Page 35 of My Scorned Best Friend

“No. This them?” He points at a picture in the living room from when she was little, her parents on either side of her.

“Yeah. They died.” My chest tightens a little when I picture Clara’s red eyes full of tears afterward.

His jaw hangs open when he turns toward me. “Seriously? Together?”

“No. Her dad died in a fishing accident, and her mom died of cancer a few years back.”

“No siblings?”

“She has Presley, but she never even knew she existed until… wait? She hasn’t told you any of this?”

Ben shrugs and ventures into the kitchen. “We haven’t really gotten into the family thing.”

I check my watch again and follow him. I only have a couple minutes. “What do you talk about?”

I love Clara’s style because it’s so uniquely her own, mixed with her mother’s. The furniture is eclectic, different colors that go well together. There are always plants and flowers here, which I think she keeps on account of her mother’s love for them. Although there aren’t nearly as many as when her mom was alive. She’s bought a few items for the house that make it appear more modern, but all in all, it’s her. It’s Clara.

“Whoa!” Ben says.

I turn the corner to find him out of the kitchen and in the living room, standing in front of her giant bookcase.

“Do you think she’s read all these?”

“And then some. She’s a librarian.”

His finger scans one row. “She kind of intimidates me.”

“How come?” I lean back against her small breakfast bar and cross my arms, watching him touch all her things and wanting to break his hands for it. I wish this feeling would disappear. Why the hell do I feel so territorial about him being in her space?

He turns to me, and I know what he’s going to say from the insecure expression on his face. “She’s smart. She reads. Sometimes I feel like our conversations aren’t very smooth.”

“You can read, right?” I joke, and he picks up a pillow off the couch and tosses it at me. I pick it up off the floor and wipe my hand down it, walking across the room to put it back. “Clara is…” I struggle with how to describe her because to me, she’s just Clara, my best friend, my confidant, the first person I call when something good happens in my life. “She’s just a woman like any other.”

The lie tastes bitter. She’s not like every other woman. She’s down to earth and funny, and she cooks, but she’s a better baker. She’s sensitive and doesn’t shy away from her feelings, and she lets others in even if they end up hurting her. She’ll help anyone no matter the cost to herself.

“Even I know that’s not true, X. She’s not like any other woman I’ve ever dated.” He picks up a book off the table and thumbs through it.

“True, but I can tell you there’s no one with a kinder heart. You can trust her with your insecurities or anything else you’re feeling in your relationship with her.”

He laughs.

My brows furrow. “What?”

“It’s funny you say that since you clearly never told her about your own hang-ups.”

“Clara doesn’t need to be bothered with my feelings of not trusting women.”

He puts the book back down on the coffee table. “I’m gonna be honest here, X. I’m starting to feel like there’s more to you two than friendship. Are you sure there aren’t any feelings between you?”

I could be honest with him, let him know what went down two years ago, but I’m not going to betray Clara’s trust like that. If she wants to tell him, she can.

“I’m sure.”

He scrutinizes me for a moment as though I’m going to cave and change my answer.

“I gotta go get my dad. You okay here?”

His eyes scour the place. “What’s there to do? It’s only two o’clock.”

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