It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

by Kylie Scott

  “Yeah, but you’re seriously drunk.”

  “Am not.”

  “Then why is your ass about to slide back off the log?”

  He shuffled forward, giving me a stern look. Like I’d gone and moved the log on him or something. Idiot.

  I turned away so he wouldn’t see my smile. “So, neighbor.”

  “We are neighbors,” he said with a grin. “That’s great, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “I always liked fires, going camping,” he said, switching back to the earlier topic in the way the inebriated do. “We went a couple of times before Mom got sick. Dad would actually take the stick out of his ass and relax for a change. Do a little fishing. Go on some hikes.”

  “Sounds nice. But fishing is gross.”

  “I’ll cross that off our list of stuff to do.”

  “Good.” I watched the flames, letting them mesmerize me. “No idea how you could stick a big hook in a poor, innocent little worm.”

  “Oh, no. They love it. Feels like a massage to them.”

  “I don’t think so.” I laughed. “You know, if I was here in winter we could toast marshmallows and cook sausages and do stuff like that.”

  “We can do that in the summer too. I’ll pick up some stuff tomorrow.”

  “Awesome,” I said. “Guess how I escaped.”

  “Shit. What did you do?”

  “I climbed down the tree outside my bedroom window. Just like a ninja.”

  “You fall and break something, your dad’s going to kill me.”

  “Don’t be silly.” I ruffled his dark hair. Thick and silky. Very nice. “He’d be too busy putting bars on my window.”

  “True.” He swatted my hand away. “Don’t mess with my style, kid.”

  I laughed some more. “Please. You have no style.”

  Some grumbling.

  “So, no girls who are just friends to hang around the campfire with you?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Went to a party earlier, but I’d rather just have some quiet time on my own.”

  “You want me to leave?”

  “No, no. You’re fine.” He patted my knee. Then seemed to realize he was patting my knee and retracted his hand at the speed of light. Sheesh. It’d been in a comradely fashion, not a come-hither one. Talk about being overly cautious.

  “You didn’t drive in this condition, did you?” I asked.

  “No, ’course not. Friend gave me a lift.”

  I pondered this. “You know, I’ve met some of your girls who are friends. But I haven’t really met any of your friends who are friends.”

  “The fuck did you just say?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He downed some more scotch. Johnnie Walker. It smelled awful. “That’s because, Adele, you’re a seventeen-year-old young lady and they’re mostly a pack of much older assholes. Highly unsuitable for you to be around.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m sure they’d be fine.”

  “I’m not risking it,” he said.

  “I suppose you need some time away from me outside of work and sleep.”

  “That’s true too.” He laughed.

  I elbowed him in the ribs, making him almost fall off the log again. His balance was way gone. The man had obviously done some serious drinking.

  “They’re okay guys, really,” he said. “Some of them are great. But you’re—”

  “Just a kid?”

  “I was going to say young and pretty. Not that I think they’d hit on you or anything . . .” His brows descended. “But put a few beers in them and you might stop looking like the boss’s daughter.”

  “Well, that’s not fair,” I said. “Drunk or sober, they’re responsible for their actions and how they treat people. Not me.”

  “I know. But let’s not borrow trouble, okay?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You can go drinking at home with friends your own age. In a year or two. No rush. Though you know you can have a really good time without getting inebriated,” he rattled on. “Might be better just to stay sober and have fun that way, you know?”

  “Pete, you really think I’m pretty?”

  But he just frowned some more. “Huh? Yeah, of course you are. That’s my point.”

  “Thank you. I think you’re pretty too,” I said. Oh my God. My heart. Such explosions. “Can I have a drink? I haven’t tried scotch before.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Okay.”

