by Frankie Love
“I wish I’d known. Sophia and I have gone skiing there the last few Valentine’s Day weekends. It’s why we’re getting married there.” He shakes his head. “I just wish you’d invited me to your place.”
“I’m sorry, Taylor.” And I am. It’s just another reminder that I am not in a place to be in a real relationship — I can’t even make things work with my little brother.
“I put my life back together, that’s a good thing,” I tell him. “And now I’m in a place where I can be more a part of your life. Maybe it’s all coming together at the right time.”
“You sound like an inspirational book, not like the older brother I know who’s always swinging fists and calling people names.”
“I’ve changed.”
“How much of you changed? You still believe that you ought to be alone, so you don’t accidentally hurt them?”
I look down at my coffee cup, realizing that my brother is the only person on the planet who could talk to me like this. Like a fucking shrink. My employees would never address me so intimately.
“I still think that, but,” I say offering him a slow grin, not wanting to end this on a negative note. “You know, I’m sure happy you found Sophia. But you don’t have the same baggage I do.”
“That’s not true. You could still find someone. The night mom and dad died was—”
“Stop,” I tell him. “I know you and I can get to the heart of things pretty damn fast, but that’s cutting it way too close.”
Taylor nods then drops the subject and tries again. “What hotel did you stay at last night?”
I should’ve thought this part through. “One by the restaurant.”
“By the restaurant?” Taylor asks. “There’s not a hotel within a ten-block radius of the restaurant. What was it called? Maybe a new one was developed since I’ve looked.” Taylor, always one to stick with the facts.
“I don’t know, it was nice. A lot of pink, though.”
Taylor frowns. “Pink?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “Pink carpet, pink couch, pink walls.”
Taylor sits back, eying me as if he’s onto me. Hell, he probably is. “I saw you leave the restaurant with Ava.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you go home with her?” Taylor asks, not beating around the bush.
I’m sure where this is going, and I nod slowly. But Taylor’s approach surprises me.
“That girl’s quite a character, right? Sophia and I are just glad she hasn’t gotten married yet.”
This gets my attention.
“Why’s that?”
“She has these ideas in her head about love, marriage. She thinks happily ever after equals a romantic comedy.” Taylor shakes his head. “She drives Sophia crazy with her talk about soulmates in best friends.”
“And that’s not how love works?” I ask.
Taylor shrugs. “Look, Sophia and I are in love. But it’s not the kind that elicits puppies and beds of roses.”
“Puppies?”
Taylor shakes his head; he clearly has plenty of opinions about Ava. “Girls love puppies, right?” When I don’t respond, he continues, “The thing about Ava, that’s different than Sophia, is she has a pattern for falling for every wrong guy. The girl’s been hurt by more assholes than any woman I know. She always goes for the who's unavailable, a douchebag. So, when I say I’m glad she’s not married, I mean it. If she got tied to one of the guys she’s dated it would only end in bad news. She has horrible taste in men.”
“Is this a warning?”
There’s a tightening in my chest, I don’t like the way Taylor is talking about Ava Grace. Or about me. I saw Ava’s apartment, saw her DVDs and her quote of the day. I get that she’s a romantic. But I also saw her funny, heart on her sleeve, all-in approach to life. It was fucking hot as hell.
“Look, Ava Grace is not my business,” Taylor finishes. “But Sophia is. I don’t want anything to put a hitch in her wedding plans. And you hooking up with her sister would not end well.”
I shrug. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Hell, one day in Denver with my brother and I’m already fucking things up for him. Therefore, I don’t get close to people. I always mess things up.
I’m better off alone in the mountains.
Taylor pushes his lips forward. “If you slept with her, fine, but just let that be enough.”
I raise my hands, letting him know he can drop it. “I’m leaving for the mountains, I won’t fuck anything up, I promise.”
– –
Later, in my house with the fire roaring in the hearth, Esme, my housekeeper, brings me a tumbler of my favorite whiskey.
“It’s so good to have you back, Samson.” Esme is a sixty-year-old woman and takes care of all the things I don’t want to manage. Groceries and laundry and shit that takes me away from my one focus: the mines that made me a billionare and set me up for life in Faro, a town I love. Mostly because it’s small as fuck. Denver is nice and all, wide streets and sidewalks and restaurants that serve more than greasy diner food like we have here.
But Faro doesn’t have Ava Grace.
“Everything alright, Samson?” Esme asks, closing the drapes over the windows in my study.
“I’m good, it’s late, though, you should call it a day,” I tell her, knowing she stayed up late waiting for my arrival.
“Well, welcome home, dear,” she says before leaving the study.
I lean back in the leather chair, thinking how good it is to be in this room that feels like home. A far cry from Ava’s pink and gold condo, that’s for sure.
There’s a deer head mounted above the fireplace, rich leather sofas and walls lined with books. There’s a bearskin rug on the floor and enough whiskey in the liquor cabinet to get me through ten years of winter snowstorms.
