the terrible world she now inhabited. A world of faked perfection. Where no one was real, or genuine, or kind.
But would he be sitting across from her now if she was still average, old Addy Wellmeyer? She shoved that thought aside. She was Ava Wells now—and for once she was going to enjoy the benefits of giving up everything to become this person. The world believed a woman like Ava Wells got everything she wanted. Oh, if they knew the truth.
But tonight . . . tonight, she was going to get what she wanted.
He was just taking a sip of his beer as she asked, “So you said you live near here, huh? Can we go back to your place?”
His eyes widened mid-swallow as if he was going to choke on the the golden liquid. But he managed to lower his glass and school his features into a semblance of calm. The only other sign of his surprise was the slightly too loud clatter of his mug hitting the table.
“Umm, yeah. Sure. Of course we can.”
Chapter Six
“W ell, this is it.”
Charlie watched as Ava wandered around his small living room. A tiny room that was practically eaten up by a worn sofa and an even shabbier recliner. He winced as her fingers traced a crack in the ancient vinyl along the arm of it.
“My father had a chair just like this.” Her voice sounded wistful, distant. “He loved that chair.”
Charlie felt slightly better that she wasn’t disgusted by his motley assortment of furnishings.
The vinyl creaked under her weight as she sat down on the recliner. She had that distant look he’d seen at the bar. She was sad again, struggling with something, and Charlie didn’t know how to chase her sorrow away. Not for good anyway.
All he could do was be a good host and listen if she decided to talk.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She looked up, her dark eyes refocusing on him.
“Um, sure.” Her voice sounded a little sheepish, not the same as the confident woman in the bar who had asked to come over here.
“I think I have some beer, a bottle of wine, although I don’t know how good it is. Soda and milk.”
“A little wine would be good.”
He nodded and rushed away to his tiny galley-style kitchen. He hated to admit it, but he was rattled. Ava Wells in his apartment. Yeah, he needed a drink too.
He rummaged around in one of the drawers until he found the corkscrew. Reaching for the wine, he made a face. It was white and should have been served cold. Oh well. It was probably going to taste so awful she wouldn’t even notice it was room temperature.
He pulled down two wine glasses, plastic ones he’d nicked from a New Year’s Eve party last year. Pulling another face, he filled one glass and downed it.
Yep, terrible.
He refilled the glass as well as the second one.
Glasses in hand, he headed the few feet back into the living room. When he entered the room, Ava was no longer in the recliner. Instead she stood in front of one of his photos that he had framed on his wall. A moody black and white of a bride in her gown, no veil, lost in her thoughts. Thoughts that were clear on her face—hesitation, doubt, fear. Second thoughts.
Needless to say, that shot didn’t make it into the wedding portfolio.
“This picture is amazing.”
Charlie opened his mouth to tell her he’d taken it, but something stopped him. Maybe a concern that if he told her he was a photographer, she would think he wanted to use her. He wasn’t quite sure what stopped him, but he simply held out the wine.
“Here you go.”
Ava glanced away from the photo and took the glass. She sipped the golden liquid, not seeming to notice the unpleasant taste. Her attention returned to the picture.
“She looks so uncertain, yet I bet she went through with the wedding anyway. Because she thought it was what she should want.”
Charlie took a swallow of his wine rather than tell her that the bride had, in fact, gone through with it. He was far more interested in why Ava Wells seemed to understand all too well that sort of resignation to
Lucy Danziger, Catherine Birndorf