The Idea of You (12 page)

As he strode between the garages, Tori came out of the main house. She walked to meet him, smiling. “Hey! How's it going?”

He paused on his way to the apartment door. “Fine. I'm supposed to meet Alaina.”

She flicked a glance at the apartment. “Sean is meeting with her upstairs, and I was helping Mom put away groceries. What are you guys doing?”

“She wanted to get out.”

Tori chuckled as she crossed her arms. “I wondered if she was going nuts yet. Sean was going to invite her to dinner tonight. We thought we'd get the back table at The Arch and Vine like Chloe mentioned the other night.”

“Yeah, that would work. But why not just get the private dining room upstairs at Georgia's?” It was a fantastic restaurant in a remodeled house downtown. The menu was much fancier than the Arch and Vine's, but he realized he shouldn't assume that's what she'd like, particularly since she came from rather humble beginnings.

“You just like it there because of the French onion soup.”

It
was
his favorite. “Absolutely.”

Tori's gaze flicked to the bag in his hand. “Is that for Alaina?”

“Uh, yeah. I picked her up a hat, scarf, and some gloves. She forgot to pack some.” He'd gone into town earlier and stopped at The Knitty Gritty.

The door to the apartment stairs opened, and out walked Alaina and Sean.

Alaina's smile seemed different today. Or maybe she just looked different to him after last night. Sex with her had been astonishing. He'd been anxious to go upstairs alone to try to process the sensations that had stayed with him long after his orgasm had faded. Now he understood what it meant when people said, “I'm going to rock your world.” That's precisely what she'd done.

Sean joined Tori by the car. “Alaina says you're taking her out.”

“Yep.” Evan cast her a glance. “Ready?”

“Whenever.”

He went to the keypad next to the garage door and punched in the code. The door went up, and he walked around the car.

“So, what about dinner?” Tori called.

“Dinner?” Alaina asked, looking from Tori to Evan.

Evan turned from the car. “Tori wondered if you wanted to have dinner in town.”

Alaina's eyes lit. “Actually, I'd love to go into town. I'd hate to leave without seeing it.”

Evan stepped toward her. “Are you leaving?”

She slid him a look that seemed like it might carry meaning, but he couldn't decipher it. Hell, he never usually noticed such things to begin with. Just that much was . . . odd.

“Not yet,” she said. She turned her focus back to Tori. “I'd love to go to The Arch and Vine. Seems only right that I should check out the Archers' flagship pub.”

“Excellent. Do you want us to pick you up?” Tori asked.

She sent another look to Evan, this time with maybe a question in her gaze. “Evan can drive me.”

“Sure.” He noted Tori looking at him, her head cocked to the side. “What?” he asked her.

She straightened her head. “Nothing. We'll see you guys tonight. Six thirty?”

“Sounds good.” Alaina went to the passenger side of his car. “See you then!”

They both climbed into the car, and he waited while Tori and Sean pulled out of the driveway. He glanced over at Alaina's legs. Clad in skinny blue jeans tucked into the boots she'd been wearing yesterday afternoon, she sat with her knees pressed together and her legs situated at a sexy angle. He wanted to strip her clothes off from the waist down and push her thighs apart so he could sink into her softness.

Yeah, she'd rocked his world, all right.

“Hey, what's in the bag?”

He'd forgotten all about it in his distraction and had mindlessly set it down on the console between them. “It's for you.”

Her face brightened, and she smiled broadly. “Really? I love presents!”

“It's not really a present,” he muttered. “I thought you could use them.”

She opened the bag and withdrew the items, which were wrapped in bright green tissue paper. “Oh! Just what I needed!”

“They didn't have anything that was solid turquoise.” These were a mix of turquoise, gray, white, and black. “I hope they're okay.”

She took the hat out first and immediately pulled it onto her head. She flipped the car visor down and looked in the mirror. “I love it!” She unwrapped the gloves and a scarf, which she wrapped around her neck and knotted.

