11. Caleb
Caleb
The mini golf course was in the next town, Pineberry. The thirty-minute drive would be a good opportunity for Grace and me to get to know each other better. My mind wandered to Noelle because I felt a little bit guilty leaving her.
She was with my mother for the night. I wouldn’t leave her unless I really enjoyed the person.
In nine years, I hadn’t dated much. Roxy resented me and eventually considered Noelle and me baggage.
I wasn’t going to put Noelle through the pain of losing another person until I felt things progressing.
My main concern was, and always would be, Noelle.
It was what any good father should do—put their kid first.
I turned to glance at Grace, who seemed nervous, even afraid? I decided to make idle small talk to ease her nerves. “You know I still can’t believe you never got your license, missy.” I laughed, merging into the left lane.
“Yeah,” Grace breathed. She sounded a little nervous.
I glanced over at her, and she wasn’t smiling.
I had only been teasing—it really wasn’t all that hard to believe that she didn’t have a license.
A lot of people who lived in the city opted for public transit.
Grace had mentioned she had drivers up until recently, so getting a license probably wasn’t as much of a necessity if you lived in the suburbs or outer boroughs.
I reached across the console for her hands. She had both of them clenched tightly in her lap and she was stiff as a board. I wondered if she had some sort of aversion to driving.
I wanted to ask, but it was hard to tell which subjects were off-limits. She seemed scared of her past. The last thing I wanted was to trigger her flight response, to have her shut down on me.
I made a joke about trust-fund babies earlier in the ride and then realized who I was speaking to and instantly felt bad, but she was a good sport about it.
From what I’d learned so far, Grace was pretty well-off between her trust fund and the money she’d earned modeling. She owned a property on the Upper East Side, but for some reason, didn’t live in it.
I had questioned why she’d want to spend money on a house she didn’t live in, but she shut the conversation down quickly, citing she had her reasons.
She was selling the brownstone and didn’t want to talk about the reason why.
It seemed Grace’s brownstone was a big trigger for her.
It made me think that whatever her secret was might have to do with her brownstone.
Needing to gauge whether driving was the cause of her stiff demeanor, I pressed on. “I know driving might seem daunting, but it’s all about who’s teaching you.” I winked at her as I stopped at the red light. My pickup truck might not be the best vehicle to teach her in, though.
“Maybe one day.” She sighed and looked out her window.
I squeezed her hands, wanting to support her even though I didn’t know exactly what I was supporting.
From that point forward, the car ride was pretty silent. It struck me as odd, considering this girl spoke a million miles a minute, blurting whatever went through her pretty head. As we pulled into the mini golf parking lot, I glanced over at Grace, who looked like she’d seen a ghost.
After I’d unbuckled my seat belt, I gently caressed her arm, and once she leaned into my touch, I engulfed her in a hug. She sure looked like she needed one.
“I’m sorry. You don’t seem very comfortable here,” I murmured into her hair.
“I once was someone who thought I found my place in high society. Now it seems like I don’t fit in many places these days,” Grace whispered softly into my shoulder.
Her tone was heavy and filled with sadness.
It made my chest tighten and I wanted to find out who did this to her, who made her feel like this.
I wanted her to never feel this way again.
“I’d say you fit pretty well right here,” I murmured, my lips in her golden hair.
As I pulled away, Grace appeared apprehensive, like she wanted to say something but was frightened. It gave me pause, and I waited for her to be ready as she studied my face.
Grace must have found what she was looking for because she admitted, “My former circle dropped me. My mother is a socialite on the Upper East Side, and I was raised to be just like her. Someone who attends parties, represents brands, gets photographed at the right times, and basically lives under a magnifying glass for all to judge. I’ve had to …
distance myself from that world.” She sucked her teeth, appearing to search for the right words.
Her gaze was faraway again. “While I distanced myself, I became an outcast from high society.” She laughed but there was no humor to it.
“All the brands I worked with dropped me. All my ‘friends’ don’t want to be seen with me in public.
My own mother wants me to do a press tour issuing apologies and ‘take responsibility’ for my role in events that transpired and basically beg for my reinstatement back into that world.
The very same people who treated me like a pariah were the ones with the biggest secrets. ” Grace waved her hands dramatically.
“Secrets you’re still keeping,” I pointed out, trying to piece together what she wasn’t telling me.
I sat there, actively staying neutral and impartial. Even though I hated that these high society people hurt her. Put that expression of hurt and pain on her face. Made her keep secrets that clearly tortured her.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a lot,” Grace breathed out. “And moving has been a lot,” she muttered, staring at parked cars in the lot.
“I can’t imagine you did something so bad to be shunned like that. What could you have done that was so unforgivable?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“You’d be surprised.”
“Promise me something?”
She nodded once but didn’t speak.
“When the time comes and you want to tell someone your story, just know I’m here,” I offered.
Grace appeared taken aback and her eyebrows rose, but her overall expression was neutral. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she croaked out, “Okay.”
“Well, you’re not in jail, so that’s a plus,” I pointed out, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“I guess,” she agreed as I exited the car to open the passenger side door.
“I’m still not going to let you win. I’m a mini golf champion, you know,” I joked, and she laughed. I hoped I could give her relief from her thoughts, if only temporarily.
“Old man, bartender, mini golf connoisseur. Is there anything you can’t do?” Grace hopped out of the truck. She laughed at her bad joke and threw her head back in amusement.
I leaned in and whispered, “I’m not just a bartender, Grace. I own Bar.”
Grace’s eyes widened and she muttered, “Shit.”