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"So, Thanksgiving's around the corner," Avery starts, setting the glass back down with a soft clink. "Got any plans?"
I shift in my seat, a hand running through my hair-a nervous habit. "Used to get together with the guys—Roman, Lawrence, Sebastian. We haven't set anything in for this year, though." I pause. "I sort of thought I'd be knee deep in construction dirt by this time."
"Sounds like a tradition worth keeping," she encourages.
I give her a half-smile as I notice how her brown eyes catch the dim lighting. "What about you? What's your Thanksgiving look like?"
"Olivia and I keep it simple. Just a little dinner, the two of us." I can almost picture it as she says the words. The thought warms me, picturing the two of them lit up with holiday excitement.
"Family coming to join you?" I ask, hoping to show that I'm genuinely interested in her answer.
"Family's just... Olivia and me."
I feel a pang of sympathy as she says the words.
"My father died of cancer when I was young. My mother drank herself to death out of grief not long after.My grandparents took me in. But, they passed away soon after I moved out."
"Sorry to hear that," I say, my voice low.
"Life deals its hands," she replies with a shrug, forcing a smile. "We play the cards we're given, right?"
"Right," I echo, lifting my drink in a quiet salute before taking another sip. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," I add, realizing my error. I'm finding it hard not to ask Avery questions. I want to get to know her and for the first time since we met, it feels like she's opening up.
She shakes her head. "It's okay. Maybe it's something we can connect over—the broken homes, I mean." She looks at me, her brown eyes searching mine.
"Yeah, maybe."
"Can I ask—what drew you to development work?" She leans forward, her elbows on the table. "I'll admit that I'm curious about the man behind the starched suits and business plans."
I give her a small smile and shrug, swirling the remnants of my drink in the glass. "To be honest, I don't know for sure. Maybe... it's because I've never really had a home that stayed a home. So, I figured if I couldn't have one, I'd build them for others."
My admission hangs between us, earnest and unexpectedly vulnerable.
We sit in silence for a moment longer, neither of us knowing what else to say. I glance at my watch and nod toward our empty glasses, anxious to break the awkwardquiet. "I should get this," I say, standing to settle the tab with Johnny at the bar.
"Thanks, Victor," Avery says as I return. I help Avery back into her coat.
"Anytime," I reply, trying to seem at ease again, but I'm never at ease around Avery.
As we walk to the door, Johnny comes over, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Remember, ragazzi," he says with a warmth that only years of pouring drinks and listening to stories can bring, "finding common ground—it's like making good coffee. Takes patience, the right touch, and a willingness to try again if it's not perfect the first time."
"Thanks, Johnny," Avery says, smiling at the old wisdom dressed up in simplicity.
"Goodnight, Johnny," I add with a nod.
We step outside and the cold hits us like a splash of icy water, sobering and sharp. Avery shivers beside me, and I resist the urge to drape an arm around her shoulders. Instead, I stuff my hands into my coat pockets and lead the way down the frosted sidewalk.
"Looks like they're getting ready for the season," her breath forming little clouds as she points at the gleaming outside rink ahead, surrounded by twinkling holiday lights.
I follow her gaze. "You know, we're due for another try on the ice."
"Are we now?" she teases. "Who says you get another chance?" She raises an eyebrow, goading me.
I turn to face her. My finger brushes the underside of her chin and I know her shiver is from my touch and not the cold. "I do," I reply.
"And, why's that?" Her tone is softer now.
"Because, I always get what I want."