Seeing Clearly (4 page)

Chapter 5

Gretchen

It was Collin's birthday and we were celebrating by eating a family-style meal at Whit's End restaurant. We were sitting at a huge, rustic, round table in the back of the main dining room. The team of servers had already dropped off baskets full of chips and bread and two pitchers of drinks. One was full of water and the other fresh squeezed lemonade. The male server, a lanky college age guy with a red apron, said he'd be back in a minute to take any other drink orders.

There were still a few of us missing, but those of us who were there started to pour our drinks and chow down on the chips and bread.

"This is my favorite place to eat," Collin said with a huge grin on his face. He was shoveling in the chips and salsa like this was his last meal, and I wondered how he managed to stay so thin, but then I remembered that with the amount of swimming he did, he probably needed that kind of caloric intake.  Zack and Josh, two other swimmers who were sitting at the table, were also devouring the bread and chips. Josh no longer swam as regularly as Zack and Collin since he only did it through college level, but apparently he was active enough to eat bread and butter without thinking twice about it.

After being on the set of a daytime soap opera for a month, I could safely say I would
never
put another bite of food into my mouth without feeling a little guilty about it. Everyone onset was
completely
obsessed with their diet and exercise plan. I had never put much thought into staying in shape, but I knew I'd have to learn quickly if I wanted to make it in daytime television.

We were still missing three people at the table. I knew one of them was one of Collin's teammates from L.A. Aquatics and the other was Joel Perrin. Rachel had told me that much. What I didn't know was which one of them would be bringing a date to fill that third chair.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, Joel Perrin showed up alone, giving me the answer to my question. It was the first time I'd seen him since the night of Rachel's party when I slapped him. I was accustomed to seeing him in suit and tie since I'd only been around him in a business setting or at formal events. He was dressed casually in dark blue jeans and a lightweight plaid button up. His wavy black hair (that was normally combed back in a tidy style) was falling loosely over his ears and forehead.
What a gorgeous head of hair,
I thought.

Joel approached Collin before choosing a place to sit. Collin stood up to greet
him with a smile and some words of thanks for making it. I couldn't really hear, since I was sitting across the table. Joel gave him a few claps to the shoulder and handed him the small gift bag he was holding.

"You didn't have to."

I was basically lip reading, but Collin was really expressive and I could tell what he was saying. Joel made a face like it was no big deal and said something back to Collin that I couldn't distinguish.

They went on talking for another full minute at least before Joel ever took a look around himself. In fact, by the time they finished talking, the other two people who were missing from the party had taken their seats, leaving Joel with only one option for a seat. Yes, the lone seat happened,
just happened
to be next to me.

I got nervous
and shifty when it became apparent Joel would be sitting next to me. I cursed him internally for having that kind of affect on me. I tried to remind myself that I had no reason to be nervous, but I couldn't stop the butterflies in my stomach. I was right on the edge of a giddiness meltdown at the sight of him and his loose hair, and to top it all off, now he would be sitting next to me all night.

Thankfully, it turned out to be less awkward than I anticipated. Thirty seconds after Joel took his seat next to me the servers started setting out the family-style meal. They brought
huge bowls full of yummy, spicy casseroles and vegetable dishes, placing them in the center of our table. We passed them around like it was Thanksgiving dinner in Mexico (if there is such a thing).

My hand brushed with Joel's several times as we passed the dishes this way and that. Unintentional hand brushing was inevitably going to happen. When it did, he and I both tried to act like we hadn't even noticed it, but
I
mother scratching noticed it, that's for sure. I felt an electrical jolt in my gut every time my hand touched his.

The laughter and conversation going on around the table
had served as a great distraction. It wasn't until we were all stuffing our faces that I wondered if I should say something to Joel, and if so, what?

He beat me to it. From out of the corner of my eye, I could see him turn to me as he said, "How's the new job?" He was speaking quietly enough that no one else around the table paid attention. I turned to face him, our ey
es meeting for the first time all night, before I responded. I took a second to appreciate the unlikely chemistry we shared when we made eye contact.

"I-it's…" I paused to clear my throat.
"It's going good. It's good. I like it a lot." I took a drink of water.
What's wrong with me? Keep it together, Gretchen.

He leaned in so he could speak close to my ear. "Where's the boy? Are you still seeing him?"

"No. Who Caleb? No, he and I were never really
seeing
each other, we're friends. We get along good and we go out sometimes, but I wouldn't say we're seeing each other."

"Why isn't he here with you tonight?"

"Because I didn't ask him to come." I said, with an irritated edge to my voice.
What was he getting at? Since when does he care what I'm doing? I hadn't seen him in a long time, and he hasn't cared enough to try to get in touch with me.

"How's about let's just keep it simple, Mr. Perrin?" I said, in a moment of anger and bravery mixed together. "Let's say, questions about who I
am
or
am not
seeing are off-limits." My smile remained in place as I split a roll open with my fingernails and placed a ridiculous amount of butter inside of it like a big, fat butter sandwich. I took a bite of that butter sandwich just to spite Joel and all his boyfriend questions. I smiled around the delicious mouthful.

"Joel," he said.

My brows drew together in confusion.

"What?" I asked.

"Don't call me Mr. Perrin."

"Okay, Joel." I said lifting a hand in mock surrender. Our whole conversation was
in whispered tones. The rest of the people at the table were completely oblivious to what we were saying.

