Page 26 of A Whole New Game

She grins. “Yes, please!”

I place another small scoop on her plate. Seeing the dish is close to full, I turn around and grab a clean plate from the counter behind me, adding a slice of peach cobbler to it, before placing it on her tray.

Her smile grows. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good lunch.”

The little girl moves along to join the woman waiting for her at the end of the serving line. We make eye contact, and she gives me an appreciative smile before leading her daughter to an open table.

I serve the next person in line, but I feel someone’s attention on the side of my face.

I look up and see Carlee. She’s switched places with Jose. I wonder why, but then I see the stool placed by the main courses. The counter is not as wide there, meaning Jose can still servefood while seated. Where Carlee and I stand is wider, meaning we have to lean over to put food onto people’s plates. Well, Carlee has to lean over. My long arms are made for this task.

Her expression is contemplative as she looks between me and the little girl’s retreating figure.

“What?” I ask, scooping food onto the next person’s plate.

“You’re good with kids. I never knew that.”

I’m trying to think of how to respond when she says, “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t speak for ten years. People change.”

I don’t think she means to sound despondent, but she does. And I don’t know what to say.

So, I keep quiet and continue to scoop green beans and slices of peach cobbler onto plates, but I spend the entire time wondering how to clear the air between us.

I’m surprised to realize I want Carlee to ask me why I’m here. I want her to ask about my connection to Soup Soul.

My earlier unease had been a knee-jerk reaction, fueled by years of keeping this part of my life a secret—years of fearing that those who care about me only do so because they feel sorry for me.

But now, there’s no denying I want to tell Carlee the truth. If I didn’t, I would’ve turned around and walked out of Soup Soul without giving her the chance to see me.

Subconsciously, I’d wanted her to see me. I want someone to know this part of me.

No, not someone.

I want Carlee to know this part of me.

There’s a strange feeling that twists its way through my chest every time she’s near. I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels damn close to how I felt just before I kissed her on prom night all those years ago.

But unlike prom night, I let myself lean into the feeling.

I’m thinking of how to share this part of my story with Carlee. I plan to invite her to grab coffee with me so we can talk, but I never get the chance.

The moment the last person is through the food line, she helps Jose move the chafing dishes to the back of the kitchen where other volunteers start to wash them. I overhear her tell him goodbye while I’m carrying my dishes to the back. She leaves the kitchen, tossing her hairnet in the trash, without so much of a glance my way.

I watch her go, feeling like an idiot.

It doesn’t matter if I want to clear the air with Carlee. She wants nothing to do with me, and I need to respect that. I just didn’t know it would be so fucking hard.

I’m forced to admit what I’ve been shoving down since the moment I saw Carlee across that bar the night I arrived in Dallas.

I still have feelings for my best friend’s little sister—just like I did when I was an emotionally stunted adolescent.

And while it’s been a decade, I’m no closer to having a shot with her. And I only have myself to blame.

10

CARLEE

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