Page 10 of Polar Prank
“I guess I do.”
And I think it’s beating for you…
6
ICLYN
Back at the booth,he takes a sip of his drink, and I hold his gaze. I want him to know I want to hear what he has to say.
“My family owns half the businesses in Everville, so I’ve always felt a little pressure to fit a certain mold of being a business person. And to be the son who takes over the family empire, you know?” He looks down at his dinner like he could get lost in it.
“Wow, sounds like a lot of expectations.” I lean in closer, genuinely interested. “What about your sisters? Do they have the same… responsibilities?”
“No, not exactly. My mother passed when we were young and my father’s rough around the edges— he’s old school, believes I should lead the charge and be the one to take over. My two sisters have careers of their own— one’s a dentist and the other’s a florist, but as the only son, it’s all on me to continue the family legacy of the hardware store, the feed store, the printing shop, the two new restaurants, the dry cleaner, the brewery, and the bank. We’ve grown the town into the vacationers magnet it is now.” He shrugs, trying to downplay it, but I can see the weight of a mantle that is heavy on his shoulders. “And now, mygrandmother, like you, thinks I’m just some grinch who needs to find the spirit of the season to earn an inheritance.”
I raise an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by this news. Not because of the money, but because someone else sees that he’s had the grumpiest attitude. “You’re serious? She wants you to find the ‘spirit of the season’? What does that mean?”
I chuckle, the sound warm and genuine and almost surprising me that it camefromme. “Basically, she thinks if I don’t embrace the holiday cheer, I’m not worthy of what’s coming to me. It’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?”
I nod as I take a sip of my wine. “I can see why she might want that. You do seem a little… restrained. Like you’re hiding behind button-ups and ties.” A teasing smile plays on her lips. “But these last two days, Brinker… you’ve shown me you can loosen up. You’re not all business and grinch-like. And actually, I like this Brinker. In fact, I like this Brinker, a lot.”
“Thanks. I think I like him, too,” he replies, his lips curve into a smirk as he leans back. “And I think I need to thank you for bringing him to the surface.”
I’m a little surprised at how easy the conversation flows. I feel like I draw him out. There’s a warmth between us, something electric that thrums beneath the surface, at least for me. But that’s the problem with trying to start something with someone who has been so closed off.
Can I ever trust that he won’t rebound to who he used to be or that he’s not still that person underneath?
As dinner unfolds, we trade stories like currency, words shifting like the tasty flavors of the burgers and fries. I tell him about my life, growing up as an only child. My eyes get wet and sting a little when I mention my late parents and he grabs my hand to hold it. They doted on me after thinking they wouldn’t have children. There’s a certain loneliness that creeps in when I’m lost in those memories.
“You seem like you had a pretty solid upbringing,” I say, leaning forward a little more. “I can’t imagine having siblings, being an only child. What was that like?”
“It was okay. My sisters were my built-in playmates and friends,” he admits before adding, “but it does feel different without that connection as an adult sometimes. I’m… I’ve been…” he struggles for words and after running a hand through his hair. “I guess I just didn’t make finding new friends a priority for the last ten years and now I wonder if having that connection or someone isn’t for me.”
I reach across the table, my fingers brushing his, and the touch is a spark. My heart races as I catch the glimmer of awareness in his eyes. “You’re not alone, Brinker.”
The night stretches on,full of laughter and tentative touches, and finally, after he insists on paying the bill and I agree with a shake of my head, we walk hand-in-hand to his car under the dim streetlights. I usually take public transportation to my apartment but he opens his passenger car door and I instinctively slide into the seat.
There’s a tenderness between us that pulls at my very core. I don’t usually do what I want to do. I am that person who is responsible. The one who re-starts the coffeemaker at work. The one who pays her bills when they come in and checks ten times to make sure I did it. The one who makes sure everyone else is having a good time.
But tonight, when Brinker asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner… well, almost more of a statement than question, Ididn’t think twice. It just felt right. And now, I don’t want the night to end. I really got to see a part of him that I feel for.
The weight of expectations.
The fears of being alone.
The question of never having someone.
When we reach my apartment, I hesitate, lingering at the threshold. The night has turned chilly. Charlotte rarely sees snow, but not never. Maybe once a year we get that elusive inch of the white stuff and it just seems to be magic.
“Brinker, I—” I swallow down the fears that this will only be one night and maybe all of this is just a dream. “Would you like to come in?” I bite my lip, hope and hesitation mingling in my words.
This isn’t just some casual fling from a bar. We’ve shared a lot with him. More than I have with anyone in a very long time. Maybe it was too much. But I feel like I really know him and I want him to know me.
I add, “It’s just… I don’t want tonight to end.”
He shuffles a little and shoves his hands into his coat pockets.
“Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t want you to feel any pressure for anything to happen.”