  Saturday . . . Now

  “’Morning.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Along with this word, I gave him my most dubious look. He’d earned it. After last night’s insults he had no business standing in the kitchen wearing only a pair of soft gray sleeping pants, a blue-and-white-striped oven mitt on one hand, and a smile. I don’t care who the house belonged to, the smile had to go. The man could also put a shirt on if he was so inclined. Like I needed to see any more of his flat stomach, pecs, and the rest. For fuck’s sake. Exposing me to this man’s nipples before midday was asking a lot. Also, armpit hair probably shouldn’t be considered sexy.

  There was something seriously wrong with me.

  “You have a weird look on your face,” he said.

  “No I don’t.”

  “Okay. Ah, grab a seat.” He pointed a spatula at the stools drawn up along one side of the kitchen counter. “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Milk no sugar, right?”

  “It’s fine, really. Shanti will be waiting for me.”

  The smile finally faded. “Kid—”

  “Lots going on today.” I turned away. “I’d better get going.”

  “You’re going to need to eat and you’re useless without coffee.”

  Hmm. He had a point.

  “Sit. Please.”

  Saying no to him was harder than it looked. “Alright.”

  Much taking of deep breaths. Then I lay my dress over the dining room table, dumping my shoes, bag, and makeup kit alongside it. I climbed up onto the stool and he slid a cup full of caffeinated goodness in front of me.

  “Pancakes okay?” he asked.

  “Pancakes are great. Thanks.”

  A nod. “What are the plans for the day?”

  I sucked down a goodly amount of coffee first, because coffee. “Shanti’s got hair and makeup people arriving soon. A small, intimate group of us are going to all get ready together. Girls only, apparently.”

  “Right.” He smiled before turning back to the stove. “Intimate for Shanti can mean any amount up to a hundred or so. Be prepared.”

  Soon enough, a plate of pancakes along with a berry compote and ricotta were placed in front of me. Along with cutlery wrapped up in a napkin. The man knew how to lay it on; I just had no idea why he was bothering. He’d made his thoughts regarding me quite clear last night.

  “You should have been a chef,” I said, digging in.

  He shook his head. “Too stressful. Notice how they’re always screaming at each other and having meltdowns on those shows?”

  “And your current job is low key?”

  “It’s not so bad,” he said. “More involved since I became a partner, but I enjoy it. And it’s what I’m good at.”

  “You never thought about going solo, starting your own business?”

  “Yeah, but . . . I like working with your dad and being a part of something bigger,” he said. “Feeling like I belong somewhere, you know?”

  I nodded, shoveling food into my mouth. Anything to stop me from making conversation, because I was angry at him, dammit. This was the problem with me and Pete. I cared. I wanted to know what he thought about things, how he felt. It just came naturally. Made expressing my rage by ignoring him tremendously difficult. Also, I was starved for him. Seven years’ worth of nothing had made me ravenous for the man. Best to keep my eyes on the food, my mouth busy with chewing.

  “Good?” he asked.

  I downed a mouthful of coffee. “You
know I like your cooking.”

  “Just checking.”

  Silence.

  He didn’t grab the stool beside me, instead choosing to stand opposite to eat. I needed blinders or something. A privacy screen. Anything to distract me from his half-naked state of being. First thing I was going to do when I got back home was sleep with someone. Anyone. Just because it hadn’t ever worked before didn’t mean it wouldn’t now. I mean, statistically it was unlikely to help. But I might as well try anyway. One friend from university swore by random penis. Used to say it cured her blues every time, and she’d gone into medicine, so really she should know.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit, your head’s never quiet.” A fork full of pancake and ricotta went into his mouth. Even the way he ate was manly, jaw moving with intention, lips closed. Not that I’d imagine there were many different versions of the process. But for some reason when he did it, I wanted to watch. So weird. Don’t even get me started on the eye porn of his strong neck.

  “You look like you’re in pain,” he said.

  “Headache,” I lied. “Probably just the wine from last night.”

