Chapter 38 I pull up to the address Avery sent me, half expecting some trendy new restaurant or boutique or plastic surgeon she scheduled to repair my supposed sun damage, but find instead an ornate, gated entrance with a gold sign that reads The Pines: A Luxury Retirement Village. I see several multiunit condo buildings when I first pull in, their backsides planted square on the beach, and if I crane my neck, I can see some more private residences through the back end of the parking lot. I pull into a space in front of the first building, not knowing exactly where I'm supposed to be and why the hell anything would be in a luxury retirement village in the first place. I blink, glancing back down at the message on my phone to double-check the address, and then smile as I confirm it's correct. I swear, I'm never going to know what's coming. Typing fast, I send her a quick message. Me: I can't tell you how exciting it is to be with a woman who keeps me on my toes, but if you tell me we're swinging with a bunch of senior citizens, I'm going to have to draw a line. Her reply comes almost immediately. Avery: HAHAHAHA. Just meet me in condo 305, you idiot. Shaking my head, I shut off the engine and make my way to the specified building. The whole place screams money-pristine landscaping, valet golf carts, and a fountain in the courtyard that probably cost more than most people's homes-and old wealth, at that. These aren't the new, modern tech bros I see out at the clubs; this is wealth a la the Titanic. I knock on the door of condo 305 with a small knot in my stomach and a gleam in my eye. I'm not sure what the hell Avery Banks is up to, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled she picked a place without paparazzi-an unfortunate reality I'm growing increasingly annoyed with since we arrived back from the island nearly two weeks ago. When the door swings open, I'm greeted by an elderly woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a mischievous glint in her eye. She fits the location, but she doesn't fit anything else. Not unless my girlfriend found a way to shape-shift or teleport the two of us about fifty years ahead in Earth's timeline. "Avery? Is that you?" I question a little teasingly, and the woman, thankfully, laughs. I suppose I can mark the possibility of dementia-related charity work off the list. "Oh my, aren't you just a tall drink of water?" Her gaze sweeps me from head to toe. "The news made you look a little shorter. Less rugged. I mean, my God, sweetie, you're something." She giggles again. "I would have broken your heart back in my day." I chuckle a little and try to smile, leaning to look around the random old lady who seems to know me without me knowing her. "Um, thanks...I think. Is Avery here, by any chance? I'm supposed to be meeting her." "I'm Ethel." She grins and holds out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Come on in, honey." The thing is, she still hasn't said if Avery is actually here or not. She steps aside but not before giving my bicep a little pat. "I'll get you a nice glass of lemonade if you flex for me just-" "Hands off, Ethel," Avery's voice finally calls from inside, sending a zing of relief down my spine. "He's mine." He's mine. At ease with those words instantly, I smile again, placating Ethel a little. "I don't know about flexing, but if you play your cards right, I might be able to lift something heavy." Ethel grins. "God, I love young people. You have so much energy and spunk." I step inside with a newly renewed bounce in my step, and my smirk only widens as I take in the scene. Avery is standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by a group of older women draped in clothes and jewelry, makeup strewn all over the coffee table. To her right, a rack of expensive clothes is set up, and one of the women is admiring herself in a floor-length mirror. "Ladies, this is Henry," Avery says, turning to face me and then blushing a little before turning back to the women. "The one I was...telling you about." They all hem and haw a little extra, raking me with their eyes and cooing until Avery slices a hand across her throat for them to cut it out. "Henry, meet Ethel, Blanche, Dottie, Joanne, and Sarabeth. And this lovely woman here is Darla. We're working on getting her set up with a new wardrobe." "Oh, he's even more handsome up close," Dottie says, peering at me over the rim of her glasses. "Like a modern-day lumberjack," Sarabeth chimes in. "That beard is impressive." Self-consciously, I scratch at the facial hair I've trimmed to a neat length but haven't been able to bring myself to shave off yet. "And those arms," Joanne adds, fanning herself dramatically. "Avery, you didn't tell us he was a Greek god." Avery rolls her eyes but smiles. "All right, calm down, cougars. Don't scare him off. Though, come to think of it...you like older ladies, don't you, Henry?" I nearly snort at the memory of Avery's island