The engagement brunch with their families in autumn was lovely. The centerpiece of the table in Avery's family's solar incorporated brightly-colored leaves from their estate, and since the late morning was blessed to live within one of Colorado's odd sunny and warm October days, they kept some of the doors open and let the dogs drift in and out. They ate french toast and eggs and bacon with delicate fruit salads, fresh-pressed coffee, fresh-squeezed juice, and had their first meal together as a family. Just the immediate family. None of Calden's brothers, nor Avery's cousins. They both have vast extended families, connected by blood and name, but not always right there. No, just their fathers, and Oakley, and the dogs, who tousled happily on the grass with Patches while the humans and one very much inhuman creature ate their brunch.
--
From there on, the holidays derailed just about everything. Avery fought, and fought often, whenever their was snow on the ground. She hunted ruthlessly while juggling challenges at the sept, quietly and formally dissolving her pack, and occasionally giving a thought to wedding plans. Thanksgiving was held at the White ranch, where the Chases were significantly outnumbered by the brood they were going to be bound to by human and monstrous law one day. Avery vanished for a while, during that long weekend. A long while, in fact. By the time Calden drove his truck out and found her she was huddled away in the cold somewhere, face tear-stained, shaking in her human form like she didn't have the energy to shift into a more suitable body. Or perhaps the will to shift, more like. The stress tipped her over, see. That was all. And kept her tipped for some time after the holiday wound down: the stress was only the first domino. All those to follow were carved out of her shame.
Everyone gradually departed the White ranch. Avery kept to herself in a spare bedroom, the door locked and the lights off, occasionally permitting Patches inside to curl up with her on the bed. Spoiled thing. And in a couple of days she was able to come out, and able to forgive herself and be forgiven, and eat more wholesomely, and curl up and talk to her lover about a few things. About the wedding, and related worry. About fear. About details. About shame, about judgement, about loneliness cycling into pure-driven isolation cycling into loneliness. She talked, and she stayed with him in his bed, and slowly returned to her old self again.
--
They exchanged rings for the first time at Christmas. A quiet little holiday between the two of them, in her penthouse in the city. Gorgeous, custom-made engagement rings. They cooked for each other and Avery curled up with him in the library to really start talking about wedding plans.
Lots of dithering, then. Spring, maybe, with a floral theme. They met in spring. Then again, the weather is so unpredictacle. Autumn, since they were engaged then, but again: unpredictable, cold, right before the holidays. Winter, maybe -- she envisioned some long-sleeved dresses, a snowy tableau. And then Calden mentioned the summer solstice. Mentioned paganism as a joke.
The next time he looked up from his plate at Avery, found her looking at him with a small smile, stars in her eyes. Kissed him then, touching his face with that newly diamond-laden hand.
--
June bookings are hard to come by. So by the time January and February have spun through the beginning of 2015, many of the details have been locked down. Vendors have been scheduled and deposits have been paid. Decisions have been made, and a few arguments have been had. Save-the-Dates have been sent and invitations are about to -- but the printer is handling all of that. All they had to do was send them the list and it's all being taken care of. But there is still plenty to do. Which is what Avery is doing now, sitting in that high-ceilinged living room of Calden's, wearing semi-skinny but mostly straight-legged dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater over a pink oxford shirt, the tails sticking out. Her hair is quite trimmed these days, and even with her shoes and socks off and the bling on her left hand, the effect is quite... preppy.
She has one earbud in her ear and an iPod in her left hand, a notebook balanced on her knee. She's working on set lists and song choices -- both MUST PLAY and DO NOT PLAY -- not just for the band at the reception, but for the music playing when the band is taking a break. On the table in front of her is a plate with the remnants of a few cookies and a mostly-empty glass of milk. There is a fire in the hearth, but a low one.
Calden WhiteAvery is preppy as hell. Her name, her looks, her family, her bloodlines. It's all right though; Calden is cowboy as hell. And anyway, he appreciates it. Appreciates her. Appreciates everything about her.
Avery's gentleman friend, aka fiance, is not home at the moment. He's out with the horses and the dogs and the men and the cows, though it's late. It's spring. Calving season, foaling season. One or the other occupies his mind and his energies right now, has for the past few hours. A difficult birth -- bane of all living things since the dawn of time.
There was a text around dinnertime:
Still waiting. Leftovers in the fridge. Be back soon as I can. Love you.
And now another:
Done. Back soon.
And a third:
Need a shower first though.
--
Presently Avery hears it: footsteps on the back stairs, men's voices bidding each other goodnight. Back door slides open. The entire first floor of Calden's home is open and spacious. Sound carries. Light, too. Wherever she is, likely he sees her.
Likely she sees him. Coming in weary but pleased: pleased with a hard day's work well done, pleased to see his lover in the light of his hearth. Calden takes his hat off, and his boots, and his jacket. Dusts hay and dirt from his thighs. His sleeves are rolled up. There's the smell of blood and birth on him, prey-animals, dirt.
