Page 39 of Your Secret to Keep

I love that he tells me ‘good job’ in front of my boss.

“If the work becomes too much, we can figure something out,” Megan reassures me. “Don’t feel like you’re signing up to be miserable for the foreseeable future.”

Miserable? No way. But I don’t tell her that. Sometimes you need to keep things to yourself.

“I’ve loved everything you’ve pitched and already completed. Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll get the details for your account nailed down. Good work.” She looks at me and I almost tear up from the praise.

Right now, in this moment, I feel like I’m enough. I hold my head a little higher as I stride back to my tripod and cell phone setup on the court. Some of the other Jags players are arriving, but there’s still time for us to finish.

When Brooks looks at me, his eyes the color of my favorite shade of coffee, I sigh a breath of happiness.

“I’ve never thought much about the power of the universe, or fate or whatever, but it’s kind of like the Jags have given us the perfect cover to spend time together.” He presses his lips together and shrugs his shoulders. “Consider me a believer.”

“Back to work, Pittman.” I point to the camera and do my best to hide my massive grin and the butterflies taking up residence in my ribcage.

“Why do you look like that? You’re freaking me out,” Shelbie asks while wiping down the bar. Tonight I’m on the other side, chatting with my managers about taking a break while I get my feet underneath me at the new job.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re Buddy the Elf and smiling is your favorite.” She points at her cheeks, where they’d lift if she was smiling.

“Had a good day. That’s all,” I answer, taking a sip of a bubbly cocktail Shelbie is trying out. Sweet and fresh blood orange hits my tongue with prosecco fizz and a touch of rosemary. Separately, it doesn’t look like these things should work, but together it’s a slam dunk. The sip turns into a gulp, and before I can help myself, I’ve downed the entire glass.

Shelbie leans on the bar in front of me, eyes wide as she reaches for my empty glass. “I hope your good day had to do with you finally getting some basketball player dick.”

I put my hand over her mouth while looking around to see if anyone is in ear shot. Luckily, it’s just her and I around for her little outburst at the bar.

Under my breath, I hiss, “I told you—we’re taking it slow.” I stretch out my fingers, squeezing my hands in a fist and then extending them. My hands and wrists have continued to be oddly achy over the last few days.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You know I support that, but this is like a glacial pace. What are you waiting for?” She garnishes another bubbly cocktail before putting it in front of me.

The question slithers around me until it settles low in my belly. I’m definitely not a virgin but I’ve never really had a serious relationship—I’ve always been more of a ‘have a free weekend, get on a dating app to have some fun’ kind of person. Truly, I’ve never had the luxury of enough free time to put toward something other than immediate needs.

This feels like uncharted territory—like when you turn twenty-one so you can finally drink legally and it’s your first night out. How much can I get away with? Can I handle it? Will I crash and burn?

Maybe I’m afraid of the emotional hangover?

“Use your words, Lia,” Shelbie pushes, filling a pint with beer from the tap. “You’re thinking awfully loud.”

“It feels weird to have a main focus. Like, instead of filling my time with any way I could make some extra cash, I can focus on this job with the Jags. And Brooks is there. And it’s just different,” I admit.

She furrows her brow, leaning forward to ask, “Why the face? Those are all good things.”

I sigh, letting my chin rest on my hands with my elbows on the bar. “It’s complicated. It feels like this job and Brooks at the same time is a cruel trick. Like there’s no way they can both be true.”

Shelbie stops, shifting her weight to one leg. “Why not?”

“That’s not how things turn out for me. That’s just how it is.” I throw my hands up and look down at the bar. The condensation from my glass has left a ring that I wipe away.

“My girl. You’re being all glass half-empty when you’re typically the opposite. Itispossible for you to have nice things, and for fuck’s sake, you deserve them.” She lightly hits her hands on the bar, loudly enoughfor me to hear. “If you feel like these are good things, don’t let them slip away because you were too scared to do something about it.”

Oof. Punches landed. I’m not sure what to say, but luckily someone at the edge of the bar asks for Shelbie, which pulls her focus from me. The universe seems to know I need a second. I’m left alone in a room that’s starting to crowd—the twinge of familiar loneliness at the edge—with Shelbie’s words replaying in my head.

You deserve them.

I will myself to believe that. To try and think of all the reasons I deserve good things—even if they’re surprising. Why is it so damn hard to not question it? I wish I was someone who could be handed a sparkler and not worry how it might set the small patch of hypothetical dead grass on fire.

Shelbie appears back in front of me and her lips soften from a thin line before she replies, “Lia. It’s time. I can’t believe you haven’t crashed and burned yet. I know you’re probably bargaining with the universe on how this happened, but instead of overthinking, you could try doing. Living. Enjoying life.”

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