Page 38 of Again, In Autumn

God, I wish I had offered to cook. Then, I could be hidden in the kitchen instead of in this cave where I’m planning to play bartender all night. I’m being rude, but I can also be helpful and that’s what people remember after they leave a dinner party. The helpfulness. Helpful people get into Heaven.

Not that anyone will get a drink with how tightly I clutch the neck of this bottle. Then, I hear his voice enter the dining room and I’m glad I’ve got a tight grip because I can’t afford to keep cleaning up glass.

Francesca rounds the corner. “Here you are!” She shakes her head at me in admonishment. “And it looks like she’s already starting drinking.”

I glance at Adam beside her. His hands dig into the pockets of his jeans. A tiny red leaf rests on top of his hair and the bottom buttons of his flannel shirt have come untucked. He and I meet a moment that spans seconds, his expression blank.

“I haven’t started drinking yet,” I explain. Which is dumb, because, obviously. I’m still holding the corkscrew in the opposite hand.

“I see that,” he replies.

Francesca claps him on the back. “Well, Adam, I’ll let this awkward butterfly get you situated. We’ve got plenty to drink. She’s not holding it hostage.”

“I’m not a huge wine drinker,” he says.

“Well, it doesn’t look like you and Vee are going to have a lot to chat about, then,” she teases.

When she walks off, I say, “I’m not an alcoholic.”

He frowns. “I didn’t say you were.”

“It’s just, she implied…” I swallow. “There’s other stuff in here.”

I drop the bottle on the dark marble counter and bend down, opening the cabinet, hoping my short skirt is tucked under my ass and then remembering that Kate has her shelf on display, Adam’s not looking at my ass.

Not that I’d want him to.

He clears his throat. “I’ll just take a glass of wine.”

“Sure?

“Yeah.”

“Okay – ow!” I stand too quickly and knock my head on the counter.

“Are you okay?” Adam asks. He doesn’t rush to my side or sound remotely concerned.

I nod through the impending concussion. “I’m fine.” My eyes remain shut, my hand plastered to my head. When did an alarm start ringing in here?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again.

I exhale and shake my head out and say, “I’ll just keep an eye on my pupils. I should be fine.” He’s staring at me with furrowed brows. “What?”

He gestures under his eye. “You’ve got some black stuff. Your makeup smeared.”

I freeze, hand still on my head, probably dying of blunt force trauma, and he’s commenting on my smeared mascara. Really? Really?

If he cared an ounce about our summer together, then he’d remember everything in this cabinet. He’d remember that day Heddy went with Fran when Dave took the girls to the movies, and I remained behind.

Adam and I had at least three hours alone in the house together, so we raided Heddy’s bar to make a cocktail he said he drank all the time with his dad. He mixed up a bunch of stuff, it tasted disgusting and then we were immediately drunk. I fell into the lake, he fished me out, and he apologized profusely for being a bad influence.

Sopping wet in our clothes, no mascara on my face, we dangled our legs over the edge of the dock. His damp, cold hand reached up and settled against my jawbone. He said he wanted another taste, just to see how bad it was. Then, he kissed me. For the first time.

He pulled away and said, “I guess it’s not so bad.”

I blinked and swallowed, not sure of what to do with my hands.

“Let me be the judge,” I whispered, suddenly brave and feeling so safe beside him. He smiled as I kissed him, our teeth touching a moment. “Too much cherry,” I sighed, licking my lips.

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