Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
OLIVIA
N ow that the truth is out about my mom and Mark, I catch them everywhere . On Friday morning, I walk back into the kitchen looking for table seven’s breakfast order and find Mom sidled up to the flattop stove, flipping sausage patties while Mark rubs her shoulders. On Saturday, I open the office door to exchange some cash only to find them sucking face like teenagers up against curfew, her straddled in his lap in the desk chair.
I’m honestly not even sure they noticed me since they didn’t make any moves to stop, not even after I mumbled a quick apology and skirted away, utterly mortified. When Mark shows up to work Sunday donning a purpling hickey the size of a golf ball, high enough on his neck that he can’t hide it with his uniform, I drag Mom into the walk-in fridge for a little chat.
“You two need to cool it,” I demand, wrapping my arms around myself to keep warm against the frigid air.
“Cool what?” she asks, completely aloof and unconcerned. Her curls are barely contained in a bundle on top of her head, a colorful-patched smock hanging from her shoulders. I have a feeling Mark isn’t the only reason for her good mood. She moves through the café on light and airy feet, as if no longer held down by the weight of all the things she was undoubtedly worried about before our conversation.
“Mark has a hickey , Mom. It looks like he ran neck-first into a tire iron.”
Her eyes spark with quiet amusement. “Honey, we’re just happy.”
“You can be happy without gyrating all over him around the café,” I insist. “Or are you so lost in the throes of him that I need to sprinkle a box of condoms around to make sure you’re protected when the mood strikes?”
“Oh, we don’t use those.” She waves a hand to brush off the thought.
“Mom!”
“Let me bask in the hazy chaos of love, sweetheart. Maybe you should find some of your own?” She laughs as she pushes open the door to saunter away like none of this is a big deal. And I suppose it’s not, because she’s happy, and I’d take her happiness over anything—even if it means I have to scrub my eyeballs of all that I witness between them every day.
It makes me think of Rhett. Of all the ways I’d like to get lost in him throughout the day in quiet, stolen moments when no one’s looking. I let myself wonder if we could ever have the same kind of open affection, but then promptly shut the thought down. He’s still such a mystery to me, and after he left the other morning without so much as a word, I’ve been feeling more and more insecure about whatever it is that may or may not exist between us.
Sometimes I notice the way he looks at me, like he’s just as startled as I am about the way he feels, and I wonder if his world is just as off-kilter as mine when we’re together. Like what we’re doing is changing the very shape of us, even though it’s not at all what either of us were after. But then other times . . .
Other times I wonder if I’m just a naive girl with a stupid crush on an emotionally unavailable bad boy. If I should protect my heart while I can and run .
I’ve been trying to hold out, to let him seek me out first. It’s only fair, right? After slipping away in the dark? Though, I guess he was the one who showed up on my doorstep that night. Maybe it’s my turn to make the next move.
Doing my best to shuck away all the uncertainty that holds tight beneath my ribs, I make it through my shift relatively unscathed from any further catastrophes where my mother and Mark are concerned. But Mark’s good mood is just as noticeable: as the dinner rush begins to wane, I find him in the kitchen working on an assortment of desserts.
“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,” I say through the expo window with a smile. “It smells amazing.”
Mark’s grin rises as he turns to look at me, wiping his hands on his long apron. “I’ve got something up my sleeve just for you actually.”
“Oh?” My brow arches. “Bribery?”
His laugh is loud and booming, and it makes my chest squeeze. “Yeah, something like that.” He lifts a pan and tilts it for me to see, and I almost melt.
“Cheesecake!” I squeal, looking from the yet-to-be-baked delicacy to Mark’s warm face. That single hoop earring sparkles as he pivots to set it back down. “You remembered.”
He shrugs. “You used to ask for one every birthday. Not hard to forget the way you nearly swallowed it whole every damn time.”
It’s true—it’s always been my favorite. I don’t remember when or why I stopped asking for it, but it pierces into me that he hasn’t forgotten. I look at him again and take in the worn backward hat he uses to keep his hair out of his face, the laugh lines embedded around his eyes and mouth. He’s been around so long that I think I forgot to appreciate how good he is, how good he’s always been to Mom and me, to this café. “I’m happy she has you,” I tell him. And I mean it.
