Page 24 of Tempest

“Your mouth would be better full of food,” I mumble as I switch the television to a local station. We eat in a strange silence for a few minutes. Why is he here? What’s the end game?

If he wants a second chance, I’m probably the wrong woman for that. I don’t even give most men a second night. It’s never worth it.

While I may not hold grudges, I learn my lessons with people. That whole “fool me once” thing is a good motto and I live by it.

“Just say it, Ode. Whatever you’re thinking.”

Ode.

He used to call me that in more intimate moments. My heart clenches, but it’s in a different way now than how it affected me then.

“What do you want, Gavin? Why are you here?”

“I told you already. I want to catch up. Our past wasn’t something I wanted to bring up tonight, but if that’s where you want to start, we can,” he says casually. As if this is normal dinner conversation for him.

I like to think I read people pretty well, but this man confounds me with his level of ego and confidence. Maybe it’s a hockey player thing. I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never known another one besides him.

“We said all we needed to say on that subject twenty years ago,” I say, looking directly at him.

“I disagree.”

“Why?”

“So, you do want to talk about it?” he asks between bites of Pad See Ew.

“No.”

“Then I’ll wait to say it until you’re ready to hear it. Until then, I’m offering a friendship, Odette.”

“Can I decline your offer?” We both realize I’m avoiding whatever he was alluding to, but like I said, I don’t want to talk about how I fell in love with him, only to watch him marry someone else.

“You can fucking try,” he says, his voice low and guttural. I shouldn’t find it sexy, but damn it, I do. “Why didn’t you ever start your own line? Or fashion house? I’m not sure what to call it. But why did you head into styling instead?”

He’s back to casual in a flash, as if he didn’t nearly growl at me a second ago.

“It was easier to get a job as a stylist. New York is expensive, and money mattered. I thought design could come later, when I was making a decent living. But I fell in love with styling. It allowed me to be more creative because I was working with different personalities and body types. Designers are too often pressured to create for certain sizes, or lifestyles, and limited to one cohesive collection per season. I wanted something different. Besides, I still design, they’re just very limited runs,” I tell him. It’s the question I’m asked most. I’ve spewed this answer so many times over the years, it feels almost rehearsed.

“That makes sense. You always were ridiculously creative,” he says, taking his last bite and setting his plate down. “I knew you’d succeed at whatever you did. Never would have dreamed you’d leave New York, though.”

Is that part of the reason he chose her over me? Because she’d follow him, and he thought I wouldn’t?

No. No, that’s not right. It was because of Tori. I know this.

“Tori is wonderful, by the way,” I say, diverting the conversation from myself. “She’s sweet, spunky, and so talented. You two raised her well.”

I should get bonus points in the form of a chocolate chip cookie, gluten free, of course, for saying something nice to him. It’s not like I hate him, but I didn’t sign up for him to be in my living room comfortably eating dinner, either.

“Thank you,” he says. “Though, Caroline gets most of that credit. I was gone so much with hockey; I feel like I missed a lot.”

“She’s just as much you,” I say before I can catch myself.

“How would you know? We aren’t friends, right?”

“You’re right,” I say, standing to collect both plates. He stands, too, and follows me to the kitchen. “I thought I knew you once, but that wasn’t the truth.”

“Odette.” Gavin traps me as I drop the plates into the sink. He cages me on either side. “You did know me. It wasn’t a lie. The me you knew, was the most honest I ever was.”

“I don’t.” My voice catches on the rest of the words, fingers tightening on the edge of the sink. I don’t want to talk about it, but mostly, I don’t want to remember. The cuts, the hurt, the scars…

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