Page 54 of One Small Secret

Ruben drops to his knees beside the seat and brushes my hair away from my face. “What’s wrong, then?”

I turn to him, and the concern on his stupid face makes my lips quiver. I wipe away a sneaky bit of moisture from my cheek and try to cover my emotion with a laugh. It comes out all shaky. I sniff. “All I got you was a stupid fish.”

Ruben’s face lights up. “You got me the singing fish?’

I point to the cabinet that holds my bag with my chin. He jumps up and throws it open.

I close my eyes hard and concentrate, taking deep breaths. I'm not going to fall apart about this. “You can’t get it out of my bag. It’s hidden in the packing cube that also holds my underwear.”

He stops and turns around, a wicked grin on the lips I was kissing just a few hours ago. “This present just keeps getting better. Can I request that all of my gifts be wrapped in underwear from now on?”

Something inside me breaks. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go from kissing Ruben one minute to joking with him the next. “Ruben, you can’t say things like that to me.”

His face falls. Gone is the Ruben that whistled his way up the ramp. I’ve killed him. “I’m sorry. You're right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve gotten carried away again, just like at Grandpa’s house, and tonight at mid—” He stops like it’s painful for him. “You should probably go to bed.”

“But what about your fish?”

He shrugs. “Well, I can’t exactly go rifling about in your underwear packing cube, now can I?” His face is tinged red, and he sits down on one of the other chairs. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this fake dating, Cadence. I’m too prone to forget…And Ben would kill me if he saw how I kissed you tonight.”

“You can blame the kiss on me.” I force a smile. I’m not sure it’s a convincing one, but it’s a whole lot better than tears. “I pretty much froze when we had to tell how we fell in love, so kissing was the least I could do. It doesn’t compete with the story you made up, though. That was epic.”

Ruben’s eyebrows furrow so deeply, it looks like a plow ran rows between them. His body stills for several heartbeats and then he shakes his head. A low sound—a laugh with no mirth—escapes his throat. “It wasn’t made up, Cadence.” His eyes are trained on the floor in front of him. “That happened. You're the reason I had that lovestruck look on my face. Why do you think I’ve always been so embarrassed by that picture?”

The air in the cabin is suddenly too thin to work properly, and maybe I’m getting dizzy and hearing things. I shake my head. “That can’t be true.”

“It’s true. Ask Andrew.”

“I will,” I say with hands clenched so hard around the armrests I think I might break them. This makes no sense, whatsoever. He always wants me away from him. The pilot is making an announcement, but I don’t hear it. I’m stuck in this weird space where the world isn’t lining up rationally. I finally glance over at Ruben and he's doing the same thing I’d been doing. Staring forward, looking at nothing.

“Why did you send me to Vietnam?”

Ruben turns his head. “What?”

“If you’ve liked me since high school, why did you send me to Vietnam?”

“I didn’t send you to Vietnam.”

“Yes, you did. And you didn’t write to me, not even once. Never even asked how I was doing. You visited Asia twice, Japan and Thailand, and even then, you didn’t check in or drop a note. I was alone and…” My voice starts to shake, and I hate it so much, I stop speaking.

Ruben hasn’t moved. He watches me for a moment. “I didn’t send you to Vietnam, and I did write to you. Twice. You never responded, and I thought that was proof enough.”

“Proof of what?” I ask, even though I know I never got a single email or letter from him.

“That you asked to be transferred. That I'd made you uncomfortable.”

“Where in the world would you have gotten that idea?”

“Stanley told me you asked for the transfer, and although he didn’t say outright that it was because of me, he certainly implied it.”

“Mr. Auger said you were making me uncomfortable?”

“Like I said, not exactly.”

“Why would you believe something like that?”

He brings both of his hands to his forehead and rubs them down to his chin. “Because I could believe it. I know I watch you. That picture Andrew took is proof. I told that story tonight like it was romantic, but I’ve never felt that way. It isn’t romantic if the person you’re watching isn’t interested. It’s creepy. And three years ago, I thought you’d finally noticed, or other coworkers had noticed and started saying things to you about it.”

“About you watching me?”

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