Page 41 of One Big Little Secret

I narrow my eyes at the wall.

“I see,” I say.

This feels like our conversation earlier, where my vocabulary topped out at two-word replies.

“Mommy! Look,” Arlo whispers, holding up his picture and shaking it.

“Just a minute.” I point at the phone. “Mommy’s busy. Please keep it down.”

“I won’t ruin your evening by keeping you glued to the phone,” Patton says. “I’m just curious what the data shows. You’re right about one thing—there’s always room for improvements in a space like ours. With the market being what it is, we can’t afford to sleep on any opportunities, however small, to enhance The Cardinal’s service and atmosphere.”

Atmosphere, huh? So he is reconsidering those boring paintings?

He doesn’t expand on that, but I know what he means. Highly competitive.

Higher Ends might be a scrappy rising star for now, but that doesn’t mean they can’t lose their edge in a tight market.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to sound too smug. “I agree, and I’ll pull something together.”

Now can I go have dinner in peace without having my heart put through the shredder?

Not yet. He isn’t done.

“You raised a good point today, Miss Hopper, but we really need suggestions sourced from the horses’ mouths,” he says sternly. Just in case I get too puffed up by being right—because of course he can’t havethat. “We need to ensure any changes are improvements our guests are truly asking for.”

“Yeah, okay.” I tap my nails against the counter.

“I also wanted to call and pass on Bekah’s congratulations,” he says begrudgingly. “You remember Bekah?”

“Yes. She works at the front desk.” My tone is more snappish than I intend. I remember the name of the staff, I’m not a total idiot. I’m sure I’ve spent more time around them than him.

“She mentioned your cocoa bar.”

“Oh, um, that’s still a work in progress. I haven’t started looking into the details about where we’d source it, or how much it would really cost.” I brace myself, just waiting for him to tell me it’s stupid.

“Bekah loved it so much she sent it over. I think it’s solid, and I can already tell you the cost would be so incidental it’s nothing our budget can’t handle.”

What?

My inner cynic wonders if this is his way of apologizing after giving me a sledgehammer to the face.

“That’s great,” I say carefully, trying to sound sincere. “I’m glad you’re on board.”

Awkward pause.

And I wonder if he’s thinking back to our earlier conversation like I am, running over everything we said, replaying it in his mind and imagining a world where we never hooked up.

Unfortunately, we’re stuck in this one, where we’re living with the fallout of one messy night.

I could have played it off as being nothing—something weird and forgotten in the back of my mind.

I also could have told him about Arlo, gouged out my heart, and plopped it into his hands. I could’ve watched his face turn chalk white with the awful realization that he’s a father, and he’s entangled in my life far deeper than this mentorship he hates.

Honest to God, I could have done a thousand stupid things, but I didn’t.

I just sat there and let him remind me how cruel fate can be—and I’m the one taking the brunt of it.

“I’m trying to apologize, in case you didn’t notice,” he says tightly. “Let’s be real, I’m shit at it. But Salem, I like your idea, and it has nothing to do with me being a royal jackass earlier—”

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