Page 78 of Olivia's Only Pretending
I winced. “I don’t need her judging my guacamole-making skills again.” Last time I joined for a family dinner, I’d offered to help in the kitchen.
I’d started making the guacamole and asked if they had any mayonnaise.The whole kitchen skidded to a stop.
“Did you just say … mayonnaise?” Linda said, drawing out each syllable of mayonnaise.
I’d glanced toward Victor for help, and he’d slapped a hand to his forehead, shaking his head.
“My mom always adds a few scoops,” I said.
“A few scoops?” Katie gasped.
“Honey, let’s just keep you on dish duty,” Linda said, scooting me away from the bowl of mashed avocado and toward the sink.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Liv. My mom will probably never let you touch another avocado in her presence again, anyway. So, there won’t even be the opportunity.”
“Hey, I’ve seen you eat nearly a whole bowl ofmyguacamole before,” I defended our Rhodes recipe.
“I eat, and love, whatever my girlfriend makes me,” Victor said, his voice warm, eager, trying out the word. “Pretend or not.”
I cocked my head to the side, watching him, letting myself really take him in as we barreled past his family’s house down the country road. His tan, caramel skin. His deep, chocolate eyes. How his jaw ticked when he was focusing, like he was now, turning the car onto the rocky property trail.
I leaned into him. Our arms brushed. “Where’re you taking me?”
He smiled. “You’ll see.”
I tugged on his shirt, finding any excuse to make contact. “You’ve got some tricks up your sleeve today.”
He took his hand off the wheel and set it gently on the top of my thigh. His eyes were on me for a heated second. His eyes were serious, wanting. His fingers were warm through my jeans. My stomach fluttered as he rubbed a circle above my knee with his thumb.
A new kind of cozy silence fell between us as we made our way down the grassy fields.
He put the truck in park right by a bubbling, winding stream shaded by elm trees. There was a grassy clearing a few steps away. “This is my reading spot.”
Victor collected an old quilt from the back of his truck and the basket he’d set our grocery haul in. A perfect picnic.
It was quiet out in the middle of the country, except for the fall breeze rippling through the swaying trees and the creek rushing. The sun streaked with hazy pinks and purples as evening came.
Victor reached his hand out for mine. Just us. No students or faculty eyes watching. Only his eyes on mine.Is this a thing we can do now?I slipped my hand into his. His fingers were calloused from years of woodworking, rough against my skin.
He led me toward a grassy spot beside the creek. We laid out the blanket, laughing as we tried to smooth it out for our picnic.
“Usually, it’s just me here, and often, I don’t even bring a blanket,” Victor said. “But I’ve got to bring the nice blanket for myrealdate, you know.”
We broke into the food, buttery brie cheese and soft sourdough bread, and we passed the bottle of red between the two of us. We watched the sun’s setting rays glimmer through the trees, changing leaves.
“Try these,” Victor said, handing me a cluster of grapes. “These are my favorite kind. Champagne grapes.”
I popped a tiny, blue-black grape in my mouth. A burst of sweetness. “You really haven’t ever brought anyone else out here?”
He shook his head. “This spot feels like my secret. I grew up with a billion siblings?—”
“Five,” I interjected.
“Which can feel like a billion. We’ve got a big house, but not that big. I still shared a room. I was always looking for a place to call my own. Sometimes, woodworking has felt like a place I can hide in, not just a thing I do.” He took a swig of the wine, then gestured out to the creek with the bottle in his grip. “And here. I was a teenager, pissed off about something. When I got like that, I’d blast Dashboard Confessional in my truck and just drive the backroads. I parked out here that day. It was quiet.”
“I’m honored you brought me here.” I crawled closer to him, grabbed the bottle from his hands, and took a swig. “Everyone needs a place they can go.”
“You’re one of my places.” His face was soft, open.
