Page 35 of Only You and Me

“Seven years.”

Trina’s eyes widen, and she sucks in a breath. “Wow. So, it’s helpful?”

I smile at her, happy we’re having a civilized conversation. “Yeah. For example, they helped me realize that much of my personality and the choices I made when I was younger were rooted in insecurity. And when I sort of grew into myself and started getting attention from the opposite sex,”—I pause and make sure she appears fine with this line of discussion—“it fed my ego and made me feel like there was something special about me, too. And I went with that rather than deal with the feelings responsible for me acting the way I did.”

“Why did you say ‘too’?”

“Huh?”

“You said it made you feel special, too. Not just special.”

My face heats. Trina’s always paid such close attention to everything, so it shouldn’t surprise me she didn’t miss that detail. I take a long swig of my ice-cold fountain soda to buy me a second. If I ever want Trina to trust me again—and damn, I want that—then I have to be willing to lay all my shit on the table. God knows my pride has already cost me enough with her.

I smile at her. “It seems kind of dumb, now, as a grown man and knowing how lucky I was growing up in the type of family I did.” She focuses her attention on me and it’s intense, making my hands sweat. I stare down at the tabletop before I begin again. “For a long time, I felt like the oddball in my family. Everyone had something special about them. Jack was always an amazing athlete and an honor student. Shayna was so damn popular. Everyone loved her, and she got good grades. Shyley and Shannon were smart as whips. I was always kind of average. Ordinary. I started noticing it in sixth or seventh grade. And God, I was dorky as hell back then. But the summer between eighth and ninth grades, suddenly I grew into myself. So, when I got to high school and girls started paying me attention, I let that become my identity.” I glance back up at her. “I figured my ‘thing’ was that I was popular with the girls. It sounds stupid now…”

“You’re wrong.” There’s no hint of a smile or a frown on Trina’s face, but her eyes look heated.

“I know it was wro?—”

“No. I didn’t say it was wrong. I said you were wrong.” Now it’s my turn to be confused. She takes a deep breath and grunts. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you. Sure, you were attractive, but that’s not what made you special. Even though I was two years older than you, I saw you. When you were helping Jeff Jacobs every day after soccer tryouts ended so he could try to get better at his skills and make the team, I saw. I saw you sitting with kids in the lunchroom no one else would sit with and helping freshman pick up their books when some douchey upperclassman knocked them out of their arms. You were always that guy. You were always special. You simply didn’t see it and you seemed to think your only value was in your physical appearance.” She shrugs and briefly lets her lips curve into a sad smile. “So, you were wrong.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and gaze off to the side until I think I can speak without my voice cracking. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say to all that.”

Our server comes over with our food at that moment and sets our plates on the table. When she walks away, Trina shrugs. “I guess I could have saved you seven years of trips to Meadow Creek if I had spoken up sooner, huh?” Her tone is light and teasing.

“Not really. There’s been a ton of crap they’ve had to help me recognize and work through over the years. And they have to remind me every once in a while that my ego is an asshole when I let him get a foothold.” I grin at her and am pleased to see her smile. “Now it’s your turn. What made you go to the Meadow Creek library?”

Her cheeks flush pink, which is unusual for Trina, but she answers with confidence. “I was plarning. I do it every few weeks with a group.” She digs into her meal as if I have any idea what the hell plarning is and won’t have further questions.

I clear my throat, admittedly more exaggerated than necessary, and she looks up. Jesus, her blue eyes are so stunning.

“Care to explain what plarning is?”

“Fine. But don’t you dare make fun of me. Deal?”

I smile. “Deal. But I must have been a real dick when we were younger if you’re immediately thinking I’m gonna make fun of you.”

“I mean…” she teases. A chuckle escapes her, and it makes me smile that I indirectly had something to do with it. “Okay. Plarning is crocheting with plastic bags. I do it with a group a few times a month and we make sleeping mats and blankets for the homeless. Then, every two months or so, I make the trip to the city and deliver them to a few shelters to distribute. Sometimes a few of us take them to those not living in the shelters.”

My eyes must be huge and I’m aware my mouth is gaping wide open. “Wow. That’s… that’s fucking altruistic. I would never make fun of you for that.”

Trina looks down at her phone, tapping the screen a few times before she hands me the phone. “You can scroll through and see a few samples of what we’ve made.”

I take the phone from her and am in awe as I scroll through and see the product of her plarning. In the second to last picture, she and a good-looking young guy are holding up the finished product and her smile in the photo is radiant. I stop scrolling and my breath stutters when I come to a photo of her and the man standing next to each other posing, his arm around her shoulders. It’s dated today. Shit.

“Um. I would think plarning would be something only older women—and you, of course—would enjoy.” I hand the phone back to her with the photo still pulled up.

When Trina glances down at the photo, her face lights up, and I hate it. “Oh, that’s Darren. He’s my plarning partner. But you’re right, all the others are old ladies. Darren’s only been with us for a few months. His grandmother is one of our plarners.”

“Does he know…” I peer up at her, unable to finish my question, but I can see that she isn’t getting what I’m asking. I exhale. “Does he know you’re married?” I practically whisper my words, and Trina nearly aspirates on her soda.

After she finishes coughing to clear her throat, she glares at me. “Why would I tell him that, Benjamin?”

I shrug. “Look at the picture. The way he’s looking at you, it’s clear he has a thing for you.”

Trina snorts and swipes up to look at the photo again. “No, he”—her eyes bulge—“Oh. Huh. I guess I missed that.” She simply puts the phone down on the tabletop and goes back to eating.

Trina must sense my stare focused on her because she looks up at me and lets her head fall backward with a throaty groan. “Are you seriously jealous of my plarning partner? This is a fake marriage, Ben.”

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