My brother thinks I live in some cabin in the middle of nowhere, and I do live in a cabin, and it is the middle of nowhere, but it’s also the middle of my five thousand acres. And it may be a cabin, but not what he’s picturing—no one would call it rustic.
This cabin was built by a guy named Jaxon and his crew in Idaho. They build custom homes—I saw them on a reality TV show. Hired them right away. And this one is fucking magnificent.
I had it built two years ago, after the windfall. I came out to the Yukon to strike it on my own, but after a year here, I managed to strike gold.
I was mining for gold, but so were a lot of guys. There were a few news stories that came out about some people going to the Yukon and finding gold.
Never thought I’d be so lucky, but I was sick of the nine to five grind, not to mention I was fucking things up left and right. Drinking too much, playing way too fucking hard dddd —it was like after years of taking care of Taylor, my body rebelled against the idea of being responsible. All I wanted was to let loose.
I needed a fresh start if I ever wanted to get my shit in order.
I was one of the lucky ones.
I hit enough gold to set me up for my lifetime.
I still mine because I love to be in the great outdoors, a modern-day treasure hunter. I love this land and I love this country. Being out here let me clear my head to figure out who I was and why.
It’s safe out here, no one getting too close. There’s no one to hurt.
My mind, though, it isn’t clear right now. Right now, I’m only thinking about Ava Grace.
Her smile and her laugh. Thinking how I left her this morning and wondering why I wasn’t the kind of man who could just stay.
I wish I could see her again, speak to her. Learn all about her. But I know a man like me would only hurt her. From what Taylor said, she’s been hurt enough.
But damn, I’m a selfish bastard because I still need to see her face.
I take another drink of my whiskey, glad to be home and drinking the good stuff, and get out my laptop. I pull up fucking Facebook, thinking that’s the best place to find this girl.
A few clicks later I have access to her public profile. It
lists her birthday, where she went to college, even her email account.
My cock is hard the moment I see her face, and there is picture after picture of her. In every single one, she’s smiling, looking like a breath of fresh air.
I scroll through her feed and see her post about getting a pedicure with a girlfriend, pictures of recent jewelry designs — incredibly impressive designs — and most recently, a post about going to her sister’s engagement party.
Besides her updates, I see she’s taken quizzes. Lots of fucking quizzes.
What character from these romantic comedies are you most like?
Who should be your leading man?
What is your dream date?
Every quiz zeroing in on the fact that Ava Grace is a hopeless romantic.
I swallow, not believing I have the capacity to be the man she needs, but my memory of our night together tells me I should have her anyway.
I take another drink. My head feels less cloudy, things are becoming clearer. Even though it is the middle of the night, and it’s been a long-ass day—I know what I want. What I need.
I’ve got to talk to Ava again. But I need to take a different approach, a different angle. Because I don’t want to get close and hurt her. When I left this morning, I gave her every reason to think I was just like the rest of the men she’d been with.
Detached, unavailable, one and done.
Maybe I can try something different. Maybe I can give her a reason to think I’m more. A woman like Ava Grace deserves to be wooed —she wants a romance worthy of a movie, and fuck, I may not have any clue what it means to fall in love, but I want to see if I can win Ava Grace’s heart.
Without a second guess —because when I make up my mind, I don’t second guess myself.
I type in the URL for Fastmail and I create an account for myself. A way to get to know Ava... a way for Ava to get to know me—without judgment or preconceived ideas about what kind of man I am.
It will give me a way to figure out if I have what it takes to be the man she needs.
I can compose an email.
To: AvaGraceWentworth
From: heartofgold
Chapter Eight
I spend the rest of the day wishing I were more like Sophia. I can’t help think that Sophia is doing something right.
Maybe my personality is a turn-off. Maybe I drive men away with my pink tights and my pony tops.
I sort through my clothing, looking for something Sophia would wear. Unfortunately, I don’t own khakis or turtlenecks so I am left wearing my leggings and Uggs. But the record should state that I tried.
And usually, on the heels of a guy letting me know they aren’t interested — thanks, Samson —I would drink a bottle of Pinot Grigio and order an extra cheese pizza while watching How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days. But, this was a new me. A new Ava Grace who could be more like my responsible, sensible sister.
So instead of indulging in liquid calories and a carbalicious crust, I bake a chicken breast and sauté some broccoli. I have one sensible glass of red wine – because of the heart-healthy benefits – and instead of watching Gilmore Girls reruns in bed, I make a cup of chamomile tea and download Amazon’s Top Literary Fiction pick of 2017. Yes, it sounds boring as fuck, but that is the point here.
The next morning I wake determined to be my best self. After getting ready for the day I sit down with yogurt and blueberries, a cup of coffee and open my laptop. Clicking on my email I purse my lips together, not recognizing one of the senders. I click on it anyway.
From: heartofgold
Ava Grace,
You may not remember me, but I remember you. Thoughts of you keep me up at night, I can’t get you out of my mind.
