Chapter 12
Lila
I skipped cleaning his bathroom today.
I had to get out of there.
If Thayer standing there dripping wet, a towel around his hips, highlighting his rippled abs and chiseled Adonis belt weren’t enough, he then had to give me some mini speech on how special I am and how he wants to get to know me.
I’m sorry, but after what I saw last night, I’m not buying it.
But he’s good.
I’ll give him that.
He knows all the right words and has all the right moves and if I were a little more naïve, I’d fall for it in two seconds flat.
But I wasn’t born yesterday. And there happened to be an abundance of assholes just like him at my old high school in Santa Monica—guys used to getting everything they want because they were attractive, their parents had money, and they happened to be versed in the art of charming the opposite sex with a few lines.
I make my way to the master bedroom at the end of the hall and shut the door behind me. The room is floor-to-ceiling white wainscoting accented with dozens of windows covered in gauzy curtain panels that dance in the breeze. A king-sized bed with a seagrass headboard and a white, pick-stitched coverlet anchors the room. An antique walnut dresser covered in dozens of family photos is the only thing that personalizes this room and keeps it from looking like something straight off of Airbnb’s website.
I finish making the bed before heading to dust the dresser, which requires moving each and every one of the family photos so I can clean beneath them.
Stopping for a moment, I study a few of them. Not surprisingly, most of them are Thayer through the years.
Thayer in a Little League uniform holding a bat.
Thayer in blue striped swim trunks on a sandy beach.
Thayer posing with Mickey Mouse in front of Cinderella’s Castle at Disney World.
A braces-wearing Thayer posing with his parents, all of them dressed in Red Sox garb.
Thayer in a tuxedo, standing next to a stunning redhead in a lavender-sequined prom dress.
Thayer in a yellow cap and gown, holding his high school diploma.
A wedding photo of his parents rests in the middle of all of that. His mother, Tippi, reminds me of a modern-day Grace Kelly. Shoulder-length blonde hair that curls under. Fine features. Petite stature. His father, Mitchum, reminds me of a 1940s movie star, though I’m not sure which one. He’s definitely the kind of man who ages well from what I can tell from these pictures over the years. There’s something strong about him, something worldly, and yet there’s a youthfulness, a light in his eyes—much like his son’s.
I stop gawking and get back to work.
We can’t help the family we’re born into and I don’t resent him for having a picture-perfect childhood. Good for him. But it only goes to illustrate how truly opposite we really are.
My mother was a saint in a lot of ways, though she still had her imperfections. We all do. She was overprotective at times. Stubborn and unrelenting when it came to certain things. She cried at weddings and laughed at funerals (when appropriate, of course). She dated here and there but once things started getting serious, she’d always find a reason to break it off. I knew her better than anyone, and yet there were times when I questioned if I even knew her at all.
She loved with everything she had, but she kept her own heart guarded, padlocked really. It’s like she felt she was undeserving … and now I’ll never have a chance to ask her why.
I finish Tippi and Mitchum’s bedroom before heading to their en suite and starting with the giant white tub in the middle of the room, the one beneath an oversized capiz shell chandelier straight out of a Serena and Lily catalog.
When I’m done with the bathroom, I make my way down to the main level. I’m hardly finished with The Ainsworth. I still have the living room, dining room, family room, study, kitchen, hallway, and half bath to do.
That’s seven more opportunities to cross paths with Thayer.
If I’m lucky, he’s already gone.
Chapter 13
Thayer
I come out of the shed Tuesday afternoon, fishing rod in hand. I promised the twins and Ashlan I’d meet them at the cove for an afternoon of fishing—an old pastime of ours. Junie promised she’d cook whatever we caught today and told me to make sure we came back with enough for everyone, so we’re going to be here a while.
To my left, damp sheets are being hung from the clotheslines and the faint scent of clean cotton fills the air as they flap in the wind.
For whatever reason, I stop to watch.
Two hands.
A clothespin.
A wet sheet.
A moment later, Lila steps out from behind it, bending low to grab another sheet from the wicker basket on the ground.
“Want some help?” I ask.
Her eyes flick to mine. If she’s surprised to see me, she doesn’t show it.
I don’t wait for her to answer, I simply grab a sheet from the basket and a couple of clothespins and get to work.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she says, though she won’t look at me.
“I do my own laundry at school,” I say. “And believe it or not, I do a lot of laundry at home. We don’t have … help … or anything. I mean, we have a cleaning lady that comes once a week, but other than that it’s just the three of us.”
I feel her gaze for a second, as if she’s taking it all in or trying to decide if she believes me or not.
My grandfather is the one with all the money. He’s the one with a private island and full-time employees. He bought my parents a comfortable house in Bridgeport, Connecticut as a wedding gift but as far as anything else goes, my father has always been the breadwinner, supporting us on his IT Security Consultant salary. He does well for himself, but we’re certainly not rolling in the dough. I don’t drive a BMW, and the only reason I go to Yale is because it’s my grandfather’s alma mater and he promised to pay if I went.
