Page 19 of One Small Secret

“You don’t owe me anything.” He leaves his coat on, but sits down on my sofa. “And I like it here.” He pats the seat next to him. “Where’s Axley?”

“He’s asleep.”

“For the night?”

“No. He usually wakes up around 7:30, ready to go for a few more hours before he settles in for the night.”

Ruben pats the seat again and I sigh. I can’t exactly leave with Axley asleep, anyway. I sit and my sofa is suddenly transformed into what most of the female population would consider the most enviable place on earth. It dips down from Ruben’s weight, making it impossible not to lean toward him. Our arms touch, but he’s still wearing his coat, so he probably doesn’t even notice. I lean against the back of the sofa so I don’t completely fall into him.

He turns toward me. “You must be exhausted every morning.”

I shrug. “I tried to adjust his bedtime routine last week, but if he goes to bed earlier, I don’t get much time with him at all. This way, Mom spends the last little bit of her time with him while he naps so she gets a break, and I can decompress from work before he wakes up. After that, it's just me and Axley partying until about eleven.”

Ruben kicks his legs out and rests them on my coffee table. A bit presumptuous of him. What if I didn’t allow feet on my coffee table? But I do, so I prop my feet up too. Just to make him comfortable. It seems to work, since he sighs somewhere deep inside his chest and his head rolls back to rest on the top of the couch. “Sounds like heaven.”

I snort.

He doesn’t open his eyes, but I know he registered my unladylike chuckle, because the corner of his mouth turns up again. “No, it's true. I’m so tired of traveling all the time. Can’t I just come here and hang out from seven-thirty to eleven every night?”

Is he serious? I was gone for three years and I never even got an email from him. He barely talked to me the two years before that, either. Him wanting to be here makes no sense. “Sure,” I respond with a smile, because today is about talking, even if he is being ridiculous. This friendship or whatever we are trying to do will need the kinks worked out just like a brand-new hotel does. “I’ll take your airplane and you watch Axley?” As I’m saying it, I’m not sure who would get the better deal. I’d freaked out finding Axley here, but our evenings together have become the highlight of my day.

He shakes his head. “Nope. You don’t get my airplane. I just get to come here.”

So he really does have an airplane. Of course he does. I remember when they put in the landing strip outside Ben’s home. “What do I get, then?”

He turns his head toward me, his cheek resting on the back of the sofa. “Me?”

I snort again. This is becoming a problem. I swear I am not usually the snorting type. If the man hadn’t practically fainted at the thought of renewing our acquaintance, I would think he was flirting. “If I get you, I get your plane, too.” I cock my head to one side. “Oh my gosh, I’d get stock in Palmer Hotels. Mom would be so proud. I like this idea. I totally win.”

He smiles, and it softens that bad boy charm of his. Or heightens it. I’m not sure which, but he definitely knows what he's doing. “You always do.” He throws his arm on the back of the sofa. It isn’t around my shoulders, exactly. Other than our thighs being pressed together due to the size of the couch, he isn’t touching me. He's just resting his arm above my shoulders.

I should have made Christmas cookies, or apple cider or something. I’d practically challenged him to fix us, but nothing about this feels right. We were never alone when we were friends. I hated that he changed so much and made everything so distant and awkward between us, but sitting on my couch together with nothing to do just feels…off. If I were anyone else, I’d be tempted to put my head in the crook of his arm and make myself very comfortable on what was once described by vogue as The World’s Most Alluring Chest. Seriously, those words were on the cover, and curse my currently overactive senses, because whoever wrote that title wasn't wrong.

It’s been way too long since I’ve been alone with a man anywhere near my age. Ruben is so relaxed, he looks like he could fall asleep. I, on the other hand, am full of nervous energy. My toes tap against the coffee table. Neither of us talk, so at least I’m not saying anything stupid like, hey, I know we’ve only talked like six times in the last six years, but maybe we should make out.

I count to twenty in my head, because numbers are safer than the thoughts raging through my mind, and then I jump up.

“I really better get you a present.”

He blinks up at me as if I just woke him from an afternoon nap. “It’s Christmas Eve. Nothing is open.”

“That’s not true. The gas station is open.”

He rubs a hand down his face and squints one eye in my direction. “You’re going to get me a present from the Gas ‘n Sip?”

I nod. “Would you prefer no gift?”

“Yes.” He drops his head back down and closes his eyes again. “I already told you that. I was enjoying sitting here with you, and now you're going to make me go out into the snow again.”

“You can stay here if you want. It shouldn’t take me long.”

He groans. “No way. I’m coming with you. You’ll notice I didn’t take my coat off.”

I push my lips together. He’s right. He’s been egging me on, knowing it would drive me crazy if he one-upped me by getting me a present when I didn’t get him anything. I try to be angry, but honestly, it’s better that he thought that was what was driving me insane instead of thoughts of snuggling up with him.

“I'll get Axley. If he doesn’t wake up soon, he won’t go to sleep before Santa arrives, and I don’t want him getting coal on his first Christmas.”

My bedroom feels about a thousand degrees cooler than the rest of my apartment and I take a moment to breathe un-Rubenized air. What is wrong with me? I’ve read way too many articles about him. The Ruben propaganda is seeping into my brain. I creep over to my bed. Axley has been sleeping on it since the day he arrived. It’s probably about time I buy him a crib. We’ve gotten everything else, but for some reason the crib feels permanent. Like, what am I going to do with it after he leaves? Moira must have a crib somewhere, unless she got rid of all his things before leaving the country.

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