"Let me wash first," he calls, walking up the stairs already. "Did you eat?"
Avery ChaseHer favorite is intended.
Calden is her intended. She introduces him as such. She just prefers it. It's strict American English. It's softened but not vague. It speaks of will, of choice. In some ways, in her secret heart, it speaks of a sensation of destiny, inevitability. She had barely met him but that she fell into him, and she had barely fallen into his arms but that she was falling for him, him, forever him.
He is what she intends. He is what was intended for her. It makes her very happy to say it aloud.
--
Leftovers, he says. So she bakes cookies. Full-on bakes them. No corner store to run to, grab a packet of dough to break apart, none of that. Avery digs through the pantry and bakes chocolate chip cookies and then she eats half the batch and then she feels a little sick so she takes a nap. Wakes up and Calden hasn't texted yet. She decides to start working again on the music, which is where she is when she gets the next text.
Oh! He's coming.
Avery unplugs her headphones and turns off her music and darts to the kitchen to put her plate and glass in the dishwasher. She decides to start pulling leftovers out of the fridge, unwrapping fanned strips of steak from foil, peeling the lid off of the roasted potatoes. Which is where she is, what she's doing, when she hears the truck and the doors and leaves everything where it is.
So both she, and the pattering of Patches, traipse quickly and delightedly out to greet them. Patches is wagging her tail. If Avery had one, she would be. She is clean and fresh and smells good with traces of Cookie Breath, and gets to him as he's dusting himself off at the entryway.
Nevermind all that. She tosses her arms around him, mess and all, and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. "No,"
she says, which is not quite a lie. "You clean up," she adds, stepping back, unwinding herself. "Would you like wine?"
Calden WhiteCalden steps back instinctively, but in the end: no, he doesn't keep her from hugging him. It's her choice. It's her decision, if she wants to get messy, if she wants to shower. Possibly with him. His arms go around her. She feels so warm, so feminine, so strong. He nuzzles her neck and kisses the corner of her mouth, smiling.
Then they draw apart. His eyebrows furrow a little. "It's almost nine in the evening," he says, concerned. "Next time, eat. Don't wait."
And then he's going up the steps -- pausing, one foot a step above the last. Quirks a smile. "Yeah. Pick a nice red from the cellar." Glances past her: the table, the lists. "Seating arrangements?"
Avery ChaseWell she was just going to hug him. Though he'd keep his arms out, away from her pretty sweater. But no: he embraces her, nuzzles her, and she squeals a bit at his stink, his mess. Wrinkles her nose and wriggles away, laughing more at herself than anything: she should have known better.
Avery presses her lips together, looking up at the ceiling with just her eyeballs. "I may have made cookies," she admits. Ignores his concern. Telling him not to fuss and worry so much has never worked, anyway. He passes by her, heads upward. She turns on her bare heel, watching him, hands clasped behind her back.
He asks. She smirks, shakes her head. "Music lists. If you don't tell someone not to play 'Take Me To Church', they'll somehow convince themselves it's a brilliant idea. You have to be very specific."
Calden WhiteCalden's most of the way up that heavy, well-made staircase. Smirks back at her: "I suppose a certain '80s Madonna song is out too, then."
--
He disappears into the master suite. In the walls, pipes clank and water rushes. Alone, he doesn't take very long. Scrubs his face, his hair, his hands, his body down to his toes.
Comes out after, wrapping himself in a towel, shivering a little. A house like this is hard to keep fully heated, and so the unoccupied rooms, the distant corners of the house: they stay cool. That's why there are so many hearths. Calden scrubs a towel over his head and brushes his teeth; he wipes dry and then hangs his towels up, pulling on an old, comfortable pair of jeans; a button-down shirt. Red plaid, of course.
A sweater over that. Light, because it's getting warmer by the day outside. Nights still cool, though. Upstairs door opens again: he comes down, barefoot, pausing to scritch Patches behind the ears as she comes to greet him. In the kitchen, whatever leftovers are reheating are beginning to smell good.
Avery smells good too. Calden wraps his arm around her waist, kisses her temple this time. Sometimes -- most times -- she's warm like this, close, approachable. Once in a while she's not. Once in a while she vanishes,
sometimes for hours,
sometimes so long he grows worried. Goes looking for her. Found her under a bed once. Found her out on the open range, shivering and miserable, not so long ago. He didn't say a thing then; no repudiation, no blame, not even a question of what she was doing. He knew what she was doing, and why. She is not her madness, but they both know her madness well.
He took his coat off. He wrapped her in it. He led her to the car and drove her back and took her up the back stairs, spirited her into the bedroom. Downstairs, voices, people, wine, food. Upstairs, it was all distant, muffled, and she was alone in the quiet darkness, where he lit a fire and made a hot totty and
just sat with her, close by, until she was herself again.
--
She is herself right now. And he adores her so.
"Cookies, you said." He suddenly remembers this. "I didn't know you baked."
