“It’s progress,” he said laconically, and went for another stack of chairs.
When the setup was complete and guests were lining up at the pie buffet, I caught sight of a man sitting at one of the tables near the pool. It was Joe, relaxed and casual, the black tie hanging on either side of his neck. Giving me an expectant glance, he lifted a plate invitingly.
I went to him. “What flavor is that?” I asked, looking at the perfect wedge of pie, topped with a thick layer of meringue.
“Lemon icebox,” he said. “I have two forks. Want to share?”
“I suppose as long as we sit way back in the courtyard, off to the side —”
“Where no one can see,” Joe finished for me, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Are you trying to hide me, Avery? Because I’m starting to feel cheap.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Of all the adjectives I might use for you, ‘cheap’ is not one of them.”
He followed me, plate in hand, as I went into the courtyard and headed to a far-off table. “What adjectives would you use?” he asked from behind me.
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“A little encouragement never hurts.” He set down the plate and pulled out a chair to seat me.
“Since I’m not available,” I said, “I have no intention of encouraging you. Although if I did… I’d say you were charming.”
He handed me a fork, and we both dug into the slice of pie. The first bite was so good, I closed my eyes to focus on it. A foamy mantle of meringue collapsed on my tongue, followed by a rich filling infused with saliva-spiking tartness. “This pie,” I said, “tastes like one lemon fell in love with another lemon.”
“Or three lemons had a ménage.” Joe grinned at my mock-reproving glance. “Usually it’s never sour enough for my taste,” he said, “but this is about right.”
When there was one bite of pie left, Joe picked up my fork and fed me the last morsel. To my astonishment, I opened my mouth and let him. The gesture was at once casual and oddly intimate. I chewed and swallowed with difficulty, my cheeks turning hot.
“I need something to drink,” I said, and at that very moment someone approached our table.
It was Sofia, carrying two wineglasses and a bottle of chilled white Bordeaux. Setting them on the table, she said brightly, “Steven said to tell you we’ve got everything covered, so you can take off now.”
I frowned. “I’m the one who decides if I can take off, not Steven.”
“You’ve had less sleep than any of us —”
“I’m not tired.”
“— and there’s nothing left except to manage the cleanup crew. We can do that without you. Have a drink and enjoy yourself.” Sofia left before I could reply.
I shook my head as I watched her go. “I’m not as irrelevant as they seem to think.” Relaxing back in my chair, I said, “However… they did well today. And they probably can manage the cleanup without me.” I stared up at the sky, where the mottled white band of the Milky Way glowed against the plenitude of stars. “Look at that,” I said. “You can’t see that from a city.”
Gesturing with his glass, Joe said, “See the dark lane running along the center?”
I shook my head.
He moved his chair closer and pointed with his free hand. “There, where it looks like someone scribbled through it with a Sharpie.”
Following the line of his arm, I saw the ragged stripe. “Yes. What is that?”
“It’s the Great Rift, a big cloud of molecular dust… a place where new stars are forming.”
I stared in wonder. “Why haven’t I seen it before?”
“You have to be in the right place at the right time.”
We glanced at each other with a shared smile. The wash of starlight had turned the little crescent scar on his jaw a faint silver. I wanted to trace it with my fingertip. I wanted to touch his face and stroke the hard contours of his features.
I picked up my wineglass. “I’m going to turn in after I finish this,” I said, drinking deeply. “I’m beat.”
“Are you staying at the ranch, or at one of the hotels in town?”
“Here. There’s a little cabin along the drive to the back pasture. The trapper’s cabin, they call it.” I made a face. “There’s a stuffed coon on the mantel. Hideous. I had to put a pillowcase over it.”
He smiled. “I’ll walk you over.”
I hesitated. “Okay.”
The conversation turned quiet, halting, as I drank the rest of my wine. It seemed as if some secondary, unspoken dialogue were filling up the space between the words.
Eventually, we stood and left the bottle and two empty glasses on the table.
As we walked on the side of the paved drive, Joe said, “I’d like to see you again, Avery.”
“That’s… well, I’m flattered. Thank you. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve enjoyed your company. Let’s leave it at that.”
Joe was silent the rest of the way to the cabin. Our pace was leisurely, but my thoughts raced, my brain cataloging a jumble of ideas about how to keep him at a distance.
We stopped at the front door. While I fumbled in my bag for the key, Joe spoke quietly. “Avery… I don’t mean to presume. But I know what it feels like to want someone who doesn’t want me back.” A long pause. “And I don’t think that’s the case here.”