Page 38 of Building What's Meant to Be

So this is what a fall from grace feels like, huh? I have to admit, it’s not as bad as I thought and certainly not as bad looking. Well, except for my current appearance. Disheveled is putting it mildly. More like hot mess.

I’ll admit that Aiden is looking like a quarterback from behind but instead of a football uniform, he’s wearing well-worn jeans and cowboy boots. He opens the passenger’s side door of a highly polished Maybach and gestures for me to get in.

At least, I think it’s his car. Considering I stole my parents’ BMW, I suppose anything could be possible because a Maybach is not the kind of vehicle I expect to see in Butterbury or driven by a man in jeans and cowboy boots.

This is a rusty pickup truck kind of place. Or so I thought.

“Nice wheels,” I say.

“Eh, this old thing.” He waves his hand dismissively but wears the subtlest boyish smile that suggests that he cares what I think.

“Don’t be so modest,” I say, trying to figure out if I’m reading him correctly.

His lips twitch. “Won it in a bet of sorts.”

I slide into the buttery leather seat. When he was around his family and friends, he was, in a word, relatable. One of the gang. Very clearly himself. Now that we’re alone, it’s like he’s trying to impress me. No, that can’t be right. I look like I was up all night, slept in a car, and woke up in jail. Because I basically did.

I’m used to big guys with big money knowing they’re the big cheese. This is something different. It’s almost like I’m the girl next door, he picked me up for a date and is hoping his car doesn’t smell like cheese.

Interesting.

I’ve never been the girl next door. My brother has a silver Maybach. My father has two. Up until now, it was practically a requirement that the guys I dated have flashy cars, their names in lights, and an inexhaustible credit card.

At the moment, whether it’s because I’m tired or something else, I wouldn’t care if we’d gotten in a rusty pickup truck as long as the destination was the same...a bed, sleep, a shower. Perhaps Aiden is a secret billionaire with a luxury home somewhere in this nowhere town. Maybe he’s hiding his true identity.

Aiden glances over at me as he backs out of the parking spot. His gaze is soft and understanding. “You look like you’re thinking.”

The mental gears do feel a little rusty, but that’s only because I dove into that chasm of thought that I’ve been avoiding and it’s hard to navigate. “Thinking isn’t exactly what I’m known for. Is it that obvious?”

“I just meant your expression is thoughtful, peaceful.”

“Tired.” My body isn’t sure whether to yawn or sigh or tell the truth. I’m playing a role too. Looking back, I have been for a long time. “Aiden, for the record, I’m not entirely a bubbly, flirty, ditzy blonde.” The words are solid and strong but they don’t have sharp edges.

“I’m sorry if that’s what it sounded like I was implying. Not what I meant.”

“No, I know. You were right. I was thinking. My family has always expected me to be that way, but only because I’d conditioned them to do so. It was how I got attention. When I was the little nerdy kid with glasses who went to the library—in our house, not the public one—and researched the lifecycle of fireflies in the encyclopedia for fun or when I memorized lines from Shakespeare in my early teens, I was forgotten. Left to my own devices. I suppose I should’ve taken advantage of it. But like any kid, I wanted to be seen, heard, given a gold star.” I pause, half expecting Aiden to interject, but he simply listens—gives me what I needed all those years ago.

“I tested the waters with one bit of outrageous behavior after another. I made them spend over a hundred thousand dollars on my sweet sixteen, complete with a performance by the boy band Six Pak Boyz. For my seventeenth birthday, I insisted on using the family helicopter to get to a weekend music festival in the desert. When I turned eighteen, they rented me an island for a weeklong party because I threatened to share embarrassing family photos online if they didn’t.”

Aiden whistles low. “That’s intense.”

I share anecdotes that I once flaunted proudly and now make me cringe. As Aiden continues to listen, he pulls into the parking lot of an autobody shop with a tow truck in front.

“Anyway, that didn’t get me the approval and affection I’d have liked, but it got me something.” I gaze down at my hands.

“And now?” he asks.

“Now, it feels like I have nothing.”

Letting out a breath, he says, “Well, it might feel that way. Aside from your stuff in the car,” he points, “you might not have much in the way of what you’re used to. But you could also think of this as a new opportunity. A chance to start over in a way.”

His gaze lingers on mine and instead of longing, I see something else. It’s simple. It’s real. It’s the truth. It’s as if this man is on a lifelong quest for the truth.

And what have I been seeking? Fame, fortune, pleasure.

I can’t quite pinpoint what’s going on between Aiden and me, but I’ve never had someone look at me the way he does. Like maybe I’m part of a puzzle he’s been trying to put together.

Don’t get me wrong. Usually, guyslook.

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