I want to know more about you; I want to know everything.
But first, tell me this, what is your deepest desire?
Your secret is safe with me.
– HOG
What the actual fuck?
I wrack my brain for HeartofGold. I have no idea who that is... He remembers me? Is it even a he?
Am I straight up getting catfished?
I swallow.
I can’t get you out of my mind.
My hands shake, but why are my hands shaking? Who is this email even from?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking uncontrollably because I don’t want to be messed with. But also, because this email is the most exciting item of correspondence I’ve ever received.
This may be a complete joke, a way for me to make a fool of myself… but maybe it’s not. Maybe there really is someone out there who is fantasizing about me the way I was fantasizing about Samson all night.
Hell, maybe it is Samson.
I reread the message.
I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.
Okay, definitely not Samson, he hightailed it out of my place faster than a cheetah — if there were, like, cheetahs in Denver apartments.
I can’t help myself. I type a response.
To: heartofgold
HOG,
who are you?
– AG
I hit send before I think not to.
I hit refresh as if HOG would have seen, composed and sent an email all in the span of two seconds.
HOG hasn’t.
I take a bite of my yogurt. Suddenly, I don’t want to eat. I just want a response from this person. Is someone messing with me?
I clean out my inbox.
That takes six seconds.
Refresh. Nothing.
I carry my breakfast bowl to the sink, wash it, set it to dry.
Return to my computer. Refresh.
I imagine Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail, wishing I could go back in time to 1997 when an alert would tell me you’ve got mail.
There’s no alert, but there is a new message.
I open it.
From: heartofgold
Dear AG,
Who I am isn’t important.
Your deepest desire? That is.
-HOG
Well, that is not helpful.
My deepest desire? Who does he think he is to ask such a thing?
I have most of what I want.
I like my life. My house, my job, my family—
All these things are good. I’m not looking for a man to entertain me—I know how to entertain myself, with a vibrator or without. I am satisfied with watching movies I’ve seen a dozen times before meeting up with girlfriends to go shopping. My life is good. Great.
But what is my deepest desire?
And why would I tell it to HOG?
My phone rings, it’s my sister.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.
“I’m glad you answered, so... I was thinking...” Sophia starts.
“What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that you should be thinking about who you’re going to bring with you to the wedding. Your date is really important. I mean, whoever it is will be in the photographs, and it’s not that I want everything to be perfect–”
“But you want everything to be perfect.” I laugh, knowing my sister all too well.
“Not perfect, just... I don’t want to look back at this wedding album ten years from now and not even know the man you are standing with.”
“That’s a lot of pressure. You want me to find a man who is worthy of a ten-year memory in the next two months? You do know I’m not dating anyone now, don’t you?”
“That’s just the thing, though, Ava. Maybe you should start thinking about looking for someone you can have a serious relationship with.”
“Where is this all coming from?” I laugh again, this time sharper, more pained. My sister doesn’t notice, and for that I am glad.
“Sophia,” I tell her. “We don’t need to make this about me. The next two months should be all about you. Who I date and bring to your wedding is seriously a low priority. Hell, I’ll bring anybody you want to the wedding. Or I can even go stag.”
“That would totally mess up the
seating arrangements.”
“You’ve already figured out seating arrangements? Your engagement party was only two days ago.”
“The wedding is in a few months, I’m not being crazy.”
“I thought you were only inviting twenty people. I can eat wherever.”
“Can you be more supportive, please?”
I exhale, not interested in this level of detail on the heels of the most intoxicatingly, unexpected email of my life.
“Just sit me next to cousin Trudy,” I say to placate Sophia. “She won’t bring a date.”
“You haven’t heard?” she asks.
“Heard what?”
“Trudy got engaged. Yesterday.”
“No way.” I shake my head refusing to believe that my cousin Trudy who is about as interesting as a stick of gum is engaged to be wed.
“Really,” Sophia confirms. “Guess she’s been seeing this guy for a long time, but they met on the Internet. It’s actually really cute, they were on a Star Wars forum together.”
“Huh.” I have no words. I am such a bitch. Here I am judging Trudy and her ability to find love.
Maybe it has nothing to do with being responsible or sensible. Maybe falling in love has to do with being open. Available. Finding someone you can connect with, someone who connects with you.
Someone who wants to connect with you.
“That’s wonderful,” I finally manage. “When are they getting married?”
“In two weeks,” Sophia gushes. “Bananas, right? Apparently, Aunt Linda is having a fit over it, but I think it’s actually kind of sweet. They’re going to a Star Wars convention in Dallas and are getting married there. In full costume.”
“Wow, they’re like, all in.”
“All in, and apparently totally in love. Go on Facebook and you’ll see the photos of their engagement. The guy flew in from Nevada, dressed up as Chewbacca. I mean, I know Taylor and I are about as vanilla as it comes, and I know it might come as a surprise about me that I think this is, like, totally adorable, but I do.”