  Without another word, he fetched me a glass of water and some aspirin. I downed two with a vague smile of appreciation. Really should have just made a dash for the door the moment I saw him. It would have been the smart thing to do. I’d thought coming back, seeing him again, might resolve some issues for me. But mostly I just felt mildly depressed. Tomorrow morning, I’d get up early, pack up the car, and be gone before he was even awake. It wasn’t possibly cowardly and rude, it was smart. There, I had a plan.

  “Slow down,” he said. “Keep eating that fast, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “I’m not a child. I can set my own eating speed, thank you.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Do you?” I asked, genuinely interested. Given the way he acted, the man had not a single fucking clue. I might as well still be sixteen, with him warning me off this boy and that. Reminding me to wear a hat and to not read and walk at the same time or I’d hit a pole. As if that had happened more than a couple of times at most.

  “Yes,” he said, voice subdued. “I can call Shanti and tell her I’ve held you up if that’ll calm you down.”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “I see.” He set down his cutlery, jaw tensed. “You’re eating fast because you don’t want to be around me.”

  I said nothing.

  “Adele . . .” He sighed.

  “I’ve really got a lot on my mind today,” I said, cutting to the chase. “Can we please not?”

  His gaze was seriously unhappy. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

  “Please,” I repeated.

  “We’re going to have to talk about it sometime.” And the man could tell himself that all he liked. Wasn’t going to happen. “What I said last night…Look, I just don’t want you leaving again thinking I hate you.”

  “I don’t think that.” Though I sort of did. I also sort of thought he was at least 51 percent raging asshole. But those were the breaks. So he and his grumpy ass and moody mouth obviously wouldn’t be a part of my life in the future. So be it.

  “We’ll talk later. After the wedding is over.” He rubbed at the back of his neck like maybe he had a headache too. Only his was real.

  “Okay.” I nodded to back up the lie. “After the wedding. Sounds good.”

  The ceremony was beautiful. Dad looking so proud and happy in his tuxedo. Shanti in an off the shoulder floor-length white gown that draped like a dream. They’d bought out a restaurant up in the hills, the back deck with views stretching out to the ocean. Vows were said as the sun set. All of the photos had been taken earlier, so we were free to relax and enjoy the celebrations. Golden-red light gradually faded to violet and blue. Lanterns were lit as the first star appeared. Kookaburras and other birdlife going crazy.

  Pete looked fucking awful in his slick black suit. If “awful” could possibly be misconstrued to mean masculine perfection itself. The bastard. I half wanted to hump his leg as Hazel had once suggested. His hair was slicked back in a baby pompadour-type style. It suited him far too well. No stubble; his face was all smooth sharp edges and an amused smile. You could tell he was genuinely delighted for Dad along with being a little entertained by the old man’s dopey lovesick grin.

  As much as I didn’t mean to look at Pete, my gaze kept wandering in his direction.

  “Here you go,” said Jeremy, the not-so-surprise guest. Shanti would have her way. He smiled, handing me the drink. “Gin and tonic?”

  “Perfect, thank you.”

  “Do you mind if I . . .” He nodded at the crowd.

  “Of course, I’m fine.”

  “Back in a minute, then.” The dapper man headed off into the crowd to greet someone he knew. Shanti had probably asked him to babysit me. Told him I knew no one and God knows what other sob stories in an attempt to keep him tied to my side. And I liked him, but I wasn’t looking for a date.

  Waiters circulated with trays of appetizers. Goat cheese wrapped in prosciutto being my personal favorite. Though, really, any finger food was good finger food. Olive tartlets, rice-paper rolls, you name it.

  “Nice ceremony,” said Leona.

  “Yes.” I smiled, not eating and talking at all. How vulgar.

  Leona, meanwhile, was turning heads in a beige slip. Talk about red-carpet ready, not that I’d gone dowdy. The forties-style navy-and-white floral fit-and-flare dress made the most of my figure. While Shanti’s brigade of miracle workers had piled my hair up on top of my head in elegant curls and my lip gloss could outshine the best. I’d even blown my Christmas fund savings on a pair of black Havana Forties Louboutin sandals. As confidence enhancers went, they worked wonders. In the store, I’d been channeling Ava Gardner at her finest. Standing beside Leona’s effortless glamor, however, I felt more like a dumb kid playing dress-up.

