9 #2
“How are you finding it?”
“Like living under a microscope.”
I laugh. “It does have that feeling, doesn’t it? I guess I’m used to everyone knowing everyone else’s business. But I sometimes wonder what it would be like to live anonymously as a stranger in a big city.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he says after a beat of silence that feels close to comfortable.
I take another sip of my wine. “I’m curious, what do you do for fun?”
“I go on fake dates with beautiful women.”
I smile and try to hide how much I like it that he thinks I’m beautiful.
“What about you?” Joel asks.
“What about me?”
“What do you do for fun?”
It hasn’t escaped my attention that Joel hasn’t answered my question. He doesn’t seem to mind talking about his work, about camera angles, lighting setups, and clients who don’t know what they want. But the second it gets personal, he manages to casually deflect my questions.
“What do I do for fun?” I repeat, smiling sweetly. “I go on a fake date and watch my fake boyfriend dodge all personal questions.”
I’ve surprised not only myself, but Joel too, judging by the look on his face.
Immediately, I feel bad for calling him out like that. I’m not generally confrontational, but somehow he brings out a snarky side of me I didn’t even know was there.
“Wow,” he says. “You really slipped that jab in there.”
I feel the blush rising in my cheeks. “Forget I said anything.”
“Why? Was it untrue?”
I frown, thrown by his reaction. He doesn’t look defensive. He looks...impressed. It’s a response I can’t wrap my head around.
He’s still watching me, eyebrows raised, waiting for my answer.
Fine. He asked.
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t untrue.”
A new wave of tension surrounds us.
Joel keeps his gaze steady on mine. “You’re not wrong,” he says softly. “I am avoiding personal questions. And you were right to call me on it.”
I blink, caught off guard. Bobby never admitted when he was wrong. While we were dating, I was always the one shrinking my opinions, softening my tone, just to keep the peace.
“If personal questions are out, what do you suggest we talk about?” I ask uncertainly.
Joel glances at his watch. “There’s still half an hour before the movie starts.” He taps his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “How do you feel about silence?” he asks hopefully.
“Like I want to fill it and apologize to it at the same time.”
His lips tilt up a little in what I’m convinced is almost a smile. “Why am I not surprised?” he murmurs.
“I have a better idea.”
“No.”
“You can’t dismiss it without hearing what it is.”
“I already know I’m not going to like it.”
“How about every time you answer one of my questions, I’ll answer one of yours?” I propose, as if he hasn’t spoken.
He folds his arms. The short sleeves of his T-shirt reveal the definition in his arms. “Sounds like my worst nightmare.”
I giggle a little at his appalled expression. “Come on, give it a chance. You can even go first.”
A glimmer of interest lights up his eyes. “Just to clarify, I get to ask the first question?”
“Yes,” I say generously.
“Okay. Why’d you go out with the douchebag?”
I gape at him. “Seriously? That’s your question.”
“That’s my question.”
Now it’s my turn to fold my arms. “That’s not a proper question. It’s too...personal.”
“I thought that was the point.”
I narrow my eyes at him. My mom was right. The beautiful ones should come with a warning label.
“It was your idea,” he says, a little smugly. “If you don’t want to play, silence it is.”
I let out a sigh and stare into my drink.
After a moment, I say, “Bobby wasn’t perfect.
We weren’t even a great match, but it felt good to be wanted.
After a while, you start to convince yourself that all the little moments—sharing inside jokes, movie nights, bad takeout—add up to something.
” I shrug, trying to play it off, but my voice still comes out small.
“You convince yourself because you don’t want to be alone. ”
When Joel keeps silent, embarrassment tumbles through me, followed by a rush of vulnerability. What possessed me to pour my heart out like that? I want to claw the words back, but it’s too late.
I finally gather the nerve to look at him. Sadness clouds his eyes, but he banishes it with a small shake of his head.
“Bobby was no match for you,” he says in a gruff voice. “If you’d stayed together, you would’ve walked all over him.”
My eyes widen in astonishment. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
“I don’t walk all over anyone.” I’m confused why anyone would think I’m capable of that. If anything, I’m the one who gets walked over. At least, that’s what Tess and Sofia keep insisting.
Joel’s gaze holds mine. “People call you Brown Oaks’s sweetheart, but there’s a fire in you most of them don’t see.”
“I don’t like that label,” I confess. “The town sweetheart.”
“I’m not surprised.”
There’s no edge in his voice, only honesty. It lands heavier than I expect. I swallow hard. A fire inside me? He’s mistaken. “Joel, you don’t know me.”
He doesn’t say anything. He simply watches me with that quiet, unnerving intensity. And then his mouth curves into a half-smile, like he’s slowly and meticulously peeling back the bright, shiny layers I show the world, until there’s nothing left but the truth I haven’t said out loud.
And that’s when the memory crashes in—me fisting his shirt in my hands, pulling him toward me, and running my hands over his body.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t know me either.
I clear my throat and sit up a little straighter. “My turn.”
Wariness floods his face.
“Tell me about your family,” I say.
“That’s not a question,” he points out.
“You’re going to nitpick?”
“If it buys me time, yes.”
“Okay, then. What about your family? Are you close to them?”
His eyes flash away from mine. “My parents are dead. And I’m an only child.”
I stare at him, stricken. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” A few seconds tick by. He’s gazing into the middle distance, halfway here with me and halfway lost in his head. His flat, closed-off expression tells me this is not a subject he’s willing to explore further.
“What about you?” he asks finally, meeting my eyes. “Are you close to your family?”
I nod. “I get along really well with my parents.”
“Any siblings?”
“No.”
“So, you had a happy childhood?”
He asks it like he already knows the answer, but I nod anyway. “I did. My parents made sure of it.”
“I’m glad,” Joel says softly.
Something in his voice tells me his childhood was nothing like mine.
I press my lips together, trapping all the questions I want to ask, the ones I’m not quite brave enough to voice. It doesn’t matter, though. Our time is up.