“Go get ready, Avery.” I smile.
She smiles back and scurries up the stairs.
As soon as I put my own costume on—if you can call it that—I step outside to wait for our ride, standing beneath a streetlight so I can be seen. Tonight I’m channeling Johnny Cash, the man in black. Black button-up. Black slacks. Black leather shoes. I even slicked my hair back in some kind of attempted pompadour. Having never been to a masquerade, I’ve only read about them in books, and even those stories have been few and far between. I feel a little out-of-my-element, but I know how much it means to Avery, so for her, I’ll try.
I check my watch, staring up at her window. She wouldn’t open the door when I knocked a few minutes ago to give her back her necklace. Without opening the door, she yelled over her music that she’d be down soon. So I’m waiting on the curb as our ride’s headlights pop up over the hill, heading straight for me.
My fingers dig into my pocket, fiddling with the cool metal of the necklace. When the driver pulls up and parks, I let him know the other half of the party is on her way as I anxiously turn back toward the house. To my surprise, her window is now dark. A rustling sound pulls my attention to the side yard as Avery materializes from the night. With each step she takes closer to me, my heart thuds a little faster.
Her olive skin contrasts with the deep red of her dress, rivaled only by her inky waves that fall softly around her shoulders. I’m awestruck, only realizing once we’re almost face-to-face that my jaw is slack.
“Is it too much?” she asks, gesturing to the fitted bodice of her dress. “I’ve never been to a ball before. Or worn a corset. I might have gone a little too far.”
I shake my head, chewing my lip until my mouth regains some moisture. “No. Nope. You look… You’re beautiful, Avery.”
In the lowlight of dusk, I swear her cheeks take on a rosy hue.
“Thanks. You look…” She does a little circle around me, giving me a full view of her as she does. Her floor-length skirt is more modest than most I see these days, but there’s something incredibly sexy about that. Everything in me cries out to grab her, pull her close, to never let her go. But I resist.
“You looksogood, Ty,” she finishes.
“I look boring compared to you.”
“No, you lookdapper.”
“Dapper?”
She nods. “I’m sorry, is handsome better? I love thatyou went neutral. It goes perfectly with the mask.” It’s only then that I realize she’s holding two masks. She thrusts the more masculine-looking one into my hands—matte black with gold details. “You’re what dreams are made of. If you don’t already have a wedding date, you’ll find one tonight.”
She winks and then dives through the door the driver’s just opened. I suck in a steadying breath before thanking the driver and following in behind her.
“You know, I think you think about me finding a wedding date more than I do,” I say as the door shuts and the driver rounds the SUV.
“Maybe I just wish I could go.” She shrugs. “Your mom and sister sound great, and I love weddings. So maybe I’m just a little jealous.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. Which is immediately followed by an unwelcome warmth in my chest.
“I like when you laugh,” she says.
The warmth intensifies, and for a split second, I’m locked in on her. Hyper-aware of everything that is Avery Hinkley. The way her soft curls fall over her shoulders. The way the green in her hazel eyes shines in the strips of light illuminating the back of the car. The freckles that trip over each other when she wrinkles her button nose. Partner that with her gothic get-up, and that’s enough to send me over the edge. But if I’m losing it over anyone, it might as well be her.
Her nimble fingers rush to her throat. “My necklace! I totally forgot.”
Digging into my pocket, I brandish it and hand it over. The driver starts the engine, calling back to us to assurewe’re ready before speeding off in the direction of Santa Mirada.
“Thanks. I hope it wasn’t hard to fix. As long as it holds together for the night, right?” she says, snatching it up and draping it across her dainty collarbones. “If I had more time to fix it, I totally could have. I’ve gotten good at that over the years. You can only get yelled at so many times for screwing something up before you figure out ways to cover your tracks.”
My brow dips. “Cover your tracks?”
“My dad had a temper. Yelled a lot. Still does, especially around the holidays. We had to tiptoe around him every time December 20th hit. Like clockwork. That or if the Kings didn’t make it into the playoffs.” She tugs at the necklace, still attempting to clip it. “What’s messed up is every person I’ve ever dated had the same kind of attitude. Mad for no reason, clammed up if they suddenly got emotional. Any anger directed at a game immediately circled back to me.”
My shoulders tense. How could people ever be mean to Avery? Especially the ones in her life who were supposed to love her most. “Family can be hard to get along with, to say the least. Maggie and I have had our issues—obviously, we still do—but I’m trying not to take her for granted.”
Why was I telling her all this? Why am I making this about me?
“But I’m sorry. That’s not fair. You, of all people, don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be taken for granted.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay. And I’m sorry about you and Maggie. I can’t say that the fighting and yelling isn’thurtful, but it’s helped me get really good at stuff. Like fixing my little snafus. Wanna know my favorite surprise-tool?” Before I can reply, she’s already propelling into the answer. “The butterknife.”