There’s one sheet left in the basket and we both reach for it at the same time, our hands brushing. She lets me have it.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” I say when I’m finished. “And sorry if I’m coming on too strong.”
“If?” she laughs.
“Okay, sorry that I’m coming on too strong,” I say. “I just … when I get excited about something, sometimes I get too excited, you know? It consumes me. And I can be a little intense for some people. I’ve been like that my whole life, and I realize now that you barely know me and maybe it freaks you out.” I pause, studying her for a reaction that never comes. She wears her poker face and she wears it well. “If you want me to back off, I will. I just wanted you to know how I felt earlier, that’s all. Because on the off chance you feel the same way but you’re afraid to say it … I—”
“Thayer! There you are.” Ashlan appears out of nowhere, brushing one of the sheets aside. Half of it falls off the clothespin and she doesn’t bother fixing it. “We’ve been looking for you. Westley has the bait ready and Whitley’s got the golf cart so we can just ride to the cove.”
Lila reaches to fix the fallen sheet, sighing as she bends.
I grab my pole from the ground and look at Lila one more time before we go.
“See you around,” I say. Ashlan glances between the two of us. “Why don’t you run ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“I can wait,” Ashlan says, shrugging and grinning like she’s oblivious to what’s going on when I know damn well she isn’t.
“No, seriously. Go on. I’m good. I’ll take one of the four-wheelers and meet you guys.”
Ashlan’s dark brows meet in the middle and she does a slight pout, which makes me cringe because there’s nothing adorable about a grown adult woman pouting like a spoiled child.
“Fine. Whatever.” Ashlan leaves in a huff and I watch as Lila stacks and gathers the laundry baskets and hauls them under her arm
back toward the house.
“Lila,” I say. “Wait.”
She stops. “You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
Is that what this is about? Does she think I have a thing for Ashlan?
I almost think about inviting her along (even though I know she’ll say no) and then I remember the promise I made a few moments ago about not coming on too strong.
“Can we finish this conversation another time?” she asks.
My chest inflates, warm and hopeful. This is a good sign. Unexpected too, which is ironically not surprising.
“I’ll be in the abandoned cottage later,” she says. “After dinner. We can talk there.”
“The Lila Cottage,” I say with a half-smile that she doesn't return.
She continues on her way back to the main house, and I head to the machine shed to grab one of the four-wheelers, counting down the hours until I see her again, until I can finally figure out what the hell is going through that pretty little mystifying head of hers.
Chapter 14
Lila
I pace the living room of the abandoned cottage shortly after supper clean-up. Grandma fried up the haddock that the cousins caught earlier today so my hair smells like grease and fried fish, but there’s nothing I can do about that until I wash it out tonight.
Besides, it’s not like I need to impress him.
And who knows if he’ll even show up.
I was pretty cold to him earlier. I wouldn’t blame him if he decided I’m too much effort and not worth the work.
I unsnap the hair tie from my wrist and pile my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head before taking a seat on one of the dusty sofas and paging through an old issue of People magazine from January 2003. The Olsen twins are on the cover alongside the headline, “World’s Richest Kids,” and I find it ironically fitting.
My mom’s crazy friend always said there was no such thing as coincidences.
The jury’s still out on that for me.
Sometimes I think life is just a jumble of random events and there’s no real path for anyone. Things just … happen. And that’s all there is to it.
The front door swings open when I’m halfway finished reading the Letters to the Editor page of my magazine. I fold it and toss it on the coffee table before resting my elbows on my knees and glancing up at the tall drink of water as he closes the door behind him.
There’s a light in his eyes, a flicker of hope that doesn’t belong.
When I told him we could talk at the cottage, what I didn’t tell him was that I had every intention of calling him out on his playboy ways, confronting him about all the things he’s said and then telling him I saw him and Ashlan together last night, arms around each other as he walked her home. I plan to tell him I’m not stupid and I refuse to fall for that, and then I plan to tell him to back off because he doesn’t have a chance in hell.
Thayer takes a seat in the rocking chair beside the couch, and I clear my throat.
This was so much easier in my head.
Now that he’s here, all I can think about is how gorgeous he looks and how nice he was earlier and I’m suddenly finding the words are stuck in my throat and my palms are clamming up.
Summoning all the strength I have, I clasp my hands together and sit up straight.
“So, just going to put it all out there,” I say.
He nods, leaning forward a little. I have his full attention.
“You say a lot of nice things, Thayer. And you’re hot as hell. And you’re a good kisser. And you claim you like me, which is flattering as hell because you’re … you,” I say. “But I know when something’s too good to be true and—”
He laughs.
Which only infuriates me because I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.
“Too good to be true?” he asks. “Lila, I’ve meant every word I’ve said.”
“See. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” I point at him. “You always say the right thing at the right moment.”
“And that means I’m not being genuine?” He scratches at his right temple, still fighting a smirk. He thinks I’m being cute. “I’m sorry, but your logic doesn’t add up for me.”
“I know your type. That’s how you operate.”