"I don't like the thought of you with other guys," he said. Again. I groaned and looked up at the ceiling.
Where did this guy get the emmer effing audacity?

I took a deep
, exasperated breath and said, "I think we've established that already, Mr. Perrin. We've also established that you are not my big brother. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's none of your business."

A big hand came around the back of my neck as he moved in closer to whisper into my ear.  My eyes darted around the table, but no one seemed to notice the hold he had on me. He wasn't hurting my neck, but he had a good, firm grip. He was definitely making his presence known back there.

I could feel his breath on my ear as he whispered, "I'd prefer if you don't call me Mr. Perrin again, Gretchen. If you do, I'm going to have to take you to my car and show you what happens to girls who do that."

My head whipped around so I could look at him. He must have been joking, right? There was an easy smile on that gorgeous face. The combination of black hair and green eyes had me so preoccupied that I could hardly remember what he just said. I was thinking I should be mad at him, but when I looked at his beautiful face, I couldn't remember why.

I felt the grip he had on the back of my neck lighten, which reminded me he'd been threatening to take me out back or something.

"Whoa, whoa
, are you
threating
me Mr. Perrin?"

"Are you misbehaving, Gretchen?"

"Just so we're clear though,
Joel
," I said, looking him in the eye. "You know I'm going to call you what I want, and you can't do anything about it, right?"

He just stared at me, unaffected.
"Gretchen, if you were mine, you'd be paying for that mouth of yours, I guarantee you that."

The thought of being
his
made a rush of anticipation hit me like a tidal wave. I played it off, though. "It's a good thing I'm not yours," I said, with a syrupy sweet smile. Joel just turned away from me murmuring curses under his breath.

After that little exchange, Joel and I had an unspoken truce. In fact, we barely spoke to each other at all. Conversation at the table was lively, and Joel and I both interacted with the people around us, forgetting about and/or ignoring the exchange we'd had at the beginning of dinner.

During the dessert, Joel asked me if I'd be willing to ride with him by the house he just bought. He said the movers weren’t scheduled until next week, but he'd gotten the keys today, and was anxious to go take a look at the place. He promised to give me a ride back to the restaurant once we finished seeing the house, so I rode with him.

He was driving a classic car, which didn't surprise me at all. It was in pristine condition with a low-rumbling engine that made me excited to take a ride. Of course, the show-quality car was our main topic of conversation during the first part of the trip to his new place. He told me it was a
'69 Chevy Camaro Super Sport. Knowing he could do anything he put his mind to, I asked him if he'd been the one to restore the car. He said he liked the
idea
of working on a car, but didn't have enough time, so he bought this one in its current condition. I knew it wasn't his only vehicle because the one he was driving when I bummed a ride home from Vegas was an SUV.

"How many cars do you have?" I asked. I could tell we were nearing his house, because we were on a dead end street and he was driving slowly. The neighborhood was gorgeous. 

"Three. You rode in the Audi on our way home from Vegas, and I have a truck too."

"Some collection," I said, "hope you have a three car garage."

Joel laughed.

"The guy who built the place was a car collector. I have room to park at least ten cars."

"What kind of house did you buy, Joel?" I knew he was rich, but how much room did a single guy need? As the question came from my mouth, we pulled up to a huge iron gate. The sides of the fence were covered in a gorgeous flowering vine. Joel typed a code into the keypad and the gate slowly began to swing open. "You have to pass security to go up your driveway? What are you a movie star?"

Lately I'd been enjoying a small measure of fame as the new star of Paradise Island, but I never even considered the possibility of needing a gated house. In fact, I was still living in the small apartment I lived in before I ever got the job. 

"God knows I don't need all this stuff, but, yeah, I did buy it from a movie star."

"Are you serious? Who?"

"Bruce Willis."

"Get. Out!" I said, pushing at his shoulder.

"You're not supposed to be impressed by that, remember? You're a big star now too."

"I am
not
. Not like Bruce Willis." I wasn't even close to Bruce Willis status. I got a good job doing something I loved, but it was just a day job compared to huge movie stars like him.

Actually, being
sort of
famous came with its own perks. I didn't have issues with the paparazzi chasing me all over the place. In fact, Joel and his wonder goggles were probably more likely to be hounded by the camera toters than I was.

Joel's house looked huge. He
said it was because there wasn't a single piece of furniture in it, but I laughed and told him it'd still be the same size once the furniture got there. Our footsteps echoed on the tile floor as we walked through the main living room and into the kitchen. Even without furnishings, the place was amazing. It was a perfect mixture of Spanish and modern. It was a state of the art, commercial grade kitchen just like something you'd see in a restaurant, only cozier.

We toured through the whole place, seeing one empty room after another. He told me a designer was taking care of all of the rooms except for the living room and his bedroom. He said he'd be doing those
two rooms by himself with a little help from Rachel, who doesn't know the first thing about interior design.

"I just don't want to feel like my house came straight out of a magazine. I wanted
it to reflect me a little bit, you know? I may end up hating it and hiring a professional to do it in the long run, but I wanted to give it a shot."

"No, I totally know what you're saying. I have a rich aunt who has one of those living rooms where the furniture is expensive and pristine.
My mom said 'don't do this' or 'don’t do that' about Aunt Kathy's furniture so many times, it made me
hate
going over there. I remember thinking…
I hope I never have fancy furniture you can't touch."