any citrus since I was ten, so I consider the possibility that my allergy may have magically gone away with time but promptly dismiss it. With my luck, it will be the opposite and be a million times worse since I have avoided citrus for so long.
A bead of sweat drips down my back as Cameron places a tasting plate in front of me.
His eyes widen at my expression, and he leans down close to whisper, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I squeak, and turn away so that he keeps moving. There is nothing that he can do to help me other than somehow drink the lemonade for me, and there is no way that he can do that discreetly. I need to figure this one out on my own.
Ollie moves the women to step three of the five S’s and asks them to sniff the Sauvignon Blanc. Thankfully, there is no point in smelling plain lemonade, because the thought alone makes my stomach lurch. Instead, I pretend to be engaged while Ollie leads Val and Judith through identifying each note of their wine. I only have seconds to find a way out of this before he moves to the fourth S, which is to sip, but the best ideas I’ve come up with so far are to somehow knock over the glass or throw the lemonade over my shoulder when everyone goes to drink.
Since knocking over a glass would only prompt Ollie to pour me another one, and throwing the lemonade over my shoulder is just plain rude, I have no choice but to test the strength of my stomach. Ollie proposes a toast to our night together, and I am out of time, so I join in with the others and clank my glass against theirs and say a prayer as I lift the lemonade to my lips.
Chapter twenty-two
SHARP OBJECTS
When the lemonade touches my tongue, I am immediately transported back to a very old, very distinct childhood memory. I am swinging next to Scott on the rusty swing set in our old apartment complex before my infamous tenth birthday that helped us pinpoint my allergy.
I can almost feel the breeze in my face as I pump my legs harder and harder to get as high as he is. The exertion winds me, and just when I look over to see if I’ve caught up to him, I projectile vomit an entire slice of lemon meringue pie I had earlier that day in his direction. Scott screams bloody murder as some of it lands on his arm, and our dad comes running to see which one of us is hurt this time.
The memory is replaced by a loud, sputtering cough happening in the present moment, as my body attempts to physically reject the lemonade that I just willingly ingested.
By some miracle, at the exact same moment, Delaney reappears in the dining room with a large bottle of champagne in her hand and pulls everyone’s attention to her with a loud hiccup. It provides the distraction that I need to slip away, so I excuse myself from the table and run towards the bathroom at the front of the house. Once inside, I turn on the faucet and shove my mouth under the running water to wash all traces of the poison off it.
After a few minutes of scrubbing my tongue and removing half of my makeup in the process, I turn off the faucet and hear yelling from back in the dining room. I sigh and lean back against the wall as I dry my face and neck, content to hide in here until the fighting is over. Not two seconds later, though, the door to the bathroom opens beside me.