“My type? Now that’s just cruel. I’ve yet to make a single assumption about you or pigeonhole you into some cheesy Californian stereotype.” He stands. “Unlike you, I actually prefer to get to know people before I judge them.”
I stand, though we’re still not eye-to-eye thanks to the fact that he’s easily a good seven or eight inches taller than me.
I try to say something in my defense, until I realize he’s absolutely right.
I’ve judged and stereotyped him and aside from what I already know about him, there’s still so much I don’t know.
But it doesn’t change what I saw last night.
“If you like me so much, why did you hook up with Ashlan last night?” I hate the way I sound. Hate it. But it all just came out like word vomit, sour and hot on my tongue, and there’s no taking it back now.
“What the hell are you talking about?” His brows lift and his upper lip is almost snarling.
“Last night.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I saw the two of you walking back from the bonfire. Your arms were around her and she was all over you. And then you took her to her room.”
“And so then you just assumed we hooked up?”
“I mean … it looked like you two were getting pretty cozy on the walk there.” I shrug. “And you were alone.”
“She was drunk out of her freaking mind. I walked her back because she’d just puked her guts out all over the beach. And I had to put my arm around her because she kept falling,” he says.
I search his eyes, trying to decide if I believe him or if this is just another case of Thayer Ainsworth knowing exactly what to say.
“I’ve known Ashlan my entire life,” he says.
“Yeah. She made that pretty clear to me yesterday.”
“She’s like a sister to me. Nothing more.” He’s breathing heavier now, like I’ve got him all worked up. If he were lying, I’d imagine he’d be calmer.
“Clearly she feels differently about you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. And believe me, I’ve made myself clear to her about a dozen different times over the last few years.”
I knew girls like Ashlan back home. They’d become obsessed with a guy, creep his MySpace and Facebook, show up where he was, infiltrate his group of friends, flirt like hell and scare off other girls who so much as looked at the guy, and then when none of that worked, they got desperate.
It’s like the more they couldn’t have him, the more they wanted him.
I suppose it’s not Thayer’s fault …
… if this is all true, anyway.
“I swear to you, Lila, I got her back to her room and left,” he says, hand over his heart. “But can we get back on track here? We were talking about us.”
Us.
There is no “us.”
“Just tell me how you feel. If you’re not interested, if you don’t feel the same about me, I’ll leave you alone,” he says.
Drawing in a long breath, I take a seat, sinking into the stiff cushions of the dusty sofa with the scratchy fabric.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” I say before looking up into his dreamy, ocean-hued gaze. I never realized how dark his lashes were before, how they frame his almond-shaped eyes. “I promised my grandparents I’d keep things strictly professional while I’m here,” I huff.
Thayer takes a seat in his chair, elbows on his knees and hands forming a peak that he breathes into.
“My grandfather gave me the same orders,” he says. “Not to get involved with you … for liability reasons. At least that’s what he said.”
“That’s the difference between us, Thayer … I have everything to lose if I defy my grandparents. If you defy your grandfather, you still have everything.�
�
His dark brows furrow. “That’s not true at all.”
Yeah. Right.
“My grandfather holds the purse strings that keep this entire family under his thumb. He’s got more money than he knows what to do with and he’s always used it to get people to bend to his will—most of the time without them even knowing it,” he says. “The houses he bought for his daughters as wedding gifts? He chose them. Which meant he chose the locations. He wanted them to be in Bridgeport, where he lived at the time. And my college tuition? He wanted me to go to his alma mater and promised to pay for my entire education if I did. Even bought me a Land Rover for my college graduation because God forbid I didn’t look every bit the part when I showed up that fall. You know what I drove before that? A used Nissan. Paid for it myself with money I earned working weekends at the golf course. And I loved the hell out of that car.”
I let this sink in, trying to wrap my head around it and replacing my old assumptions with new facts.
“So while it looks like I have it all,” he continues. “It’s only because I walk a straight line with Granddad. One misstep and I lose it all. And honestly? Somedays I think I’d be okay with that.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re trying to get me to feel sorry for you ...”
“Please. I don’t need your sympathy. I’m trying to illustrate a point to you.”
“What? That you like me so much you’re willing to throw away your entire future?” I chuff. “If that’s the case, then I’m sorry, but you’re not nearly as bright as I thought you were. No offense ...”
“You don’t have to be cruel to push me away. If you don’t like me, just say it, Lila.” His expression is blank but his eyes are searching.
I begin to speak and then I stop myself. Taking a deep breath, I try again. “You’re too nice, and your persistence is just as flattering as it is infuriating. I hate how charming you are and how the things you say get stuck in my head like a catchy song. You’re almost too good looking, which I know isn’t your fault. You can’t help that you’re genetically doomed to look like a Greek statue the rest of your life. Everybody loves you. Everybody. Your grandfather adores you. Westley idolizes you. You’re the center of your parents’ world. And your mother is one of the sweetest people I've ever met. You’re intelligent and kind and helpful. Everything about you and your entire world is perfect, Thayer. Maddeningly perfect. And as much as I try not to … I can’t help but like you too.”
For Lila, Forever Page 7