  “How are you enjoying your visit?” she asked.

  “Good, thank you.”

  “Pete said you’ve graduated?”

  “Yes, I completed a bachelor of arts.”

  “Ah.” She didn’t turn away fast enough to hide a smirk. “Have you found it useful?”

  “Incredibly so, yes.”

  Doubt filled her gaze. “Great.”

  Nothing from me.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you alone for some girl talk.”

  This did not sound good.

  “I suppose you’ve known Pete for quite some time,” she said with a smile I didn’t trust one iota. Her teeth were so shiny. Had to be veneers. “What with him working with your father and everything. He mentioned you used to be close.”

  Used to be. Ouch. “Hm.”

  She nodded, taking a sip of champagne. “We’ve been dating for a while now, but he can be a bit of a closed book, as I’m sure you’re aware. When I called him on it, he of course disagreed. He said that he talks to you and your father.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. So I was wondering if you could help me. It’s just that I’m very fond of him. But there are so many topics that are off the table and I have no idea why.” She leaned closer, her smile widening. Trust levels plummeted to below zero. She flipped her glossy red hair over one shoulder. “He rarely mentions his family, for instance. Do you know much about them?”

  “Leona—”

  “It’s not that I’m unhappy with our relationship exactly,” she continued, sounding oh so casual despite the content. “He’s wonderful company and very good at, how should I say, meeting a woman’s needs. You know what I mean.”

  “Right.” Fuck’s sake. It’s not like she was being subtle.

  “I’d like to get to know him better, though, you know?”

  “Please, stop. Just stop.”

  Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

  “Leona, whatever your relationship is,” I said, “what he chooses to tel
l you is up to him.”

  “Oh, of course.” She licked her lips, cheeks pinked with embarrassment. “I’d never suggest you betray his confidence.”

  Girl talk, my ass. It was amazing, really. To think he could reduce a woman to such underhanded bullshit maneuvers. She seemed so confident and in control. Men sucked. Matters of the heart sucked even worse.

  “Excuse me, I need to . . . yeah.” I made my unsubtle escape, hiding out inside the restaurant. White linen tablecloths were bedecked with shiny silver cutlery, potted orchid centerpieces. No name cards, which was a relief. The last thing I needed would be getting placed next to Leona for more girl talk. There’d been enough awkwardness for one night.

  A quiet kind of rage burned inside me. As sad as losing his mother at a young age and having his dad be such a dick was, Pete needed to take some of the credit for being so damn emotionally stunted. For being so shut down. Then again, who was I to talk? My relationships weren’t exactly success stories. For years, Mom had refused to discuss my father. Any questions had been met with a blank wall followed by a change of subject. And Dad had either said her name in a tone dripping with condemnation or gotten an angry look on his face and stomped off. Neither had been a great role model for love and forgiveness. But didn’t you eventually get to an age where you had to own your own shit?

  Everyone had their emotional baggage. The bulk of the time, though, I think I managed to store it away. To not let it interfere with my life. I just hadn’t met the right man yet, obviously. My Prince Charming would come along one day and I’d forget Pete ever existed. The way just a glance from him made my heart race and thighs clench would be completely forgotten. Charming and I would have amazing sex and thoughts of another man would never even cross my mind. We’d have the kind of conversations that lasted into the early hours. Where time lost all meaning, the outside world faded away, and there would just be us baring our souls to one another. Also, any and all occasional arguments would be resolved swiftly and to each party’s satisfaction. They wouldn’t even really be arguments, more like small nonsensical disagreements. Like who-left-the-lid-off-the-toothpaste-type cute shit. Not about leaving the toilet seat up, because that’s gross.