Trey thought about the question for a moment before answering. “I’m kind of ashamed to say this, but as much time as we’ve spent together, I haven’t told her much about my family or my childhood. She knows about what happened with Malia, but not how I felt about it. I could leave out the details of my job. I could just say I’m an artist.”
“What about a photograph?” Rafael asked. “What will we do about a profile picture?”
That seemed to stump them. They were regular guys, after all, and not particularly smart when it came to deception.
David raised his eyes from where he’d been turning a cardboard coaster over and over between his fingers. “This might be a little out there…a lot out there.”
“Go ahead,” Stone said.
“She’s afraid you can’t love her because of her scars, right?” David asked. “What if you flip it around on her? What if you say you don’t have a photo because your face is scarred?” He folded the coaster in half and set it on the table like a tent.
Nico’s eyes blazed with excitement as he straightened in his chair. “As a way to get her to see how wrong she is—that physical imperfections don’t make you unlovable. I like it.”
Rafael tapped his fingers on the table. “No, I have a better idea. We’re looking at this all wrong. She’s a sensible girl. Very practical, right?”
“True,” Trey said.
“We raised ourselves,” Stone said. “There was no time or money for frills.”
“Exactly my point,” Rafael said. “I’m thinking you set up a correspondence with her as a friend. He…I mean, Trey, would tell her that her profile caught his attention because he too is scarred, only it’s his face.” He paused, obviously thinking through the rest. “He should live overseas, so there’s no way they could meet. He’d propose an email correspondence to support each other in their romantic pursuits.”
“Put him in Paris,” Nico said. “It’s romantic there.”
Rafael shook his head, laughing. “What does that matter? It’s not like she’s there with him.”
“It’ll play in her mind,” Nico said. “Girls love Paris.” He snapped his fingers. “And he should have a woman he’s in love with, but they’re only friends. Like a parallel story that will open her mind to the possibility of Trey.”
Rafael stroked his chin as he gazed up at the ceiling. “Yes, that’s good. We want her to see that her thought process is all wrong. There’s no better way to do that than see someone else making the same mistake you are.”
“This is kind of twisted,” Trey said as the anxiety slivered up from his gut to his throat. “I’m not a good liar.”
Stone had been quiet during the last exchanges. Trey looked over at him. “Stone, what do you think? I’d be lying to your sister.”
“It wouldn’t be exactly lying,” Stone said slowly. “You’d just be leaving out that Autumn’s the woman you’re in love with.”
“And saying that you’re scarred when you’re not.” Rafael grimaced as he picked up his beer. “That’s a big lie.”
“But I am scarred,” Trey said. “They’re just not visible.”
Nods around the table told him they understood exactly what he meant.
“I painted an abstract self-portrait shortly after my marriage blew up,” Trey said. “It’s in the cubist style. I could use that for my profile picture.”
“Cubist? Like Picasso?” Stone asked.
“Yes. My face is all fragmented to represent how shattered I was,” Trey said.
“It’s the perfect profile picture,” David said. “And definitely not a lie.”
“And something Autumn would respond to,” Stone said.
Trey asked his friend once more, knowing how protective he was of his sister, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Autumn’s your sister. You’re the one person at this table who loves her as much as I do.”
Stone was quiet for a moment as a myriad of emotions crossed his rugged features. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. “Dude, you love her as much as I do? For real?”
“I’m hopelessly in love with her,” Trey said. “She thinks her legs will repulse me, but she doesn’t understand that I’m in love with who she is, not what she looks like. We fit together.”
“Everyone can see that,” Rafael said. “We’ve all been saying it for months.”
“Except Autumn,” Trey said.
“You love her.” Stone slowly shook his head as a faint smile lifted his mouth. “And I believe in my heart she feels the same way about you. We have to do everything in our power to make her see what’s right in front of her.” He slapped the table. “If I could get Pepper to fall in love with me, then anything is possible.”
“Same with Lisa and me,” Rafael said.
“You have to go for it, even if the method’s a little…what’s the word?” Stone asked.
“Unorthodox,” David said.
“All’s fair in love and war,” Nico said.
“Here’s to Operation Autumn,” Stone said as he raised his pint glass.
“We need a code word,” Rafael said.
“Paris,” Nico said. “Has to be Paris.”
They raised their glasses.
“Polish up those writing skills,” Nico said. “You’re about to write one heck of a school essay.”
“To Paris,” Stone said.
“To Paris,” they all repeated.
The Wolves gathered around Trey’s desk in his bedroom at the apartment. He had his laptop open, with Rafael and Stone on one side of him and Nico and David on the other. The irony was not lost on him that five grown men were currently using their considerable creative and intellectual talents to come up with a profile they hoped would entice the site’s algorithms to make a match of Trey Wattson and Autumn Hickman.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Trey asked for the twelfth time in as many minutes.
No one bothered to answer this time.
“How should I describe myself?” he asked.
Nico tapped him on the shoulder. “Move out of the way. I’ll do it.”
Trey let him have the chair and flopped onto his bed as Nico typed away. Rafael slid to the floor by the window. Dave sprawled over the armchair.