Avery Chase"'Papa Don't Preach', 'Like a Virgin', 'Like a Prayer', 'Material Girl', 'Into the Groove'..."
Avery is ticking them off on her fingers, half-following him. "They're all on the Do Not Play list. Darling, I'm on top of this."
Smiles at him. It's almost a smirk. Blows him a kiss as he goes upstairs.
--
Patches keeps going up and down the stairs. She checks on Calden. She goes back to check on Avery. Each time she watches the two-legged ones for a few moments, then wheels about to go find the other. When Calden comes downstairs and reunites with Avery, the collie's tail is wagging rapidly back and forth in satisfaction.
In the kitchen, Avery is taking warmed-up foods out of the microwave, putting them on plates, while he comes over and wraps his arm around her. She sinks into it like one might let themselves sink into a warm bath. He is a human-shaped warm bath, she thinks, smiling, her eyes drifting closed for a moment. She makes a little humming noise as he kisses her temple.
"Cookies," she confirms, unaware of his winding thoughts; only his adoration shows. She turns to smile at him. "They're in the jar." What's left of them. He'll see. He says he didn't know she baked. Avery scoffs. "Baking is all measuring and mixing. Anyone can follow a recipe. Patches could make cookies if she understood how to use the kitchen scale."
She nuzzles her nose across his cheek. "Pour the wine, darling. I want to get relentlessly drunk and not think a single thought about weddings."
Calden White"Maybe," Calden agrees, "but then she'd bake nothing but milkbones and bacon strips, and then where would we be."
Calden's cheek creases with a grin under her nuzzling nose. He gives her a squeeze, warm and close, and then straightens. "I think we've got most of the details locked down," he says. We, as though he were the one making lists and staying on top of the details. "Even if we didn't give it another thought until June, I'm sure we'll be fine."
He lets go, takes the wine opener out of the cupboard. It's one of those fancy ones that you screw in and then push the handles on, and that is what he does. The cork slides out with a soft pop! and Calden takes down glasses. Fills them.
"Let's eat upstairs," he suggests. "I'll build a fire. We'll get naked and smashed. Make love. Fall asleep. You don't need to go back to the city tomorrow, do you?"
Avery Chase"Don't be so cynical," Avery insists. "Once she learned to bake, she'd want to make things for the ones she loves. Just like we do."
He slips away, and she opens a drawer to get knives, forks. "You say silly things," she says archly, of his suggestion that they could simply not give it another thought. "There's a great deal to do." She pauses, closing the drawer. Thinks for a moment, then gives a soft sigh. "And I do enjoy it. All the minutiae. All the detail that goes into what will ultimately just be ambiance. Subtlety."
Shakes her head. "But it can distract." Her brow gives a little wrinkle, and her eyes focus on his for a moment. "Because everything is so designed, so carefully done, that the simple things and real things around it can be harder to see. It's the forest and the trees. I can get lost."
Avery pauses, setting down the silverware now that he's opened the wine. Is pouring. She wraps her arms around his middle, rests her head against his back, closes her eyes. Feels his heartbeat through sweater, shirt, skin, bone. Listens. She is quiet, then, and he speaks again, and if he speaks to tell her they should eat upstairs, build a fire, naked, smashed, she gently shushes him.
"No planning," she murmurs. "None at all, my darling."
Calden WhiteSomething about that is so Avery. That she believes the best, even of a silly, loyal dog. That she believes even a dog would want to do as she does,
do things for the ones she loves.
Calden's heart swells under his breastbone. He wonders if she feels it, leaning against his back as she is. He puts his hand over hers, those work-won callouses rough against her fine knuckles. Sometimes he almost forgets what a terrible, godlike beast she can become.
"No planning," he promises, softly. "No getting lost in the details. Just us."
Avery ChaseShe doesn't even think about it. Patches loves them. So Patches would hardly be selfish, would she?
It's just that simple.
Again, Avery makes that low, soft hum of contentment and affection. She breathes in deeply, holding him more tightly for a moment, then slowly slides her arms back to herself. Picks up one of the plates and one of the glasses of wine, smiling at him. Just smiles. Turns away only when she needs her eyes to walk properly, heading for the stairs.
Calden WhiteAs she slips away, Calden leans a hip against the counter. He has a smile on his face too, quirking and -- quite taken with her, if we're honest. He folds his arms across his chest. Watches her as she picks up her food, her drink. Watches her, certainly, as she turns away; cocking his head, that smile turning into a bit of a smirk.
She hears him behind her. Picking up his plate, picking up his wine. He catches up to her in a few long strides. On the stairs, Avery's intended is only a step behind, following close and affectionate.
Patches comes with them. She doesn't have to run from one to the other anymore. She's very happy.
At the top of the stairs Calden pauses for a sip of wine. Then he wraps that arm around Avery's waist, wineglass still held with the stem between his fingers. "I love you," he whispers, right in the shell of her ear: as though this were still a secret.
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