The rocks give way under my feet, but I manage to keep my balance. Even in heels. The air is cool, the trees nearly bare. Summer is definitely over, and it’s more visible here, beyond the edge of the bustling city.
Avery’s boots crunch as he steps toward the porch, the Uber pulling away behind us. If I were going to back out, my window was twenty seconds ago and I’ve officially missed it.
The soft yellow glow of his porch light illuminates a neatly decorated space, which is more than I can say I expected. Although, truth be told, there hasn’t been a single moment tonight when I wasn’t surprised by Avery. He is, for lack of a better term, an enigma.
“Come on,” he says. “Gotta get the feed.”
Stepping onto the porch, there’s about a ten-second hesitation before I follow him inside. I mean, he’s probably not a serial killer. It wouldn’t exactly be good murderer etiquette to kill someone you tattooed, left a club with, then shared a ride with. There’d be way too many witnesses. Then again, maybe I just watch too many documentaries.
“Hey, girl,” he says.
For a moment I wonder if there’s a woman here, but then a dog saunters out of the back room, stretching and extending her neck so his hand can cradle the top of her head.
“Miss me?” he asks her.
There’s something to be said about a man and his dog. There’s a bond, a loyalty to be appreciated.
“Vega, this is Helena. Helena, this is Vega,” he says. “She pretty much rules around here.”
I lean down, scratching the old girl behind her ears, which she seems to like, thankfully.
Avery grabs a canister from a shelf and opens the back door. “Okay, let’s go find the ducks.”
“We’re gonna find ducks in the dark?” I ask.
“I promise not to let you fall into the pond,” he says.
“Wait, there’s a pond?” I ask.
“Where the hell do you think the damn ducks live?” He laughs.
Holding his hand out for the second time tonight, I take it, allowing him to lead me down to the water’s edge. It doesn’t feel sleazy or like he’s coming on to me. In fact, there also hasn’t been a single moment tonight where I thought he had been. I didn’t think for a second that when he asked me to see his ducks that he really meant his dick.
Even if that is what I’d initially heard.
Although, I bet he does have a nice dick. He’s tall and broad, muscular but not bulky. Plus, he’s got a beard. I’ve never met a man with a beard who had a disappointing dick. Wow, Helena. Just, wow.
“There they are,” he says.
I strain my eyes in the direction he’s pointing, and sure enough, a small troop of ducks are paddling in the water toward us.
“Oh my gosh,” I squeal. I didn’t even know I was capable of such a noise, but seeing the little baby ducks makes me never want to eat Peking again.
Avery lets go of my hand, reaching into the can he brought and handing me a scoop of dry stuff. I can’t see what it is. All I know is it’s something to feed them.
I begin throwing bits of it into the water near where he’s throwing it, and I get lost in the sounds around us. Even with it getting cooler out, the crickets and frogs are still making a go of it, lending their song. Soon, they’ll retire.
Moonlight bounces off the pond, reflecting in ripples, and this may be the most peace I’ve felt since my father died. I clear a small lump from my throat before attempting to speak again.
“Thanks for getting me out of there, and out of my head,” I say.
“No problem,” he says. “No big deal.”
“Yeah, but it is a big deal,” I say. “It’s usually pretty hard for me to achieve this level of peace.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot going on in your head most of the time.”
“Yeah,” I say, not offering more.
We fall back into silence, tossing the food, occasionally laughing at the duckling behavior. But mostly we just stand there, breathing in the cool air, comfortable and content.
After a few more minutes, we walk back up to his back patio and he slips inside to put away the canister, grabbing us drinks as he does so.
He hands me a bottle of beer then lights the small fire pit in front of us and takes a seat next to me. I’ve never been one for beer, but I’ll drink it if it’s what’s being offered. I suppose it’s a manners thing. That’s just how I grew up.
Avery checks his watch, likely contemplating when he thinks I’ll want to return to the hotel. But the truth is, I don’t. I love my sister, but those women are loud—consuming, even. I feel shrunken and out of sorts in their presence.
“Can you just take me back in the morning?” I blurt before I’m able to stop myself.
He doesn’t skip a beat though, just takes a long sip from his own beer before slowly setting it down. “Sure,” he says. “No problem.”
“I won’t be any trouble,” I say. “I can sleep on the couch.”
Avery scoffs, “Ha. Yeah, right. Me, have a woman sleep on my couch? No, ma’am, my mother raised me better than that for the short time she did.”
At the mention of his mother, there’s a slight clench of his jaw. Perhaps it’s the same sort of thing I feel at the mention of my father, a tinge of pain or some other negative emotion you hope to hold back.
“I appreciate it,” I say.
“Those women don’t seem like your regular crowd,” he says. “Not that they aren’t nice women. They’re just a lot.”
“No,” I say. “You’re right.”
I can’t deny there’s a comfort about Avery; in his presence, the way he talks to me. It doesn’t feel like he’s treating me like a Davenport. It’s not about my status or my name or my family. With him, I’m just me. He’s just talking to a woman named Helena, and nothing else.
“You’re easy to be around,” I say.
“I try,” he says, smiling.
In my head, I’m whistling low, because the man has an incredible smile. I’m 99% sure he’s hiding dimples under that beard, and his teeth are so straight and white it’s hard to believe he’s not in dental commercials. Plus, I’m also pretty sure I caught sight of a stud in his tongue. Light flashes reflect on it every so often, and I never thought I’d swoon for a man with a tongue piercing but it’s quite…intriguing. Oh, here I go again.
“Are you hungry?” Avery asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I check the time and it’s nearly 1AM, but I am actually hungry.
“I could eat,” I say.
He gets up, assuring me he’ll be right back, before disappearing inside again. My head hits the back of my chair, and I close my eyes, inhaling deep. The smog and stink of downtown is gone. The air out here stings for an entirely different reason. Sitting here makes me rethink my downtown Nashville penthouse, recalling those summers spent with my dad in his cabin. This feels almost the same. Almost.
“Here you go,” he says.
I sit up to receive a bowl and giggle when I realize it’s a bowl of frosted flakes.
“Don’t laugh,” he says. “I worked hard on that.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, spooning my first bite before shoveling it into my mouth rather unladylike.
Three bites in, I’m struck with a wild idea. Very wild. In fact, it’s sort of insane. But it’s also genius.
“Okay,” I say, inhaling a sharp breath. “Hear me out.”