Page 4 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
Jason takes another drink, then swivels on his stool to watch one of the servers weave through the crowd with a tray stacked high with plates. “Man, you’ve got this place running like a machine.”
“Feels more like a runaway train most days,” I say, wiping down the bar again before sliding a fresh basket of pretzels to a couple who just sat down.
“Yeah, but it’s a train people actually want to be on.” He gestures toward the patio outside, where the tables are full and the servers are moving just as fast as inside. “It’s like this every time I come in. You’re killing it, Ben.”
I shrug, though I can’t help the little spark of pride that flares up. “Took a lot of long nights to get here.”
Jason grins. “And mornings. I remember you working on the menu before sunrise, like you were trying to write the next great American novel in beer foam.”
After living together for four years in college, Jason and I continued to room together when we first came back to town. I still miss those days sometimes. Waking up in an empty house isn’t quite as great as it seems some days.
More and more lately.
I snort. “Still am, some days.”
A group at the end of the bar waves for refills, and I nod toward Jason’s glass. “Another?”
He pushes it toward me with a lazy grin. “You’re a good man, Hoffman.”
I smirk. “Tell me that again after I hand you the bill.”
I fill glasses and push them down the bar to the group waiting, then turn back to Jason.
“Speaking of, shouldn’t you be at work right now?”
Jason tips his glass back, finishing the last sip before setting it down. “Took off for the afternoon. Had lunch with my sister.”
“Right, right,” I say, wiping down a stretch of the bar. “She just graduated, didn’t she? She’s back already?”
He nods, a proud grin spreading across his face. “Yup. Fresh degree from Vanderbilt. Couldn’t be prouder.”
“And you took her somewhere else for lunch?” I ask with a lifted brow, pretending to be offended.
“She had a meeting earlier, and you weren’t open when she called,” Jason defends.
“Interviews already?”
He furrows his brow. “I think so. She was all dressed up. Wouldn’t tell me what, but she seemed really excited about something. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”
I raise my brows, leaning against the back counter for a second. Paige Richards. The name sparks a picture in my head—Jason’s little sister, cheeks always flaming red, half her face hidden behind curly brown hair.
She’d peek around corners at me back when I was over at their place, eyes wide, mouth shut, like she was working up the courage to say something but never quite getting there.
It had been amusing, in that harmless, teenage-crush kind of way. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen at the time, all shy glances and quick disappearances whenever I caught her looking.
“She move back home?” I ask.
The house where Jason grew up was more like something you’d see on a postcard.
Big and white, with a wraparound porch and a view of the river that could make you stop mid-sentence. White picket fence and a stretch of lawn that seemed to go on forever.
A far cry from where I grew up.
Back in Ballard, before we moved to Paducah, the population was less than a thousand. Everyone knew everyone, and nothing ever changed.
We lived in a trailer there, so small you could talk to each other from either end without raising your voice.
And here in Paducah, the place I shared with my dad was only a little better. A condo with walls so thin you could hear every word, every sigh, every argument from next door.