His eyes shift back to mine, his wide grin slipping into something softer. The sincerity that wraps around us is nearly palpable. “I’m happy I have her , Olivia. Thank you for being okay with it.”
I throw him a smirk that, in my mind, is equal parts playful and dangerous, but probably only makes me look constipated. “Break her heart and I’ll break your face.”
He laughs again, but I see the way his eyes shine. “I’d hope so.”
I have to wipe my own eyes when I turn to head back out to the dining floor.
* * *
A few hours later, I’m marching under the scattered streetlights of town square with a to-go box full of cheesecake and a train of thought stuck back on the sticky tracks of Rhett Bennett.
My face burns from the cold night air, but despite the cold, I hardly ever drive to work—I love having the walk home to unwind and shake off the day. It’d been a relatively easy dinner shift: Gus Romano brought in his mother who is visiting from Florida, and a group of parents from the school district’s PTA met for a couple of hours, discussing fundraising opportunities over plates of hot roast. Nosy Maeve didn’t make her usual Sunday night appearance, but according to old man Gerry—who’d stopped by to say hi to everyone after picking up a chocolate pie from Luna’s bakery next door—Maeve was busy hosting bunco at the library.
I have to admit, her absence was a welcomed reprieve—especially after she called the Bennetts womanizers the last time I saw her.
I wonder if Rhett’s working tonight at the bar. For a heartbeat I consider dropping by to see for myself, but my feet are sore from being on them all day and . . . what if he’s not even there? If he’s not, one or two of his brothers surely are, and after showing up at the ranch unannounced, I’m sure they’d have questions that I don’t even know how to answer.
Still, despite feeling a little foolish, I miss him. My mind has traced over thoughts of him every night before I fall asleep, how his body felt against mine in the bath and, later, in my bed. And I worry about the darkness in his eyes—the way he’d seemed distracted.
I do have his phone number, I realize, and I still haven’t used it . . .
I’m barely through my front door before I’m scrolling to find his name in my contacts, pressing the call button with an eager finger. He answers on the second ring, and my heart does a triple backflip.
“Hello?” he says, voice gruff through the phone. It sends a pulse of desire through every nook and cranny of my body.
“You answered,” I declare, hoping the cool evenness of my own voice at least hides a little of the effect he has on me, even from afar.
“You called,” he says pointedly, and I can picture his uneven smile as he says it.
“I wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing.”
“That so?” he asks, voice lowering. There’s some background noise, and it doesn’t sound like he’s home.
“Sorry, are you busy?”
“Uh . . .” He trails off for a beat. “No, just give me a sec.” There’s some chaotic rustling and a bang. I hear something that sounds a lot like fuck off, Boone , and then after a few more moments, he’s back. “Okay, I’m good now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.” His voice is so deep it sounds almost dangerous. “Why?”
I laugh. “It just sounds like you’re at work.”
“Nah. Well, okay, I am. Was,” he corrects. “But now I’m upstairs.”
“Oh, in your kinky sex dungeon?” Flashes of that ghostly apartment come alive in my mind, and I fight a blush thinking of the rope he used to tie me down.
“Mm,” he rumbles. “You think it’s kinky?”
“Isn’t it?”
He laughs. “I like that it is for you. Damn, now I’m going to have an even harder time not thinking of you when I’m up here.”
“What is it for you?” I press, ignoring the way his words swoop through me. “I remember you said you liked the quiet.”
“Yeah, I do,” he agrees. “I guess it’s a home away from home? My cabin at the ranch is hardly cozy. No curtains on the wall, not much food in the fridge. And . . . it’s where my parents lived before they took over the main house. I was pretty little when we left it, but I remember they weren’t the best days. Hard memories, I guess. I feel lighter in the apartment. Always have.”
I nod, understanding. “I’m sorry.”
He snorts. “What do you have to be sorry about?”
I give myself a second to muster up the words. “For all the shit you have on your plate. That you feel like you have to hold it all in. I was . . . I was worried about you. The other night.”
He sighs. “I know. I shouldn’t have just shown up like that.”
“No, no. I’m glad you did. I always want you to show up when you need a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Aren’t we?”
“Hm.” A pause stretches out between us and I hear faint rustling on the other end of the line. “Maybe.”