She leaned over the console and kissed him. “Thank you so much.”

“You're welcome.” Feeling pleased with himself, he started the car and pulled out of the garage.

“You didn't tell Tori where we were going, did you?” Alaina tried on the gloves next.

“No.”

She exhaled. “Good.”

“Why? What's the big deal?”

“Don't you think visiting cemeteries is a bit odd?”

He shrugged. Most things he did seemed odd to at least a portion of the population, and he'd never given a flying fuck. “Who cares?”

She turned toward him. “You really
don't
care, do you? I wish I could do that. Stop thinking about what people think of what I do, who I am.”

“I don't think I'm capable of doing that—caring what others think. I mean, I know on an intellectual level that I maybe should, at least as it pertains to making my way in the world. But overall, I just can't be bothered to work that hard. And for me, it's hard work.”

She laid her arm on the rest next to the console dividing their seats. “I understand. Or at least, intellectually—to borrow your word—I get what you're saying. Still, it's remarkable. I'm conditioned to overthink everything, thanks to the business I'm in.” She sat back against the seat. “It sucks. I'm kind of over it.”

“Then be over it. No one's the boss of you. Not like when you were younger. That was one reason I couldn't wait to grow up—so I could be the boss of myself.” Living by other people's rules and expectations was a nightmare. And it wasn't that his parents required him to do things that were unreasonable. He just wanted to be on his own schedule and make his own decisions about things. “That's why I moved out of Ribbon Ridge.” And it was maybe why he was really keeping his identity a secret for the creative job. Huh, he hadn't thought of that before.

“I so get the need to stretch your wings. I can't imagine having stayed in Blueville.” She shuddered.

He turned up the gravel road that led to the cemetery, and the gravestones came into view.

“We're here already?” she asked.

“It's not far from our property.” He threw the car into park at the side of the road. There was no parking lot, just a gravel loop.

He grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the console before he stepped out of the car. The sky was a vivid blue, and the sun was bright, though it wasn't above forty degrees.

“Shades. Good idea.” She pulled a pair from her purse before tossing it back onto the seat and closing her car door.

They met at the front of the car, and she grinned up at him. “Nice Aviators.”

She was wearing the same style, although hers were more feminine.

“You, too,” he said. “What did you have in mind for this visit?”

“Honestly? I would've brought a picnic, but I was afraid you'd find that too morbid, especially since your brother's buried here.”

“Actually, that sounds like a nice idea
because
he's buried here. As if we're having lunch with him.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I suppose. Would your family feel the same way?”

“I have no idea. I'll have to file that under ‘don't know and don't really care.' ”

More laughter. “God, you are so
cool
.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the grass. “Come on.”

He went along with her, stupidly disappointed that he'd given her gloves and as a result was deprived of the heat and intimacy of her skin. They walked up to the stone marker, and she read it aloud.

“ ‘Ribbon Ridge Pioneer Cemetery, eighteen fifty-nine.' ” She turned her head to look up at him. “I didn't realize it predated the Civil War. When was Ribbon Ridge founded?”

“Eighteen fifty-nine was the year Oregon became a state—on Valentine's Day. Ribbon Ridge was incorporated in eighteen seventy-eight, but my great-great-great-grandfather established the settlement here in eighteen fifty-six. He moved west from New York to find his fortune after a friend came out here to be a fur trapper.”

“Was he a fur trapper, too?”

“No, a farmer. And a postmaster. And a banker. He founded Ribbon Ridge, so he had a lot of jobs. He's buried over here.” He led her to a relatively new marker. “My grandfather replaced this when my dad was a kid because the old one was falling down.”

She let go of his hand and ran her gloved fingers over the names. “Absolutely fascinating. And so cool. I love genealogy. How far back can you trace your family?”

“Ironically, we can trace further back on my mom's side. We can get all the way to the Middle Ages in France. With the Archers, we're sort of stalled out in the seventeenth century, I think.”

“
Very
cool.” She turned her head back to the stone. “The other name on here is his wife?”

