November 7, Friday
batch a group of barrels blended together to create a consistent product
WHEN I boarded the bus, Jett and I exchanged a smile and a nod. The weight of yesterday's confession seemed to have lightened the space between us.
I felt almost normal as we headed toward the tour office. The November sun broke through the clouds, warming my face through the bus window. Sharing my secret with Jett made it slightly less crushing.
But when the bus pulled into the parking lot, I spotted Naomi's car and my stomach dropped.
Jett noticed her at the same moment, and his entire demeanor shifted. He sat up straighter, checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, smoothed down his shirt. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable.
Naomi stood near the office entrance, looking effortlessly beautiful in designer jeans and a cashmere sweater the color of autumn leaves. When she saw the bus, her face lit up with a smile that could power a small city.
"Great," I muttered under my breath.
Jett parked and opened the door, practically bounding down the steps. "Naomi! You should've called."
"I thought I'd surprise you." Her laugh was musical.
They embraced, and I watched from inside the bus as Jett's arms wrapped around her with obvious affection… and desire.
I gathered my clipboard and tried to look busy as the couple boarded the bus, still smiling at each other. Naomi's hand rested on Jett's arm in that casual way people do when they're comfortable with each other. She turned her bright smile toward me.
"Hi, Bernadette, great to see you. Are you feeling better?"
For a moment I thought Jett had told her my secret. "Better?"
"Dylan told us you left the Halloween party because you were coming down with something."
"Oh… right," I said, recovering. "I'm a little better, thanks."
"Good. And your search for your father? Any progress?"
The question landed like a stone in my chest.
"Still going," I said carefully, keeping my voice neutral.
"I hope you find him soon." She clasped her hands together. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you. The not knowing." She tilted her head, her expression sympathetic. "You know, I meant what I said before—if there's anything I can do to help, anything at all, you just have to ask."
"That's kind of you."
"I'm serious. Jett and I are happy to help, aren't we, sweetie?"
Sweetie. The endearment hung in the air.
"Sure," Jett said.
I sent him a warning glance, my eyes locking with his. Don't say anything. Please don't say anything. The secret of Boyd Biggs being my potential father was too dangerous to share, especially with a reporter.
Jett held my gaze for a long moment. I tried to read his expression—would he keep my confidence? Yesterday he'd seemed so solid, so trustworthy. But now, with Naomi's hand possessively on his arm, uncertainty crept in.