Travis by Mia Sheridan

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 and Betty’s out-held 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.

Was it really so wrong to want that, just for one day? In a couple months’ time, I’d never see this man again. Did it really matter?

“Is that why health food is so important to you?” he asked softly.

“I suppose. And I don’t want to give my mom too bad of a rap. She tried, you know, sometimes more than others, but . . . she was a product of her environment. She brought home food she thought we liked. Food we did like, but that wasn’t good for us.”

“How’d you manage to be different?”

“I stole a cantaloupe.”

“Aha. I knew the first time I saw you, you were criminally inclined.”

“I confess. Once upon a time, that was true. I was eleven, and one day I took an alternate route home from school, which took me past this Korean grocery store. There was a stand of cantaloupes. Well, of course, I’d seen cantaloupes on TV before, but we’d never eaten one. I lingered around that stand. I wanted one.” I recalled that moment of wanting. How it’d been a fierce thing inside that I had no way to explain. Maybe I just wanted to be different, to live a life I hadn’t been given, if only for a brief time. Long enough to eat a cantaloupe. “I wanted to experience a cantaloupe, just once,” I said, leaving out the rest.

I could feel Travis’s stare on the side of my face and I glanced at him. His expression was bemused, and something else I didn’t know him well enough to name. “So you stole it,” he said.

“I did. And I was caught immediately.”

“Oh no.”

My lips tipped and even I could hear the tenderness in my voice when I said, “Mr. Kim, the store owner, yelled and railed. I tried so hard not to cry, but I was shaking I was so scared. He marched me a block up the street to this door and this woman, all of four and a half feet tall, answered, and he said, ‘Here, this little thief tried to steal one of our cantaloupes. You deal with her.’” I smiled softly again. “She led me to the roof of her building and she didn’t exactly seem mad, and so I followed her. And there, she had this garden! All these perfectly organized plants and flowers in wooden boxes covering every square inch of that roof. It was a wonder. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. She told me if I spent the next hour digging potatoes out of the dirt, I would have worked off my debt and she’d send me home with a cantaloupe.”

“That was kind,” he said.

“Yes. Yes, she was kind. She and her husband both.” I cleared my throat when the final word of my statement came out scratchy with emotion.

“What happened to them?” Travis asked.

I took a deep breath, surprised that it still hurt to talk about the Kims, that the scar their loss had left behind still pulled tight sometimes. “Mr. Kim died of a heart attack when I was in middle school and Mrs. Kim went back to South Korea where she had family. I send her postcards.”

“But she doesn’t have a permanent address where she can write back to you,” he said.

I didn’t look at him. “No. Not right now.”

“How old were you when she left?”

“Sixteen.”

“And the garden?”

I paused. “The landlord let it remain, even after the Kims left. I replanted a few things in pots and brought them home. And I tried to keep the garden alive, but gardens take a lot of time and a lot of effort, and some money to maintain, and I . . . well, it died. At first it was slow, and I had hope, but then . . . but then, one day it seemed to die, all at once.”

“And the ones you brought home?” he asked, his tone gentle.

I paused, a sharp pain cutting through me. “Well those died eventually too.” Later.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the empathy in his voice was so very clear that a lump formed in my throat.

I managed what I hoped was a bright smile and shrugged. “Anyway, gardening wasn’t really a possibility anymore, but I did get this job at a health food store. It was halfway across town, so I had to take three buses there and back for every shift. But . . . like I said, we didn’t have stores like that in my neighborhood and regardless, without the garden, we couldn’t afford that kind of food. Even with the employee discount at the health food store, I still shopped off the discount shelves. I . . . got that job and I was able to bring home fruits and vegetables . . . eggs . . . so the commute was worth it.” Nourishing food. Food that made us healthy and strong, not sick and still hungry all the time. Food that I sometimes went without so my skinny, little brother would thrive.

The group had come to a stop in front of what had to be Clarice’s booth, a rich velvet blue curtain enclosing the small space, gold moons and stars sewn onto the fabric. Travis and I joined them.

“Who’s up first?” Burt asked, and it had to be noted that his words were markedly slurred.

“I’ll go!” Betty said, pulling aside the curtain and heading unsteadily inside.

Travis raised his brows and gave me a look and I laughed, the heaviness of my memories about the Kims and the rooftop garden that died melted away by the warmth of the sun, and the mildly numbing effects of bad beer.

A dark head of perfect hair came into view, moving above the small group he was walking with.

Gage stepped out of the crowd, a woman next to him saying something and laying her hand on his arm. He stopped and listened to her for a moment, his eyes meeting mine.

I smiled and so did he, even as the woman continued to chatter, oblivious of anything except him. Gage’s gaze moved to Travis and he gave him a small chin lift, his brows lowering slightly as he looked between the two of us.

I felt Travis’s gaze on me too and glanced his way. He appeared to be wrestling with something. But then his expression cleared and he leaned in, his breath at my ear as he said, “Look at me adoringly, Haven.”

“What?”

“Look at me like I’m the only man here at this festival.”

