Page 124 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
Jason slides in like he’s done it a thousand times—because he has. He shuts the door gently, like he’s trying to keep from waking something. The light clicks off, and we’re back in the half-dark where I can’t see his face but know exactly what it says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. It comes out as if I meant to say it lighter and then forgot how.
He sighs and leans back, watching the condo just like me. “Paige called me.”
Of course she did. Shame cinches tight under my ribs like a too-tight belt. I was supposed to go to her. I was supposed to talk film festival logistics and taste mini cupcakes, and be a personwho keeps his promises. One ugly afternoon, and I ran like I was twelve. “Is she mad?”
“She’s concerned,” he says. Which is worse and better at the same time.
“How’d you find me?” I ask.
He doesn’t bite. He stares out at the lit window like it’s a TV, then says, “Who were those guys?”
Of course he knows. Of course she heard.
“I don’t know.” It’s all I can say.
“Locals?” he asks.
I shrug; a useless little lift that’s half apology. “Didn’t look like tourists. Didn’t look like they were there for a beer, either.”
“What did they say?” He’s gentle with it, like I’m on a ledge.
I blow out a breath, scrub a hand over my face. “Ordered the Hoffman Heritage, then wanted to send it back. Accused me of cutting it. They called me a thief.”
I can’t say the rest. Not about being a good-for-nothing and not about how I didn’t deserve Paige.
He’s quiet for a beat. “And you left.”
“I kicked them out,” I say. “Then I left.”
He tips his head. “You okay?”
The honest answer is no. Also yes. Also, I don’t know. “Felt like driving,” I say instead.
He nods. I can feel him cataloging me beside me the way he does with clients at the gym—breathing, posture, tells. He’s known me too long not to see the old wiring sparking. He lets the quiet sit for a second, then, “Ended up here.”
I stare at the balcony. “Muscle memory.”
It’s easier than telling him it’s because this is where I learned that life can change on a dime; that everything we have can be taken away in a second. That I could have a home one day—and nothing the next.
Well, a house, anyway.
He settles back, shoulder hitting the seat.
“You think they knew your dad?” Jason asks eventually. “The old guys.”
“Maybe.” I don’t have a better word than that. “They’re older. Maybe my grandfather.”
Jason’s jaw ticks. “Or maybe they just like the sound of their own voices,” he says, and I can hear the steel underneath. “Old guys with a grudge don’t equal truth.”
“They were aiming for something,” I say. “And they hit it.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Ben… I need you to separate three things for me. One: the beer in the glass. Two: the name on the board. Three: the kind of man you are.
They aren’t the same thing, no matter how hard some asshole wants to braid them together and make them one.”
I keep watching the lit window. “I don’t know anything about him,” I say. “My grandfather. William. Just a recipe card and a story I filled in with… hope, I guess.” I swallow. “What if he wasn’t the man I made him out to be? What if he was just like Greg? What if I’ve been propping myself up on a ghost who doesn’t deserve it?”
