Page 57 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
“Jason,” he says finally, like putting his hand in a fire because there’s no other way around it. “We’ll have to tell him.”
“I know.” My stomach flips for an entirely different reason. “But not yet. Please. I can’t—” I rub at my sternum, fingertip to bone. “I can’t do that yet. Plus, it’s just too early.”
“Trust me. I’m not in a rush,” he says. “I won’t say a word.”
“Thank you,” I say, and the words come out raw. “He’s my brother. He’s yours, too, in every way that matters. I—” I shake my head. “I’m not ready for that conversation.”
“Then we wait,” he says simply.
I nod. I’m going to live in that simplicity for as long as I can get away with it.
He looks at my half-empty glass. “Are you feeling sick now? Do you want something else? We make a syrup—real ginger. Charlotte uses it for a mocktail sometimes. Or crackers. I think we have those little cellophane packs in dry storage. It might help with the nausea.”
Unexpected tears burn hot at the back of my eyes. “Real ginger would be good,” I say, and clear my throat. “Thank you.”
He nods like having a simple instruction is a relief. He steps away from the bar fast, moving like he has to be doing something or he’ll blow apart at the seams. The clink of metal behind the pass. The thud of a small fridge door. He comes back with a glass full of ice and a pale gold liquid that smells sharp and warm, lime floating on top.
“Ginger, honey, a little lemon,” he says, setting it down and sliding another napkin over. “Sip. It’s strong.”
He’s right. The first taste burns and soothes in the same swallow, a heat that tingles in the back of my throat and tells my stomach to calm the hell down. I set the glass down carefully.
“Better?” he asks.
“A little,” I admit.
He nods.
“Do you… need anything?” he asks, and the question is naked and earnest and so very Ben that I almost laugh. “Like, tonight. Not philosophically. Right now.”
“I just needed to tell you,” I say. “That’s the only thing I could think clearly enough to do.” I pull in a deep breath. “I should go.”
He pushes the glass closer to me. “Have some more of this first.”
I wrap my fingers around the cold glass again, more for something to do with my hands than because I’m thirsty. The condensation slicks my skin, and I take another small sip, just enough for the ginger to sting my tongue and settle in my belly.
“I should go now. I just… wanted you to hear it from me,” I say, more to the space between us than to him, because if I look him in the eye while we’re being this careful, I’ll either cry or say something I can’t take back.
“I’m glad you came,” he says, and he means it like it’s the truest thing he has. “I’m—” He breaks off and shakes his head. “I’ll drive you home.”
I shake my head. “I drove. I’m okay.”
He looks around. “Give me a second to shut down and lock up, and I’ll walk you out.”
I almost say no. I almost say I’m fine. But the idea of stepping into the quiet street alone makes me feel uneasy. “Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”
He moves around the end of the bar. Up close, he looks tired to the bone. There are shadows under his eyes I want to smooth with my thumb. I tuck my hands under my thighs to keep them where they belong.
He steps into the kitchen to do whatever he needs to do in there, then he comes back out and shuts lights as he goes.
After taking care of my glass on the counter, he gestures me to the door, flips the deadbolt, and pulls the door open. The cool night air slides in and around me, making me shiver lightly.
The night is empty and quiet, only streetlights and moths alive on the street.
We step onto the sidewalk. He doesn’t reach for me. I don’t reach for him. We don’t speak. We stand there in the half-light, two people who did a thing you can’t undo and are trying not to make it worse, and now there is this new thing that is bigger than both of us.
As we walk around to the back where our cars are parked, I push my hands into my pockets.
“I’m going to be okay,” I say, surprising myself with how sure I sound.
