Page 27 of One Small Secret

I shrug, trying so hard to keep down a laugh that’s bubbling just under the surface. “Well, at least it isn’t anything embarrassing.”

He chuckles, which means either I’ve won the don’t-laugh-at-each-other’s-funny-jokes competition or he isn’t aware that we’re competing. “Exactly.”

“Well . . .” I want to say ‘my dear Ruben’ again, but my heart is already acting too weird. “If that really is what you’re thinking about when your face gets that dreamy look, I’m surprised I haven’t heard of it before. That is a long time to be obsessed with knights.”

“The longest.” He opens the book without looking away from me and does the same trick I did. After his finger comes to a rest, he looks down. “Chandelle.”

“Is it CH-andelle, or SH-andelle?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. How am I supposed to guess the word if you aren’t even pronouncing it correctly?”

“You aren’t supposed to guess.” He smiles. “You're supposed to admit defeat.”

“I can’t admit defeat when you already missed your word. At the very worst it’s a tie.”

He leans forward and suddenly our faces are only inches apart. “It is chandelle. With a ch. And I’m not giving you any more clues. No wonder you were better than me in debate.”

I smile slowly and deliberately. “Thank you for bringing that up.” He probably doesn’t think about it nearly as often as I do, but at least he thinks about it.

“No more stalling. I need a definition.”

Chandelle. It sounds a bit like a chandelier, but I can’t really guess something like that after teasing Ruben for trying to combine fugal and feudal. The only word I can think of that ends in “elle” is organelle, which I’ve always thought of as a “small” organ inside of a cell. All I can think of for the “chand” part of the word is a chandelier. Crap. I have no idea. But I can’t let him know that.

“I don’t need to stall. Unlike you, I know the definition of my word.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

Here goes nothing. I tip up my chin. “It’s a small lamp. Something you might set on a table or even hang somewhere in the house.”

He looks down at the book and narrows one eye. Did I get it or not? I can’t tell at all by his expression, and he isn’t saying anything.

“Well?”

He pushes his lips together. “What kind of lamp, exactly?”

I ignore the fierce need to pump my fist in the air. I was right. Or at least very close. I just need to keep bluffing and he'll admit it. “A small one, you know, not like a big hulking one you put on the floor or anything.” I need to be less specific, since he's obviously trying to trap me into saying something incorrect. “It gives off light—helps people see in the dark. That kind of thing.”

“And where did you learn this word?”

“That’s not part of the game. Probably from reading. I can’t remember exactly. Do you remember where you learned all the words you know?”

His head cocks to one side and a slow grin spreads on his broad mouth. “I remember learning the word finifugal.”

The slightest of laughs sneaks out at that, but I’m almost certain he isn't competing the same way I am, so I let it slide. “That’s because you learned it today. Chandelle is just stuck somewhere in my memory, waiting to be used when the time is right.”

“Now’s your time, baby. Use it,” he demands, crossing his hands over his chest. The timbre of his voice is suddenly deep and sexy. This isn't a Teen Heartthrob voice to go with his Teen Heartthrob smile. It’s a grown-up voice that has me thinking some of my least favorite thoughts. Ruben, alone with one of his girlfriends, using that exact sonorous tone.

And what’s with the baby? That is not helping my imagination. Or it is helping it, just in unnerving and distracting ways.

I squeeze my eyes closed and take a deep breath. “Despite the daylight coming in from the kitchen window,” I open my eyes and nod to the large window directly in front of us. He uncrosses his arms and opens the book to follow along. “In the evenings, this room could use a few chandelles to brighten the corners.”

He heaves a deep and disappointed sigh, nods in defeat and snaps the book closed.

I totally fist pump. And he smiles like he’s been waiting for it, but I don’t care, I’ve still got it. I can bluff my way out of—. Wait.

The book didn’t snap. When he closed it, the book didn’t snap. His finger is still marking the place where he found his word and a sick little worry makes the corner of my mouth fall.

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