I want to throttle him. “Be honest, Rhett. Are you okay?”
But he doesn’t answer. “Can I ask you something?”
I sense the shift in his tone, imagine the hard set of his jaw. “Of course.”
“There’s some shit going on at home. My brother’s wife . . . she’s sick.”
I set the box of cheesecake down on my counter in the kitchen and spin to stare at the far wall. “Brooks’s wife?”
“Yeah.”
I swallow. “How sick?”
“It’s not good,” he says.
“Shit,” I whisper. Liam and his brothers flood my mind, and my chest squeezes. No wonder Rhett looked like he was being pulled under the tide.
“I guess that answers my question.” He exhales. “You didn’t know?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly. “How would I?”
He sighs again, and this time I hear the relief in it. “I’m sorry. It’s somehow gotten out and . . . I didn’t know how big the story might be. In town, I mean.”
Understanding sinks in. “I haven’t heard anything about it. How would someone know? Did something happen?”
“It’s a long story,” he grumbles. “Someone might be trying to take the ranch from us.”
Oh my god. “Can that happen?”
“I sure fuckin’ hope not.”
The Bennetts have had that ranch for generations . How could Brooks’s wife being sick lead to something like that? “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Just . . . just keep talking. This is nice. How was your day?”
My heart aches with the way he changes the subject so quickly. But I don’t want to push too hard, especially not over the phone like this. “Good,” I say. “I talked to my mom. About Charleston.”
“Yeah?” He sounds genuinely intrigued.
“Yeah. I told her I want to go to Charleston, but that I want her to go with me.”
“Well, look at that. That’s a damn good idea.”
“I thought so,” I say, smiling again.
“How’d she take it?”
“Surprisingly well. But after catching her indisposed with our chef, I think she was probably willing to hear anything I had to say.”
“No way . June Danvers? With the chef ?”
A laugh bubbles out of me, loud and bright. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but I’ve sort of been on to them for a while.”
“Stirrin’ up a town scandal—I’m impressed,” he says. “Good for her. Everyone deserves . . . well, that.”
So do you , I think, and it helps me brave the question. “Can I see you again soon?”
A pause. “You miss me, peaches?”
My face burns hot, and I’m thankful he can’t see. “Maybe?”
He chuckles. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Working.” I frown. “But . . . you could come in?”
I doubt he’d want to, especially knowing there’s a threat to the ranch and potential gossip about his sister-in-law. Which is why I’m surprised when he says, “That sounds good. There’s some stuff I need to work on at home, but I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
I smile. “Sounds perfect.” But there’s something else I need to say, something that burns on my tongue. “Hey, Rhett? We are friends, you know.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “This isn’t just about . . . experience. At least not anymore. I promise I’m a good friend, and . . . I guess I just want you to know I’m here for you. For anything you might need. You don’t have to be alone with it all.”
He sighs, and I hate that I can’t see his face to read his expression. “Just so you know, I don’t exactly tie my friends up in my bed, peaches. Though, I bet Colt would love it.” Colt —I’ve heard him say that name before, though I can’t place it with anyone from town. “But I hear what you’re saying, and . . . thank you. I hate to say I don’t think I’m a very good friend myself, but for what it’s worth, I’m here for you too.”
I lean back against the wall and catch my grin in the entryway mirror. “Yeah?”
A dark chuckle. “Yeah. Turns out I have a thing about you smiling.”
He’s . . . flirting, I think. A foreign emotion spills through me, crisp and bubbly, like a bottle of champagne popping open. It floods my senses, distracts me from the conversation until he’s speaking again.
“Don’t tell anyone or I might lose my edge.”
I laugh. “It’ll be our little secret,” I promise. And I mean it. But a sudden want for more tears through me so violently, I feel it sting like kerosene in the corners of my eyes.
“A secret between friends,” he murmurs.
When we hang up, I stare at my phone with a pulsing ache in my chest, guilty that I ever second-guessed him or his intentions with me. He does need a friend, and despite what he believes about himself, this soft and vulnerable side of him matters. More people should know about it, should care about him. I want him to know he doesn’t need to hide behind a mask, that his deeper layers deserve to be seen.
Tomorrow , I think. When he comes to see me at the café. I’ll make sure everyone in that building knows how happy I am to see him.