I blinked, tipping my chin, our faces close, those golden-brown eyes catching the sunlight as he smiled that slow grin. I stared, mesmerized, and suddenly, it did feel like he was the only man at the festival. I swallowed, pulling my gaze from those spellbinding eyes to where Gage stood, his brow lowering further as he watched us. The woman talking to him swatted at his arm as if he’d neglected to answer or comment on something she’d said. Gage startled, responding to her and, evidently satisfied, the woman continued talking.

Travis took my hand in his and leaned in again, mock whispering. His hand was warm and enveloped mine. Small sparkles danced up my arm. “Men are simple,” he whispered. “Add a little challenge, a little healthy competition, and the interest increases tenfold.”

I turned to him, my hand still held in his, “Is that true of you too, Travis?”

“Of course. I’m a man, aren’t I?”

“You are definitely a man. I can’t argue with that.”

He laughed softly and those sparkles danced again.

Gage stepped away from the woman he’d been talking—or rather listening—to, and headed our way. I let go of Travis’s hand, feeling a strange loss.

“Haven.” Gage smiled, his straight, white teeth gleaming. “Travis,” he muttered, not moving his gaze from me. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am.”

“We are.”

Travis and I both spoke at once, our heads turning toward one another. With a smile I turned back to Gage. “Yes. We both are. Having fun.” I gave Travis a grin. “It’s been a wonderful day.”

Gage’s eyes grew warm, his gaze lingering on me. “Good. You look beautiful.” His eyes moved from my face to my toes and I felt a warm flush of happiness at the attention from him. My crush. The perfect guy I’d been hoping would look at me in just such a way since the day I’d first seen him.

In a way that suggested he was perfect for some harmless, summer fun.

“Thank you,” I said, casting my eyes down momentarily. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m supposed to present an award at the grandstand so I should get going.” He paused, his eyes lingering on me. “There’s a concert in the park next weekend. It’s not as big as this event, but it’s a nice time, especially if the weather cooperates. Maybe you’d like to go?”

I felt a small thrill between my ribs. Was he asking me on a date?

“You too, Hale,” Gage said, not looking at Travis.

Okay, maybe a group date?

“We already have plans to go to the Crawfordsville Antique Fair next weekend,” Travis said smoothly.

Hold up, what? My head whipped toward Travis, but his eyes were glued to Gage. Gage stared back, his lips tipping slowly.

“I didn’t know you antiqued, Hale,” Gage said. “Do you crochet too?”

“Ha. Funny joke,” Travis said, glancing at his fingernails as though he was more bored than amused by Gage’s humor. “No, no crocheting.” He smiled at me. “But, Haven’s inspired me to try all kinds of new things,” he said, pausing for a beat. “Plus, the flimsy bachelor pad furniture I’ve been living with is getting old in more ways than one. I’ve decided it’s time to invest in more permanent pieces.”

Gage’s eyelids flickered minutely and he nodded slowly. “I agree. Completely.”

Travis regarded him placidly. I noticed that he didn’t add any version of, “You too, Buchanan,” in reference to our apparent antique fair outing.

“I was sorry to hear about your breakup,” Gage said, and I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on between the two of them at the moment, but Gage did sound sincere. Travis merely grunted. “Have things changed . . .” Gage moved his finger back and forth between the two of us.

“No, no,” we both said at once, looking at each other and laughing awkwardly. “Still just friends,” I murmured.

Gage was looking at me now. “I . . . see.” He paused, a smile gathering. “If not this weekend, dinner Wednesday night? I know a great place right on the water.”

A breath caught in my throat. A date. Dinner, just the two of us, was definitely a date.

“Oh,” Travis said, making a low hissing sound between his teeth. “Isn’t that the night Betty has the . . . thing?”

I looked at Travis, leaning forward. “The . . . thing?”

“Right, you know, the—” He widened his eyes very slightly.

“Oh right!” I said, looking back at Gage. “Betty has a thing. She needs me there. For the . . . thing.”

Gage looked slightly amused, and slightly perturbed. “Friday?” he asked. “What about Friday?”

Before Travis could get a word in, I said quickly, “I’d love to?” My eyes widened at the question I’d added to the end. “I’d love to,” I amended.

Gage smiled. “Great. What’s your number?” I gave him my phone number and he quickly entered it in his phone. “Maybe you’ll tell me more about those possums you love so much.”

Oh, Lord. I felt the heat infuse my cheeks but couldn’t help smiling.

He began backing away. “See you both later.”

“Bye.” I watched as he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

“There you go. The perfect day just gets more perfect. Gage Buchanan asked you on a date.”

I turned to Travis. His expression was curiously blank. “Antique fair?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It was the only thing that came to mind that’s going on next weekend. Anyway, it worked, didn’t it? You got a free concert in the park, surrounded by hordes of people, elevated to dinner alone at what I’m sure will be the priciest joint in town.”

“What was wrong with Wednesday?”

“Always hold out for a weekend date, Haven. I’m surprised you don’t know these things.”

“Strategy?” I asked.

“Strategy,” he confirmed.

“A date, with Gage.”

“Yes, Haven, a date. With Gage. A weekend date with Gage. And I think you have my . . . adequate muscles to thank for giving him that extra push of competition.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Travis. You’re a valuable wingman.”

He nodded but his smile seemed forced.