“Okay, read this.” Nico handed the laptop to Trey.
Trey sat up and leaned against the pillows to read.
Nico had given him the handle Artyboy34 and written a short profile description.
“It’s not bad,” Trey said before reading out loud to the others. “‘Artistic soul seeks same. The left side of my face was disfigured a few years ago. I’m looking for a woman who can see through my appearance to love me for who I am underneath the scars. I’m an artist living temporarily in Paris. Decent income by painting portraits of people with their dogs. It’s a niche, but hey, who am I to judge?’”
Trey looked up from reading. “Pictures of people with their dogs? Isn’t that a little weird?”
Nico shrugged. “It has to be believable. The truth is always stranger than fiction. Plus, I can totally see people paying for a portrait with their dogs.”
“Or kids,” Rafael said. “Maybe add that.”
“No, it has to be dogs,” Nico said. “It’s quirky and kind of funny.”
Trey scratched under his chin. “Is quirky what we’re going for here?”
“You’re quirky in real life,” Stone said. “With all your cooking shows and antiquing.”
“And glass ball collection,” Rafael said.
“And obsession with textures,” David said with a chuckle.
Trey shook his head, as if wounded. “You guys are hurtful, that’s what you are. Anyway, here’s the rest. ‘I like art, music, sports, romantic comedies, cooking, and long walks on the beach.’” Trey laughed. “Long walks on the beach?”
Nico grinned. “I was just messing with you.”
“You do like walks on the beach,” Stone said.
“Yes, but it somehow sounds creepy in here,” Trey sa
id. “Like I’m the type who wants to lure unsuspecting young women onto the beach and then murder them.” He deleted long walks on the beach and changed it to just the beach before reading the rest out loud. “The rest is good. ‘I’m not perfect and I’m not looking for a perfect woman, but the woman perfect for me.’”
“I thought that was a nice touch,” Nico said.
Trey took in a deep breath before loading a photograph of his painting for his profile picture.
Stone sat next to him on the bed. “There’s no way she’s thinking that’s you.” He pointed to a smudge of peach paint near the middle. “What’s that?”
“My nose. Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not really,” Stone said. “But maybe you better stick with your dog paintings.”
“My pretend dog paintings,” Trey said.
“And their masters,” Rafael said. “Don’t forget that part.”
“All right. Here goes,” Trey said. He hit the Go Live button. “What if we don’t get matched up?”
“You will. This thing matches you by ages and superficial interests,” Nico said. “Trust me, there’s no complicated algorithm that detects soul mates. I met my Allie on this thing, for example.”
“It didn’t detect that she liked girls?” Stone asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” Nico said.
David uncurled from the chair. “Let’s get Artyboy a drink and wait for the response.”
“It’s not coming anytime soon,” Trey said. “She’s on her date, remember?”
His stomach twisted at the thought.
2
Autumn
* * *
Autumn spotted Troy Billings the moment he walked through the door. He was dressed in tan slacks and a blue button-down shirt. She wondered, absently, how many men in America were wearing the exact same ensemble at this very moment. Trey had told her once that most men chose clothes that were safe, expected. Men didn’t want to stand out or be different from their peers. They weren’t like women, he said, who expressed their individuality through clothing choices. She’d never thought of it that way.
Trey’s wealthy upbringing had afforded him the indulgence of analysis and observation of culture and human nature, whereas hers had been about one thing and one thing only. Survival. When you’re poor, it’s always the damn weather that decides how painful the day will be. Growing up in a tin can of a trailer with a leaky roof and stained walls and a woodstove for heat, she’d wake a dozen times from chill or, in the summer, suffocating heat.
She’d chosen clothes from Goodwill based on whatever season had to be endured. Food came in boxes priced ten for ten dollars, packed with salt and carbohydrates to fill empty stomachs between subsidized school lunches.
But Trey was of a different place. He came from a world where spaces were made beautiful. There were summer homes and flowers tended by gardeners and sprawling lawn parties. Clothes were about drape and cut and the perfect hue to flatter complexions. Food was arranged on a plate to please eyes and palate with the added benefit of a precise combination of carbs, fats, and protein. Good fats. Not the kind that came in a packet of ramen noodles.
He’d been the one to explain beauty to her. It was about symmetry, he’d said. Even the human face. Those with symmetrical sides to their faces were considered the most beautiful.
Which was why she could never show him her legs. One was scarred from surgeries. The other was scarred and dented. Part of the muscle had been destroyed in the accident, causing a dip near her calf, like someone had taken a chunk out of her. Someone had, of course. The Miller brothers, who’d caused the car accident that had almost killed her and had made her already hard life harder. No more cheerleading—her one joy, her one luxury not about survival. Until they took even that from her.
Never mind that. She must focus on her date. Troy. His name was Troy, not Trey. She must be careful to say the right name.
Troy must have caught sight of her because he waved. She returned the gesture as her stomach turned over, nervous. God, just let him be the one so I never have to go on one of these again.