“Yeah. They had separate headstones, but Dad says hers was small and kind of lame next to her husband's, so they combined them.”

She took his hand again. “Show me more.”

They walked among the headstones, and he told her all he knew of the history of Ribbon Ridge and some of the people buried in the cemetery. Most of them, however, were just fading names on stone. Until they reached the newer part of the cemetery, where the granite was still shiny and the etched information crisp.

Next to a towering oak was Alex's grave, marked with a four-foot-tall stone and decorated with the Archer logo, which he'd asked for in his will.

“This is your brother,” she said softly.

He nodded, his throat oddly tight. He'd shed tears when Alex had died, but his grief had been compact and easy compared to that of the rest of his family. He just didn't hold onto negative emotion—what was the point? And that was a question he hadn't even asked until recent years. Before that, he'd just moved on without realizing he was supposed to cling to sadness or anger or frustration.

“His name wasn't Alexander?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “No, just Alex. All of us have four letter names with two syllables. Except Hayden, because he isn't one of the sextuplets. Mom and Dad didn't want rhyming names or names that started with the same letter, but Mom was adamant we have some sort of naming convention that tied us together.”

“That's pretty cool. So there's you, Tori, Sara, Kyle . . . Who am I missing?”

“Liam.”

She nodded. “The jerk who broke his wrist. Is he doing okay?”

“I think so. I should text him.”

“Or call him.” She laughed. “I don't know, does anyone call anymore? It's sometimes easy to forget that these texting machines actually started as phones.”

He liked the feel of her hand in his, even with the glove. “Very true.”

“Despite not calling each other, you all seem really close. Like you said. Which makes me wonder why you're keeping your job at the company a secret. Why don't you tell them the truth?”

“I was actually thinking about that earlier. I like the anonymity, the space. What if they want to micromanage me or make assumptions about my abilities?”

She turned toward him and rubbed her thumb over his hand. “Do you really think they would do that?”

He thought about it. His siblings had always treated him, Sara, and Alex a bit differently, something Evan hadn't even really noticed until college, when he'd finally managed to develop a better sense of awareness, not that it was terribly advanced even now.

“They expect certain things from me,” he said cautiously, wondering if he could explain the dynamics of his family when he sometimes felt he didn't really understand them. He distinctly remembered telling his mother when he was younger that he wished his siblings “got” him better. Sara related to him the most with her sensory-processing disorder, and Tori tried really hard. The others were less . . . patient. No, that wasn't the right word. He wasn't sure what the right word was.

She moved closer to him. “All families expect things—it's an unwritten rule. And since you Archers are apparently good at those, I'd guess your siblings are particularly awesome when it comes to making assumptions. But aren't you doing the same thing by not being honest with them? You don't really know how they'll react or behave.” She touched Alex's headstone. “I'd say losing Alex ought to remind you all not to take anything—or anyone—for granted. Maybe you should trust them enough to support you. I can't imagine they wouldn't.”

She cupped his cheek and smiled up at him. “Am I making any sense to you at all, or am I just rambling?”

“As it happens, I speak fluent rambling, so even if you are, it makes sense to me.” He leaned down and kissed her, his lips lingering softly over hers.

He felt a vibration through his coat and realized it was her phone in her pocket.

“Excuse me.” She pulled it out and checked the screen. “I have to take this. Hold on.” She let go of his hand and strolled a few feet away, but he could still hear what she said.

“Oh, great.”

She said “great” but didn't sound excited. At least not to him, but then, he wasn't very good at discerning tone of voice.

She pivoted toward him, her gaze fixed on the ground. “Actually, I've been thinking I'd rather not do it. Is that okay?” She kicked her booted toe at a small rock, sending it skidding over the dry ground. “I know, and tell him I'm sorry. Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

She stashed the phone in her pocket and walked back to him, her face bright with a gorgeous smile. He was getting used to seeing her face in person instead of on a screen, but when she smiled like that, it was always a bit of a jolt.