Secondary Colors (6 page)

an assortment of colors the artist works with

The following morning, I pick a bouquet of lavender from the garden and walk to the plot next to ours, inhabited by this sweet old couple, Roy and Hettie Bennett. They’ve lived here forever, and were my grandparents’ best friends. Since both of them passed when I was a baby, they became my adopted grandparents for all intents and purposes. They never had any kids of their own, so we’ve been their family.

I could enter without notice, but I knock on the screen door instead. I wouldn’t want to sneak up on Hettie. She’d probably have a heart attack.

“I’m coming,” she calls from the kitchen, pans rattling. “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

The floorboards whine as she slowly waddles to the door. Her eyes grow when she finally sees me. Her sight isn’t what it used to be, so it takes her until halfway down the hall. “Evie, darling girl. Come in. Come in,” she insists, gesturing her hands quickly.

I open the screen door and step inside, ambushed by tight hugs and wet kisses. She’s strong for a bitty old thing.

“You’re too skinny, child.” She shakes her gray head with disapproval. “Don’t they eat in California?”

“Sure. It’s all gluten-free or made from seaweed though,” I tease.

“Well, this won’t do.” She yanks me toward the kitchen and sits me down at the table. “I’ll make you a plate of my fresh peach cobbler.”

I ate a big breakfast, but I’d never refuse Hettie’s cobbler. It’s the best in the state.

She places the dessert in front of me with a glass of ice cold milk.

“Thank you, Nana.”

She sits in the chair next to me with a groan and pop. Her, not the chair.

“You know you’re getting old when it’s a struggle to sit.”

She snorts a tired laugh.

“You’re not old, Hettie. You’ll always be young to me.”

“Bless you, child,” she says, patting me on my cheek affectionately. “I wish someone would tell my joints and bones that.” She points to the untouched cobbler on my plate. “Eat.”

I set the bouquet of lavender on the table, the stems tied together with twine. “These are for you.”

“They’re wonderful.” She picks them up and inhales deeply. “My favorite.”

I pick up my fork and dive in.

“Mmm,” I moan. “I’ve missed this.”

“It’s not the only thing you’ve missed, I hope,” she says, laying the grandma guilt on thick.

“Of course it’s not. It wouldn’t be nearly as good if it were made by anyone else.”

I grew up on Hettie’s home cooking. If we didn’t order food in or go out to eat, Meredith and I would join Roy and Hettie for dinner. She was always feeding us. I think it’s because she loves us and wants to thank my mom for letting them live on the land rent free. She refuses to take their money because she considers them secondary parents.

“That boy living with you can certainly put it away,” she comments.

My eyes fly to hers. They’re lit up, lifted at the wrinkled corners from the nosy grin on her lips. She’s trying to get information out of me.

“How do you know about Holt?”

“You forget what it’s like to live in a small town. People talk,” she reminds me. “That, and he’s come over to fix things and bring us supplies we need. He’s a very nice boy.”

“If you say so.”

“You don’t like him?”

“He doesn’t seem to like me,” I correct her.

“What is there not to like?” she asks, moving her hand up and down in the air. “You’re the whole package.”

“I have no clue.” I shrug. “He wouldn’t talk to me for the first week. When he did, I wanted him to shut up again.”

“I’ve been there,” she says with a chuckle. “Perhaps you make him nervous? Boys aren’t always sharp when it comes to emotions.”

“I highly doubt I make him feel anything but nausea.” She laughs a hardy laugh. “He seems to enjoy getting a rise out of me. And he succeeds.”

“It sounds to me like he likes you.”

“Are you trying to tell me by picking on me, he’s really saying he likes me?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s some schoolyard stuff right there. Next, he’ll be pulling my pigtails.” I take a gulp of my milk, wiping away the mustache. “Do they ever grow up, Nana?”

“Nope.”

“That’s reassuring. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” She rubs the back of my hand.

“I wish he didn’t bug me so much.”

“Wait until you spend fifty years with him.”

“I wouldn’t last fifty minutes.” I giggle softly. “Where is Roy anyway?”

“He went fishing hours ago. Probably won’t be back until supper. It’s a shame. He’ll be upset he missed you.”

“This won’t be my only visit this summer. I intend to come over often and get fat on your cobbler.”

I pat my full belly.

“You’d better.”

“I should probably get a move on,” I say disappointedly. “I have to run into town for Meredith, work off all this food you fed me. Is there anything you need while I’m there?”

“No, child, we’re set for now.”

“Alright.” I stand and bend over to give her a hug and a kiss. “I’ll check next time.”

