Page 43 of One Big Little Secret

Button shirt? I rack my brain, trying to decipher little boy speak.

“You mean a button-up shirt? And you do, huh?” I blink at him and put my spoon in my bowl. “Why’s that?”

“Mr. Grumpybutt has one. It makes him look grown-up.” He smiles mischievously. “I remember ’cause I spilled cocoa on it.”

“You did, yes.” I’m a little amazed he remembers the disaster when he can be so oblivious. I’m also stumped at kid logic. “But I thought you didn’t like him?”

“Idon’t. I mean, only a little.” Arlo looks at me like it’s obvious. “But he owns a whole building, Mom. He’s rich.”

“Maybe so, but—”

“You gotta listen to him. That’s not fair!”

I eye him carefully. Only five years old and he hates office politics. I have trained the boy well.

“That’s how it works sometimes. It doesn’t mean it’s bad. You have to listen to me,” I tell him. “That doesn’t make me so special, does it?”

“No, but you’re a grown-up!” He rolls his eyes so hard I laugh. “I’m just a kid.”

“So?”

“So it’scoolMr. Grumpybutt gets to tell you what to do. He gets to boss around a lot of people.”

Well, no argument there.

Arlo picks at his garlic bread crust.

“If I get a button shirt, I can be like him!”

Perfect.

Absolutelypeachy.

My son, estranged from his unknown father, has decided after asingle meetingto fixate on him. To flipping imitate him.

A man who would, undoubtedly, freak like his hair’s on fire if he knew the kid who tore up his precious new property was really his own son.

A man who would absolutely go nuclear if he had to contemplate giving up a shred of his seemingly perfect lifestyle to burn one hour as a dad.

Like I said, call me Miss Unlucky.

The gods of good fortune decided to forsake me forever after one random night on a casino boat, and I’ll never be over it.

6

QUIT WHILE YOU’RE AHEAD (PATTON)

All things considered, the next couple weeks go smoothly.

Aside from the fact that I can’t get Salem’s face out of my head.

The way she looked at me after I reassured her it was a simple mistake, and we don’t have to dwell on it.

Like somehow, I’m the bad guy.

Like by saying that, I torched her feelings in a way I still don’t understand.

Like I switched off some light inside her by calling it amistake.

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