What would’ve taken him years took Avery three hours. She’d zigzagged all over the showroom, equipped with a clipboard containing measured layouts of each room. Every time she discovered something perfect, she called him over, asked his opinion, and made him sit or lie down on it.
“You’re going to nap on this couch. Make sure you like it,” she had said. “Lie there while I see what else they have.”
Avery’s concern with his comfort made him trust he’d like the end results. Miles needed her genius. And there were a lot of other people like him. What felt onerous to him was a breeze for her. She took charge, but in a relaxed, comfortable way. When she found the right thing, her eyes lit up. It clearly made her happy.
His decorator in New York had never asked if he liked an item, much less made him test it out. She’d repeatedly mentioned “creating a curated aesthetic” and he’d never wanted to admit he didn’t know what she meant. Today was the polar opposite. Avery was carefully crafting a home. His home. All that mattered was his comfort and that he liked it.
Avery returned from freshening up and sat across the table.
The patio was almost empty, given the late lunch hour. The warm sun felt so good he wanted to take a nap. A couple of seagulls landed on the roof next door. He wondered if she recognized this restaurant, this sunny patio, this table. She’d said nothing when they’d placed their orders. Ten years ago, they’d had lunch here the day Sam sent them to pick up boats in Portland. He considered that day their very first date, even though he didn’t officially ask her out until a week later.
“We got a lot done today.” She pulled her lip balm from her pocket, slathered it on, and smacked her lips with satisfaction. “I want to be surewe didn’t forget anything.”
She flipped through her room plans, double checking her lists.
“We didn’t get bedside tables,” she said. “But I think you should wait until Wes installs your bed, so we have exact dimensions.”
Miles nodded. He was fine with boxes, old milk crates, or stacks of books for a while.
“Pepper, I love all of it.” He reached across the table and took the clipboard. “If we forgot something, we’ll come back. Thank you.”
He placed the clipboard on the bench beside him. They’d done enough for one day and he wanted to enjoy one another.
“Do you recognize this place?” he asked, as the other table of late lunch diners stood to leave.
“Of course I do.” Avery blushed and arranged her napkins and utensils. “You taught me how to eat a lobster here. I just reunited with the hand dryer I used when I tried to dry off my shirt in the bathroom after I refused to wear the plastic bib and got soaked with lobster juice.”
The other diners passed by and walked off the deck.
Avery ran a hand down her pink cheek. “Ugh, I was an embarrassed, southern girl, eating lunch with a cute New England boy. I didn’t want to come across like I had no idea what I was doing.”
“It was a good thing I’d already fallen for you.” He laughed. Back then, she’d been everything he hadn’t known he needed. Flirty, fun, kind. And new. He’d become enchanted with her on the drive to Portland when she noticed a digital clock bank sign and asked him his favorite time of day—as in actual time. Hers was 10:01 because she liked symmetry and 11:11 was too popular an answer.
“I got cold. You gave me your sweatshirt.” She smiled.
Avery still seemed to enjoy collecting his clothes. She hadn’t returned his jacket or his flannel yet. He’d hung onto her Vanderbilt baseball hat as collateral.
“What happened to that sweatshirt? You gave everything back atthe end of the summer. Except that.” He winked.
“It’s back home under my bed, in a bin of college stuff. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”
Miles’s chest expanded. The idea that she knew its exact location and that it no longer held his scent meant she’d wanted to hold onto the memory of their day in Portland. That day had marked a turning point for him. With a simple hug on the beach, and a piece of sea glass, Avery had opened his eyes to the potential for happiness in his future.
He rested a hand on top of hers.
“That day,” he said, brushing his fingers over her knuckles. “You changed my life. You took my crippling sadness and despair and gave me hope. Without you and your hug, I’d have just kept sinking.”
Her blush returned and she swatted her hand away. “You give me too much credit.”
He shook his head. She never gave herself enough credit. He said nothing because their server arrived with a tray of food.
“One salad and two watahs.” The server placed the items between them. “Lobstahs’ll be right up.”
Avery let go of his hand and drizzled her side of the salad with balsamic vinaigrette. She stuck her fork in a tomato, then a carrot, and finally lettuce. It occurred to Miles that Avery ate like she did everything else: precisely.
“Victoria’s coming and she’s requested a specific French-milled bath soap and the matching hand and body creams.” Avery rolled her eyes. “There’s a store on Commercial Street that carries them. They might carry the sea-salt-scented candle she wants. Can we stop in after lunch?”
“Of course.”