“You’re a good girl.”

“Tell Roy I’m sorry I missed him.”

“Oh, you can be sure I will.”

Later on, I pull up to the house and notice Aidan’s SUV parked outside. I climb out of the Nova, smiling at him as he meets me at my car. “Hey,” he says, a brown paper bag in his hand. “It’s such a nice day, I thought we could eat on the dock and go for a swim.”

“Like a picnic?” I ask with a mute chuckle, amused by his old-fashioned ways.

“I bring fried chicken.” He shakes the bag, tempting me with its greasy delights. He’s especially mouthwatering in his blue plaid board shorts and pale blue tee, making his eyes even bluer.

“How can a girl turn down fried chicken?”

He laughs.

I slip a wild section of hair behind the fold of my ear. We blink at each other, an obvious attraction between us. A peculiar ping of guilt wriggles in my gut, nagging at me.

I stick my thumb in the direction of the house. “Let me put these things away and change.”

“Would you like me to help you?”
He wants to help me change?
His eyes flare with realization, embarrassment briefly staining his cheeks. “Oh, no. I meant with your bags.”

“I’ll manage, Aid. Meet you down by the dock, okay?”

“Great.” He’s clearly pleased I’ve chosen to join him and for the opportunity to escape the moment.

I recover the reusable shopping bags from the backseat, head inside, and drop them on the kitchen table, an enormous grin manipulating my face. I sort the groceries then freshen up and change into something a little less comfortable, my swimsuit. Eek! Over that, a floral dress. I survey myself in the mirror, thinking about the differences between Aidan and me. It doesn’t change my lingering feelings. Or the past we share.

In high school, it was plain how different we were, him captain of the baseball team, me a quasi-loner with my nose in a leather-bound sketchbook I carried everywhere, my ears plugged by headphones. I was the Molly Ringwald to his...well, every male lead opposite her. Though, Aidan is more Blane McDonnagh than Jake Ryan. And there was no driving off into the sunset to a perfectly placed eighties’ tune.

Coming out of my daydreams, I fix the stray hairs that escaped from my ponytail, exit out the double French doors, and cross the big lawn. I spot Aidan at the very end of the dock, finishing up the final touches. He notices me when the dock moves under the change in weight.

“This isn’t unoriginal, is it?” He’s adorably nervous about what I’ll think. It’s sweet.

“You saved it with fatty, deep-fried chicken.”

His shoulders shake with a spurt of laughter.

“Every time I see you, you’re always more beautiful than the time before.”

“Aidan,” I murmur, flattered. I’m not used to this outright attention from him.

“Are you hungry?” He prepares a plate for me with all the fixings.

“This is great, Aid.” I sit next to him on the dock, cross-legged. “Thank you.”

He takes my hand, tenderly rubbing the soft skin on the back.

“I’m happy we have this chance to make up for lost time.”

“Me, too,” I agree.

We both know there are things that need to be said, that need to be known. But not today. Today, we enjoy fried chicken and each other’s camaraderie.

“I’m a mess,” I giggle out, trying to wipe the grease off with an obliterated napkin, falling apart from overuse.

“You’re an adorable mess.” He lifts a fresh one to the corner of my mouth and cleans the rest away. “I think it’s time for that swim,” he suggests softly.

“I think you’re right.”

He stands and strips off his blue shirt. Offering me a hand, I admire his bare Abercrombie & Fitch chest and the gym-grown muscles of his extended arm. Once he assists me to my feet, he dives into the lake. I perch myself at the end of the dock, my toes coiling over the edge. I slither out of my dress, tear the tie out of my hair, and leap into the blue, taking relief from the blazing high noon sun. We swim and talk and float and swim some more.

After we’re clean and cool, we climb out, me taking the lead on the ladder, him following close behind. As I grab the top posts to pull myself up, he stops me and turns me around carefully. He leans in, a hand finding my hip, his lips parted. Mine mimic his as they unconsciously move toward them.

“Aidan,” I breathe, my fingers clenching the waistband of his swimsuit, his body pressing mine into the ladder.

“Evie,” he whispers back, the breath of my name crossing my lips.

Out of nowhere, a scramble of black fur and paws fly over our heads, knocking us back into the lake. When I realize it’s Max, I splash water at him. He swims in circles, paying me no mind, huffing with a narrow stick clamped between his teeth.

“That’s a bad boy, Max,” Holt reprimands from the dock, a pleased smirk quirking his lips. The guilt I felt last night from his scars is replaced by annoyance for the ruined kiss and his satisfied air.