Page 10 of Winning the Nightcap

Bec looks at me and startles a little, as if she forgot I was listening. She stirs her drink, fidgeting with the napkin underneath.

“Sorry, that was a lot of rambling for a pretty standard question.”

I reach across the table to take her restless hand into mine. “It was a good answer, Bec.”

“You’re a good listener. Makes it a little too easy for me to run my mouth and embarrass myself. All right, next question. What’s your favorite memory?”

“My eighth birthday,” I blurt out, not thinking. Here I go bringing down the mood with a fucking memory like that. It’s true, but complicated to explain.

“Great party? Awesome present? Why is it the best?” Bec sips her drink and gazes at me with a relaxed smile.

Do I drag all my shit out in the open? I don’t talk about this with anyone except my family or maybe Dom, but there’s something about Bec. I don’t understand what it is, but I know I need more. She has this dangerous air about her. Like if she asked me for the impossible, I’d find a way to make it happen. My instinct is to tell her anything she wants to know, give her anything she wants, and do anything she asks. I have no idea how she hasthis hold on me, but she does. I answer honestly.

“My mom left my dad the week before and moved my little sister and me into an apartment. It was small. My sister and I shared a room. We had barely unpacked. Most of our stuff was still in boxes. Mom made macaroni and cheese for dinner because it was my favorite. And a homemade box cake, chocolate with chocolate frosting. To this day, you can’t convince me that any cake tastes better than those box mixes. We didn’t have any furniture in the living room other than an old TV, so Mom used a couple of moving boxes to form a makeshift backing to a “couch” and threw all our blankets on the floor. The three of us spent the night watching my favorite movies. My sister complained that she didn’t get a pick and then proceeded to quote almost every line. The two of us acted out our favorite scenes together, which made Mom laugh and give us a standing ovation.”

Bec stares at me pensively. I haven’t talked about that time in my life in a long time. It feels like she’s looking straight into my memory, reaching into my thoughts, and digging into the root of all that lingering, stale pain. It’s unsettling, leaving me feeling raw and vulnerable.

“Clearly there’s more going on outside the frame of that picture-perfect memory.” I can feel my shoulders tighten, hesitant to share more, but knowing I would if she asked me to. Because I can’t picture myself saying no to her, even though we’re practically strangers to each other.

Bec reaches across the table, wrapping her warm hand over mine. “I’m not going to pry, Aiden. I want you to share what you want, and stop when you need to. Thank you for telling me. I can picture it all so clearly. It’s obvious your mom and sister are important to you. Plus, you have good taste. Mac and cheese and double chocolate cake? That’s a menu I can get behind. But I gotta know…did you have good taste in movies too? What was the lineup?”

I chuckle, feeling the tension release from my body. “I had too many favorites when I was eight. I think I choseThe Sandlot, Rookie of the Year,andAngels in the Outfield.”

“You were quite the baseball fan, huh,” she says.

I had a feeling she didn’t recognize me. Good.

“But you’re missing the best one. Ever seenA League of Their Own?” she asks. When I shake my head, her jaw drops. “You’ve got to be kidding me? You better go to your room and pay to stream that movie right the fuck now! Sorry, Aiden, no hotel porn for you until you watch the best baseball movie of all time!”

Her outrage is amusing, and I throw a smirk her way, settling farther into the booth, getting comfortable. “How can you say that so confidently? Have you seen any ofmyfavorites?”

“No, but trust me, I don’t need to. You’ll understand when you tell me—in about two hours—how right I was. Go on, I’ll wait here.” She sits tall, crossing her arms across her chest, and even though she’s trying to act serious, she can’t hold in her laugh. The sound shakes the shadows from my thoughts. It’s impossible to linger in the past when her entire personality radiates sunshine.

“I think it’ll confuse the staff here if I pay for that movie when I’ve already rented two adult films.”

Her mouth drops open as she stares incredulously at me, her eyes full of intrigue, whispering, “Seriously?”

“No.”

She laughs and shrugs. “Your loss.”

“Okay, it’s my turn. What’s your biggest fear?” I ask.

“Straight for the jugular on this one. Okay, I guess I’d say…losing myself? I feel like I’m finally starting to figure out who I am. I’d do anything to hang onto it.”

“You seem pretty confident to me.”

“Showing confidence and feeling confident are two very different things. I’ve always been able to turn it on when I need it. But when shit hits the fan and I’m put in a position where I have to either force myself into the mold someone else wants or say fuck that and just be myself, I have a record ofdoing what will cause the least amount of conflict. I used to think it was a strength. Keeping the peace, playing mediator, making sure everyone else gets what they need. Until I realized the cost is too high. It’d be so easy to lose track of who I’m becoming, because I’m just starting to figure it out for myself, you know? I don’t want to sacrifice who I am or who I want to be.”

It makes sense what she’s saying. While she’s exuded strength and self-assurance tonight, there’s also a vulnerability lingering right below the surface. Our conversation has been mostly joking with each other back and forth, trying to outdo one another with quick wit and a heavy dose of sarcasm, but when I share something personal, her empathy and ability to say the right thing without asking me to share more than I want tells me just how compassionate she is. Anyone can take advantage of that, and it pains me to hear people she’s trusted in the past have hurt her and made her feel like she has to be someone she’s not.

“People who care about you wouldn’t ask you to sacrifice any part of yourself.” She looks at me thoughtfully, and I can tell she’s absorbing what I’ve said. “And tonight? Do you feel like you can be yourself with me?”

“Oddly, yes.” The admission seems to be difficult for her, a shy smile on her face as she looks back and forth between the drink in her hands and me. “Normally, I feel like I need to keep people at a distance until I have a better feel for them. Until I know I can trust them. For some reason, I don’t feel the need to do that with you.”

“Strange, I was just thinking the same thing about you. Be yourself with me, Bec. I won’t ask you to change. I’d never want that.” I mean it. There’s something incredibly special about Bec, and the way she’s looking at me makes me feel like maybe the connection isn’t one sided.

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