"Let her walk away, Jamie," A voice drawls from behind me. I turn, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my worn jeans.
Avery closes, well, slams, the door behind her, causing an eruption of noise to clap through the hallway. I close my eyes, briefly, before regaining my patience and letting the fight sink in.
Nash leans against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest, ankles crossed. The boots on his feet are dusty and duct tape is the only thing keeping them alive. His cowboy hat has been pulled down low, as if to cover his features, all but his mouth.
"She ain't going to listen to word you say, unless you listen to her first," My older brother looks up at me, his wise ocean blue eyes holding so many burdens, "Always let the woman control her mouth. Don't be putting words in there, or else, she'll dump your butt."
I nod, grateful for the advice.
"The first thing you do," Nash steps away from the wall, his arms still folded, "is you let the woman breathe. You give her a little space to collect, relax, think. Than? You..." He looks at me, waiting for my answer.
"Apologize," I grin.
Nash shakes his head, "Close, but not quite. You sit down and you let her share her view on the problem. Always make sure you let her express how she feels. That's what women need. They need to feel like they're heard and appreciated."
"After you've talked it over, make sure to tell you how you feel. It's perfectly normal for a man to have emotion, and you need to express that sometimes," Nash explains, "And last, resolve the conflict by showing some kind of affection, if she's comfortable with that. If it means a kiss, a hug, some time alone with the lights out," My older brother winks, squishing his hat back on, "I'll be around. Catch you later, little brother."
"Thanks, cowpoke," I give him a grin.
I do what Nash says by letting Avery catch her breath for a while. When it's nearing seven in the evening, I knock on her door, waiting for a response.
"Come in," She calls from inside. I open the door, slipping inside the room.
Avery sits at her vanity, fixing her hair. She looks over her shoulder at me, face dropping. My heart plunges into my stomach, yet I resume my pursuit towards her.
"You haven't used the front door for a while, Jameson," Avery turns back to her mirror, applying an alarming amount of mint flavored chapstick to her mouth.
"How are you doing?" I question, pulling up a chair beside her. She looks at me, confused.
"I thought you came to apologize," Avery raises a brow, "Why are you asking questions?"
"I came to talk," I say, eyeing the products on her table. Avery nods, slowly, as if not sure of my plan.
"Well, life is going," She tells me, going silent after her response.
"You can keep going, Avery," I use her given name, "Just tell me about it." She furrows her eyebrows, but continues.
"I just... when you raised your voice at me, I got a little stunned, and that's why I started crying. I don't want you to look at me like I'm a weak little girl who has no control over her feelings, because I do, I just... my dad used to yell at me, and I have some memories attached to that tone of voice I would rather forget."
I give a simple nod, a sign of understanding.
"I hate it when I make people feel mad, and I'm sorry I got you all riled up. I shouldn't have done that, Jameson. Forgive me, please."
"Heiress," I grin, leaning closer to her, "in what world would I never forgive you? You are so lovable. I can barely look at you without wanting to wrap my arms around you and giving you a big kiss."
Avery smiles, and gives me an unexpected hug. I tense up a bit, but ease into the motion, feeling her warmth.
Thank you, Nash.
