Page 41 of One Small Secret

I shake my head. High school was pretty much a blur now, all melding into one big memory without solid moments, other than when Garff married mom and then divorced her. “I think our debate team made it to state that year.”

Ruben chuckles softly. “I’m pretty sure you’re right. That’s not what I was thinking of, though. That was the year my parents moved to Colorado.”

“It was?” I’d totally forgotten. Most of my memories of Ruben are from the time he lived here, in Ben’s house. Our families have always been friends, but I don’t remember hanging out at his parents’ home. Only Ben’s.

Ruben nods. “That year, a few news stories came out about my parents. Mom started feeling like she had to dress up every time she walked outside, and when she got tired of that stress, she stopped going outside much at all. Dad hated being known only for his last name. He just wanted to grow things. He never cared about the hotels. He wishes our family still had the orchard, and hates how many people are at the lake. He blames Grandpa for ruining one of the most beautiful places on earth.”

Many of the locals felt the same way about Palmer Hotels. But Ruben’s mom and dad did, too? “I didn’t know.”

Ruben shrugs like it’s no big deal. “They’re fine now. They love Colorado, and they’ve found a place that’s almost as beautiful. But at the time, they were extremely unhappy with not just Grandpa, but with each other. Mom hated talking to reporters, but they were always calling. Dad just avoided phones and the public. And then my picture came out.” He paused. “Do you know who took it?”

“It was going to be for the yearbook, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Andrew took it. He was on the yearbook committee that year. And as he was getting it ready to place it, all the girls kept asking to have a copy.”

“Typical.”

Ruben shook his head. “No. It wasn’t typical. Do you even remember what I looked like before that photo? I’d only just gotten my height, but my weight hadn’t caught up yet. I was scrawny and I’d only had my braces off for like three weeks.”

“So it was the braces.”

Ruben made a noise in his throat, which turned into a cough. “Yes, it was for sure the braces that gave me that smile. What else could it have been?” He shakes his head. “Anyway Andrew knew he had struck gold, because it wasn’t a photo of just any dreamy-eyed 15-year-old, but a dreamy-eyed 15-year-old with the last name of Palmer. He talked to me about it, and the next time a reporter called, hoping to reach my parents, I asked them if they wanted a picture of me instead.”

“Oh, Ruben.” How have I never heard this story before?

“My parents stopped fighting. The hotels, which were doing well, but not at all like they are now, started booking up faster. Grandpa built two new hotels that year, and the income they started generating gave him enough money to send Mom and Dad a check that paid for a cherry orchard. Everything got better because of that one photo.”

“And you didn’t move to Colorado?”

“How could I? All of their media problems would have followed them if I had. But also, I didn’t want to move. I love Rosco.”

I swallow. That wasn't at all how I thought this story would end. “I didn’t realize.”

Ruben shrugged. “Most people don’t. But if you graph the income and growth of Palmer Hotels, there’s a huge jump that directly correlates to that one moment. And a few others as well.”

“Skins football?” I ask innocently, like I’ve never typed it in a search bar.

“I think that series paid for the hotel in the Swiss Alps.”

I’d been working in Vietnam then, but I still kept tabs on all of Palmer's new projects. I mentally pull out a calendar. He’s right. Of course he's right. Holy crap. Could an amazing smile and perfect abs really do that? “So you really do have million-dollar abs.”

“More like one hundred million, but yes.” I suck in a breath. Is he serious? He isn’t smiling. He's just sitting there calmly, as if earning a hundred million dollars from a few photos wasn't a big deal. “I’m not sure those pictures were worth it, though. Some of the things people have photoshopped out of them…” He shudders.

“But the hotel in the Alps is a masterpiece. You definitely helped out the family there.” I smile at him. “And probably a few lonely housewives as well.”

He glares at me, but one corner of his mouth turns up. “What about lonely development team members in Vietnam?”

I tip my head to one side and give him a face I hope is cute. “Oh, did you take off your shirt to help lonely employees in distant lands? How noble.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Well, did it help?”

Did I look at those pictures from time to time? Sure. But like a scientist, not a voyeurist. It’s an interesting thing to watch a man grow from an awkward teenager to a Greek god in front of a camera, and I can tell you one thing: Ruben Palmer’s abs did not look like that in high school. “I was alone, and hardly knew anyone over there when those pictures came out. I might have looked at them. They reminded me of home.”

“If I'd known you were that lonely, I could have sent you some pictures personally.” He tips his head toward me with a wink. “You know, just to remind you of home.”

There’s a silent moment where I'm not imagining what type of shirtless photos Ruben might have sent me if this were a different world—a world where he had sent me any kind of correspondence at all. “Andrew would never allow pictures like that to float around without taking full advantage of them. I’d probably get sued for selling company secrets.”

“Only if you sold them.”

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