“How’s that?” she asks.
“Sugary,” I deadpan. She laughs.
“Come on, let’s find you something savory.” She stands, and tries to pull me up with her.
I stay rooted in place as she takes a step forward, and it stops her forward momentum. She looks back at me and drops my hand, a question in her eyes.
I squint up at her. “I thought you wanted us to stay away from each other?” For the record, I do not want to stay away from her. But I don’t want to be the reason she feels any kind of pain, and she made it clear the last time we saw each other she believes that will be the result.
Avery’s lips twist. “It’s been hard for me these past few days, to know you’re not that far away. For so long…” Her sentence dies, but I know what she was going to say.For so long, I couldn’t reach you even if I wanted to.Even when you sat beside me, I could not reach you.
I nod once. “Same.”
“Have you been reading my book?”
“Twice.”
She blinks. “You read it twice? The entire thing?”
“The entire first half,” I clarify. “And some scenes a few additional times.” I don’t specify which scenes.
A flush grows on her cheeks. “It feels weird to know you’ve read it.”
“Reading your side of the experience is fascinating. It’s like peeking inside your head.”
She sits back down beside me, her posture stiff. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so I say, “I loved the scene in the lawyer’s office.”
Surprise lifts her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d like that one in particular.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets and shrug. “I like it because I remember it clearly. I guess you thought I’d lost the will to fight for myself, and I admit I kind of had, but it was more than that. I was in awe of you that day, the way you took charge and stood up for me, even when I didn’t deserve to have you in my corner. You were passionate, and you spoke from your heart. In a way, it reminds me of your writing. Gregory Decker said you’d make a good activist, but I think writer is more your style. You can slay dragons with your words.”
My compliment draws a semi-smile from her. “The pen is mightier than the sword. I’m going to change the characters’ names. Just so you know.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “And if there’s anything you don’t want me to include, you can tell me. I can change stuff around. This is the first draft, which is more me telling the story to myself. The final product will be different.”
“How about the guy? Hudson. Can you press the delete button on him?” There’s no hiding the jealousy in my tone. Iknow I should be grateful someone else came along and treated Avery the way she deserved, the way I didn’t, but I can’t help how envious I feel of him.
She gives me a sympathetic look. “I wondered how you’d feel about that.”
Like someone else has been on the receiving end of your touch, and your smiles, and your laughter, and that smirk you get when you know you’ve made a really good point during an argument but you’re trying not to rub it in.
I don’t say that, because I gave up the rights to all that, along with so many others. “It wasn’t my favorite part,” I concede, and this draws a chuckle from her.
Her eyes light up. “I have an idea. How about today we act like we’ve just met?”
“Really?” With a history like ours, I’m not sure it’s possible to put on the blinders, even for a few hours.
“Really,” she confirms. “Maybe we can set aside this tension”—she gestures from me to her—“for a little while.”
Am I going to argue with her idea? Hell no. I’m going to ride her suggestion until we run out of road.
She offers her hand between us. “I’m Avery. I’m twenty-nine, divorced, and I may or may not become a published author. Only time will tell.”
I slide my hand in hers. “I’m Gabriel. I carve and burn wood, and I promise it’s not as weird as it sounds. I’m thirty-two, and I got out of prison five months ago.” My voice catches at the end. I can’t help it.
Avery doesn’t falter. She shakes my hand, smiles like the last part of my sentence is neither a shock nor a bother, and is the first to take a step. I fall in beside her.
We ride the Tilt-A-Whirl, the Ferris wheel, and I spend twenty-five dollars winning her a stuffed monkey. We make nomention of the past. Avery drags me to the Zipper, laughing when I eye it cautiously.
“Don’t be afraid,” she tells me, handing our tickets to the teenager. We climb on and go up, up, up, spinning in the air. Before I close my eyes, I see Avery, laughing with her eyes wide in exhilaration.