commentary when I told her I had a crush on Ross's mom. "Maybe this is actually a shopping expedition for your new mate." "I'm a changed man," I tell her confidently, instead of getting embarrassed and tucking my tail. "These days, I find myself liking them a little younger. Twenty-seven, to be exact." "Oh, he's not going anywhere," Blanche says with a wink. "This boy's in love. Aren't you, Henry?" Avery's eyes jump to mine, and I balk only slightly at the three-word expression neither one of us has been bold enough to admit yet. I want to, but I hardly think brunch hour with the Golden Girls is the appropriate time. "Something like that," I settle for saying instead. "I don't have any plans to be anywhere else, with anyone else, anytime soon." Avery avoids my eyes and messes with the draping on Darla's sweater, but I know what she's thinking. She loves me too. It's the only thing that would stun her enough to keep her quiet. "So...how did you all meet my Avery?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation going without putting too much attention on the only common denominator in this room-my girlfriend. "Your Avery?" Ethel asks, a big smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes at my slip of the tongue. "She's our stylist, of course." I smile. Avery Banks, stylist to the senior population of Miami. It's both ridiculous and completely perfect for her all at once. I can't help but think this is the true direction she needs to be going career-wise, and this, though adorably weird, is a great start. "She's the best," Dottie chimes in. "She's been helping us all look fabulous for months now. If it weren't for Avery, I'd still be wearing last season's Ralph Lauren." "And we can't have that," Joanne adds with a wink. I glance at Avery, who's doing her best to look unbothered, but the slight blush creeping up her cheeks gives her away. "She's a godsend," Blanche adds, gesturing toward the rack of clothes. "Just look at all this. Her eye for fashion is unmatched." "Is that so?" I say, grinning as I turn to Avery, but she just flashes me a knowing look, a silent, don't you dare say anything right now. I give her a grin that says, I won't embarrass you now, but we'll talk later. Avery hands Darla a fancy cardigan and guides her toward the mirror. "Try this on, Darla. See how it pairs with the pants? They're perfect for accentuating your hips. Which, come on, girl, you have to know you have great hips. Don't be afraid to show them off." Darla blushes but follows Avery's instructions, and I take a moment to glance around the room. A fancy tea set and an array of finger foods sit on the coffee table in the middle of the makeup, and the rest of the women are sipping tea like this is a weekly occurrence. Which, fuck, maybe it is? At this point, nothing would surprise me when it comes to Avery. "You're really good at this," I say to Avery as the women all stand and move to try on more clothes in the back room. She shrugs, brushing off the compliment. "It's just a little something I do for fun." "Fun? Avery, you're basically running a boutique out of someone's condo. This could be your job if you wanted it to be." "Oh no." She groans. "You're not going to start all that crap about never working a day in your life if you do what you love again, are you?" I laugh because she's funny, but the idea of her being a stylist isn't funny at all. "I'm serious, Ave. Look at the way they light up when you help them. You have a real gift, and from what I can tell, you seem to enjoy it." "Sure, I like it, but it's not a job. I don't even charge them." Just as she says this, the women file back into the room, now dressed to the nines in the outfits Avery picked for them. Their confidence radiates, and I can't help but feel proud of her. "Ladies," I say, addressing the group, "if you don't mind my asking, how much are you paying my very talented stylist girlfriend for her services?" "She never lets us pay," Ethel answers immediately, her eyes narrowing on Avery. "We've tried to several times. Between the group of us, we've talked about anywhere from five hundred to a thousand an hour." I glance at Avery, who just shrugs again, clearly unimpressed by my line of questioning and the answers it's producing. Sarabeth agrees. "We'd pay top dollar for Avery's expertise." "She's worth every penny," Blanche says, nodding. "I'd sell my husband's golf clubs if it meant keeping her around," Joanne adds with a sly grin. Avery rolls her eyes but doesn't hide the secret smile that creeps onto her lips. In that moment, I know in so many ways that this is so much more than lunch booty calls and spicy texts and two weeks on an island. A lot of people would think Avery is superficial, but I know better. I know what lies beneath the surface, I know her heart, and I know the humor she uses to hide it all. I know all of it. I know all of her. And one day, she's going to be officially, publicly, one hundred percent mine.