The old Travis. The disdain in her voice told me all I needed to know about how she viewed the old Travis. Apparently, it wasn’t as a mysterious count who descended in hot-air balloons. Her tone said it was someone decidedly less dashing than that.
Did I feel like an updated model from the man she’d met eight years before, this old Travis? In some ways, yes…in others, I had no idea. I continued to stare at Haven, smiling in reaction to her sudden laugh.
God, she’s beautiful.
The unbidden thought hurt vaguely for reasons I couldn’t explain.
“Anyway, with Haven, there’s the brother thing. But also, we have very little in common,” I explained, as though Bree had pressed me further when she had not. “We’re simply friends. Temporary friends.”
“And yet…”
I looked over at Bree to see she was watching me again, a small, secretive smile on her face. “And yet what?”
She looked toward the place where I knew Haven was still chatting with our crew. “I’ve seen you around other women enough to know that you’re usually the one being watched by them.”
“Of course.” I shot her a smirk.
Bree shook her head. “No, you’ve never seemed to notice. It’s like it’s just a given to you.”
“Again, of course.”
“But this girl…you can’t keep your eyes off her.”
I made a scoffing sound in the back of my throat. “Please. She just happens to be standing right in front of the beer tent.” I pulled myself up. “And I’m thirsty. Want one?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No. Thank you.” She stood too. “The pie judging contest starts in a few minutes and I have to get over there. I made Anne’s recipe.” Her eyes got misty when she mentioned Anne’s name, but they always did, still, even though Anne had died several years ago when the twins were only toddlers. Bree made Anne’s recipe every year for the festival’s blueberry pie contest. And Bree won with Anne’s recipe every single year. I had an inkling that it was fixed as a way to honor the longtime and deeply beloved Pelion resident, but I wasn’t going to bust anyone for blueberry-tinged corruption anytime soon.
“Okay. Good luck,” I said needlessly.
I headed toward Haven, almost missing a step when she turned my way, her face lighting in a smile to rival the sun.
Chapter Fourteen
Haven
“Hi.” I smiled as he approached. It felt big. Too big, probably, but I found I wasn’t interested in putting very much effort toward its suppression. The noise of the crowd faded, the world suddenly growing impossibly brighter.
“Hey.” Travis smiled back, his dark hair lifting off his forehead as a breeze stirred. I caught the sight of a small white scar near his hairline, an old wound. He would have been young when it bled. “Having a good time?”
“This is the most wonderful day of my life,” I said. I couldn’t even be embarrassed that my enthusiasm might seem overdone to someone like him. I was too happy. Too bursting with it.
I watched in fascination as several emotions passed over his face, one by one. Surprise, confusion, pleasure, a strange sort of sadness, and then wonder. “You mean it.”
I laughed. “We don’t have blueberry festivals in California.”
He smiled, but I could tell he knew it was a false explanation. There were plenty of other events in California where I might have experienced a day like today. Farmers’ markets, carnivals, craft fairs. But I never had. Not once. The people, the sweet smell of sugary desserts, the families. The warmth. It was all so incredibly warm. It glowed, and I felt like, somehow, just being here, I did too. I glanced around and then looked back at Travis, whose gaze was still glued to me. “How lucky you are, Travis, to have all”—I waved my hand—“this.”
Travis’s gaze broke from mine, and he looked around. It was as if he’d been looking through a foggy window and the glass had suddenly cleared. When he looked at me again, his eyes were soft. And yes, warm. There were rings of dark green around his golden-brown irises. Extraordinary, those eyes. I’d noticed his brother had very similar eyes, but his appeared about a half shade lighter than Travis’s. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, “I am pretty lucky.” Then he smiled at me, lopsided and boyish as though I’d just offered him a gift he hadn’t been expecting.
“Clarice is going to read our fortunes in a few minutes. Come with us.”
Travis rolled his eyes. “You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”
I laughed. “I don’t know to be honest. I’ve never had my fortune told. But I’ll keep an open mind if you will.”
He grinned that boyish grin again and my stomach flipped at its unexpected innocence. So many layers. “Sure.”
Cricket appeared, a tray of beers in her hand, the plastic cups sloshing foam, and handed one to each of us. When Travis hesitated, she said, “Come on, Chief, you’re off duty and Burt here will drive us home.”
I choked on the small sip of beer I’d just taken and Travis’s eyes widened as he glanced at the grinning blind man. Cricket let out a boisterous laugh, whacking the side of her hip with the now empty tray. Travis took a sip. “I guess I don’t have to drive home for several hours.”
Several hours left of heaven. I held up my cup and he met mine with his.
Clarice’s booth was near the other side of the festival so we began walking, Travis and me in the rear of the group. “What part of Los Angeles did you grow up in?” Travis asked.
I stalled, taking a sip of my beer and swallowing. “Are you familiar with LA?”
“Not really, other than the famous parts…Hollywood, Bel Air, Beverly Hills, Laguna Beach.”
“Not those parts,” I said on a small, humorless laugh. “Picture the opposite of sunny beaches, Louis Vuitton shops, and gated communities, and that’s where I grew up.”
Cricket let out a loud guffaw, and Travis squinted toward where the rest of our group walked. She gave a not-very-surreptitious glance back at Travis and then removed what appeared to be a flask and poured a shot in Burt’s and Betty’s held out cups. “She’s a really bad criminal,” Travis murmured. “No wonder she served time.”
I let out a small laugh.
“So,” he said after a minute, “no blueberry festivals in the opposite of a gated community.”
“No blueberries, period.”
One brow went up and one brow went down and he considered me. “That can’t be true.”
“Trust me, it is. Liquor and convenience stores don’t tend to sell any produce at all, unless it’s a basket of three or four bananas at the front counter that usually go untouched. When my mom did bring home food, she tended to pick up chips, soda, and donuts. It’s the food pyramid of poverty-stricken neighborhoods. That’s true everywhere I assume, although admittedly I haven’t been everywhere.” I shot him what I hoped was an amused smile, but he didn’t smile back. I looked away. Why was I sharing this? At the blueberry festival? The warm, glowy, sun-drenched blueberry festival.
Because today of all days, it feels good to be known. Walking amidst all of these people who are connected to other people, feeling like you are too.