Amiss

Chapter 8 - Ava

The doorbell chimes just as I'm popping the garlic bread in the oven. Glancing up at the clock, I smirk, seeing that it's only 5:50 pm. Someone's eager. Unlatching the deadbolt, I open the door to a pleasant surprise, Trey's looking incredibly dapper in a collared shirt and neat chinos. I was beginning to suspect he only owned track pants and hoodies, but it's nice to be proven wrong. My eyes can't help but linger; even his hair is neatly slicked down. "Hi," I murmur while tucking my fringe out of my face. Maybe having him over was a bad idea.

"Hey, Ava," he greets me with a twinkle in his eyes. It's as if he knows how drool-worthy he looks right now. My gawking is interrupted when he produces a bottle, previously concealed behind his back. My eyebrows hit the ceiling as I read the label. Moet. This isn't a cheap bottle of plonk. "Welcome to the neighbour," he says with a grin. He must know I can't refuse the gift under that premise.

"Wow, Trey. It's ah, very fancy," I murmur as the chilled bottle is pushed into my hands. "You really shouldn't have brought anything but thank you." He shrugs at my scolding, seemingly relieved that I've accepted. It's such an expensive gift, especially for someone who never seems to work. Trey's such an enigma but I decide now is not the time to interrogate him. "Come in," I beckon him through the entryway. "I hope you're hungry?"

"Yeah, starving," he confesses, as I close the door behind us and begin the incredibly short tour of the lounge. He gapes at the monstrosity of a TV, that's currently streaming cartoons. I haven't been watching, but I find the background noise comforting. "Woah. That's huge," he comments in awe.

"Yeah, it's overkill if you ask me." Kyal had wanted one that size and insisted we rent it. There is no way I could justify the cost of one outright.

"I want one," Trey takes a step closer to inspect it, while I shake my head to myself. Men, they certainly like their toys.

"We'll watch something on it later if you want. Let's eat first," I suggest and he nods, tearing his eyes away from the screen and trailing after me into the kitchen/dining room. I don't have a dining table yet, so I've set two placemats at the breakfast bar. Other than the couch, the two bar stools are the only seats in the house.

"Shall we open this up now?" I ask him while holding the champagne.

"It's your gift. You open it when you want to drink it," he smiles as he slides into one of the bar stools.

"I have no idea if soup and champagne go together, on seconds thoughts, probably not. But I'm keen to see what all the fuss is about..." Well, it is already chilled after all. "Can you do the honours while I serve up?" I request with a smile and place the wine glasses in front of him.

"Sure, how hard can it be," Trey says while seizing the bottle. I turn my back to the stove and begin ladling soup into our bowls while hearing the sound of struggle and a few muttered curses. A giggle escapes my lips before the champagne cork makes a satisfying pop. Everything's served on the counter as I make my way around the bar and take a seat.

"That's not fair." I notice our wine glasses; mine is virtually overflowing while his glass barely holds a mouthful.

"But I've never tasted champagne before," he tells me with a shrug and eyes the bubbling liquid suspiciously.

"I haven't either. Let's give it a go then." Raising the glass to my lips, I take a tentative sip as Trey's eyes watch me in anticipation, gauging my reaction. "It's not as sweet as I expected but still yummy. What do you think?"

He takes a small gulp of the fizzing liquid before pulling a face which tells me he's not a fan. "Yeah, I can see why people pour it over themselves at the races." His words make me giggle again.