He crossed the main floor of the restaurant. The brewery buzzed with people. The wide room with its exposed beams and high ceilings felt cold and lonely in the winter, but today happy chatter and laughter filled the space. That was the thing with this town. Without the tourists around, everything took on a hazy, sleepy quality. She knew the old-time residents liked it that way, but she missed the visitors during the winter months. Maybe it was her abandonment issues. Most definitely her abandonment issues.
She stood when he made it to the booth she’d chosen. They shook hands. “Nice to meet you,” Troy said.
“Thanks for making the trip.” Her thoughts tumbled. Making the trip? Was that even the right word? He’d come an hour to see her, so yes, it was a trip. A commute of some distance.
“My pleasure.” He gestured for her to sit before sliding into the booth on the opposite side of the table.
A young server wearing a name tag that read Stephanie brought menus and filled their water glasses. Before either of them could order a drink, Zane Shaw appeared at the table. “Thanks, Steph, but I’ll take care of these two.”
“Sounds good,” Stephanie said with a look of adoration at her boss. All the young people who worked for him gazed at him like that, even the boys. Zane was blond, tanned, and muscular with a pair of turquoise-blue eyes. The girls all had crushes on him and the boys admired his physical strength. Fortunately for his wife, Honor Sullivan Shaw, Zane never seemed to notice anyone but her.
Zane smiled at Autumn, then looked over at Troy, then back again at her. He was too polite to say anything, but she knew he knew. This was a date.
She introduced them by explaining that Zane was the owner of Dog’s Brewery as well as a good friend of her brother Kyle.
“Your brother and Violet were just in with the kids for lunch earlier today,” Zane said.
“All four of them?” Autumn asked. Kyle and Violet had four children under the age of seven. Autumn adored her nieces and nephews. However, when all together, the children seemed to multiply like magnitudes on a Richter scale. One child alone was still one, but four together seemed like sixteen little hooligans. She didn’t know how Violet did it every day. Whenever Autumn took care of them, she had to take a long nap afterward.
Zane smiled, shaking his head. “We had to bring out a mop and broom after they left. There was more food on the floor than they managed to get in their mouths. Anyway, what can I get you two? Sophie’s got some good red open in the wine bar or I can bring you one of our handcrafted beers.”
“How is the wine bar doing?” Autumn asked.
“It’s taken off like crazy,” Zane said. “Sophie was right. The women of this town love their wine.”
Autumn laughed. “Yes, we do.” Six months ago, Zane and Sophie, his sister, had opened a wine bar in what had been a room for private parties. Sophie had thought it would attract more female customers if they had a haven within the sprawling industrial-type building for book club meetings and wedding showers or even just girls’ nights out. They served wine from California and Washington state, all carefully chosen by Sophie. Trey had done the interiors for them—burgundy accessories and dark varnish for the walls and furniture. The result was inviting with a hint of formality to pair with the fine wines.
“And everyone loves what Trey did with the interiors,” Zane said. “The guy is so talented.”
Trey was talented. More so than he realized. He could meet a person and after a short time understand the aesthetic that appealed to their soul. The whole thing was intangible but somehow, he knew. He created clients’ happy places. What a gift. She couldn’t imagine having a gift like that. As a pharmacist, her contributions to society were of the scientific variety.
What was the matter with her? Trey and more Trey. He so often occupied her thoughts. If he only knew, he’d be frightened by the intensity of her feelings for him.
; She must not think of him while on a date. She’d forbidden herself to compare him to Troy or any of the others she’d accepted coffee dates with over the last few months. Because if she did, they would all fall short. No one could stack up to Trey Wattson with his good heart, quick mind, and absolutely symmetrical face.
She reminded herself of the rules. He was her friend. That was all. He would never be anything more than that. Not with her imperfections. He liked beautiful things.
He’d asked her last night at the Mullens’ party if she’d ever thought about the two of them being anything more than friends. Although the wine she’d consumed made it now seem more like a dream, she recalled the panic that flooded her as she realized this was a crossroads. Whatever her answer, it would decide their fate. She’d felt this terrible longing to shout, yes, please, take me home and love me. But she couldn’t. It would break her heart to have him see her without clothing and be repulsed. If that happened, she would never forgive him. And that would ruin their friendship. Anyway, she was pretty sure he was just joking around. If he liked her that way, he would have said so before now. He knew she wanted to get married and have children. He didn’t. So they were better as friends. Simple.
While Troy perused the menu, she took the opportunity to examine her date more closely. Other than appearing slightly older than his headshot had suggested, he looked pretty much as she thought he would. Troy was good-looking in a buttered-white-toast kind of way. Not complex like a croissant, but a great addition to a good, wholesome American breakfast. He was tall and thin with sandy-colored hair and eyes that were neither blue nor green but a murky gray. On someone else, they might have seemed mysterious and moody, but peering out of his buttery-toast round face, they were nothing but earnest.
I should like this guy.
They chatted about his drive down from Stowaway. The weather was beautiful, and there wasn’t nearly as much traffic as the last time he’d come down. “I could go at my own pace,” he said.
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