Page 3 of The Problem with Perfect

I clear my throat then shake my head. “I actually have to leave soon. I have… I’m closing at The Mitch tonight.”

He bobs his head. “Yeah, okay. Well, we’ll see you around. Maybe we can swing through later and grab a drink.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stace says, giving a friendly wave before she and Connor are turning and heading off toward a group of people a little ways away from us.

I watch them go, not even caring how awkward and weird I’m surely being by staring after them. Everything inside me feels dead. What the hell is happening? He’sengaged? I didn’t even know he was dating anyone.

My stomach rolls.

How long have they been together?

I spin around and put my back to the light of the fire, shielding my face from anyone who might be watching as a tear streaks down my cheek. I bat it away with the sleeve of my jacket, but just as quickly as the first popped up, another follows, and I know I need to get out of here immediately.

Without thinking, I walk to the passenger side of Rusty’s car and tug the door open, climbing in next to him.

“What are you doing?” His question is tinged with that same irritation from earlier.

“I need a ride.”

“Tough shit, Bellamy. I have somewhere to be.”

I yank the seatbelt forward and click it into place.

“Please?” I ask, scrunching up my eyes trying to hold back the tears.

Rusty says something else—something equally as dismissive—and it’s clear he doesn’t want me here with him right now. But I don’t hear him, because I bend forward and put my face in my hands as I burst into tears, my emotions slamming through me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, choking the words out between sobs.

I hear Rusty sigh and then feel the car begin to roll forward, hopefully carrying us far, far away from what is surely the worst moment of my life.

* * *

When I glance out the window 15 minutes later and see that he’s pulled up outside The Mitch, my stomach turns over. I feel like I can barely breathe right now, let alone go in for a closing shift where I might have to face Connor and Stace later on top of dealing with every drunk in town.

Though downing a bottle of tequila sounds like it might be a good idea.

“Can you just take me home?” I ask, my voice small.

“I literally just drove you in theoppositedirection of your house. You couldn’t have said that earlier?”

“I’m sorry, I was…” But I don’t get the sentence out before my eyes scrunch up and I break into tears again.

I hear him grumble something about my brother, then the car moves forward, through the gravel of the dirt lot and back out onto the main road. He doesn’t turn in the direction of my house on the other side of the lake, though. Instead, he drives the few minutes back into town and then out onto the road that exits Cedar Point and leads down the mountain. It only briefly occurs to me to ask where he’s going, but I resolve to just sit in silence and wait until he eventually takes me home.

I’ve never missed a shift before, so when I text my co-worker Emily to let her know I’m not feeling well and won’t be able to head in, it only takes a split second before I get her reply saying she can cover for me, which I appreciate since I’ve covered for Emily on many, many occasions.

The tiny distraction her text provides is gone in a blink, leaving me with a stark reminder of what I learned tonight.

Connor has a fiancée.

Thinking about it again sends another wave of tears to my eyes, but this time I manage to sit and cry silently as Rusty drives us along the winding road out of town.

Connor was just here, in Cedar Point, not even three months ago for his mother’s birthday. He came into The Mitch, sat at the bar, and talked with me all night like nothing had changed between us since last summer. He did that thing, the tucking my hair behind my ear thing that he’s always done. Maybe I’m just incredibly naïve, but I feel like that’s way too intimate of a thing to do to someone who is not your fiancée when you’re engaged.

My train of thought is cut off as we come to a stop. I sit up straighter, wondering where we are. I’ve driven up and down this mountain for my entire life and have never stopped here before, at what looks to be a random turnout about ten minutes from town.

When I glance at Rusty, he’s staring out the windshield, his jaw tight and his hands squeezing the wheel like he’s hoping to rip it out.

---