Chapter 6 #2
Benny didn’t point out that Carol was still going to be a thorn in their side, cheesy caption or not, but instead typed out a heart emoticon. He tagged Jack in the picture next.
“That should get people interested in you,” he said. “And maybe those people will be interested enough to come back later to see if I give an update. Then we could post a picture at the bar and really reel them in.”
Benny felt a new influx of nerves tighten into a ball in the pit of his stomach.
“If we survive the next hour.”
Arbor Bay was broken up into three sections of social real estate. Where out-of-towners stayed, where the common folk lived, and the Robertson Estate. The latter owned the most expansive residential acreage the town had to offer.
Sprawling.
Expensive.
Balconies and block-wood columns and potted plants that stayed more hydrated than Benny did on any given day.
Not a spot of mildew on the siding or rust from hard water at its base.
A Southern Living magazine cover, waiting for a photographer to fawn over it.
Benny had never been inside of the mini-mansion—the pinnacle of southern royalty—but he had been to the garden to its left, at the end of an equally custom-made path of imported stone and impeccable gardening.
Jack led the way to the first hand-placed paver.
“Have you been here before?” he asked. “The garden part, I mean?”
Benny was careful with his footing. He was clumsier than most guys and his shorter height of 5’9” didn’t help when it came to his stride.
The dress shoes he’d decided to wear—despite never wearing them before—weren’t helping his confidence.
They had a little more slide on their bottoms than he deemed safe for carefree use.
“I have, but way back in the day,” he answered.
“My mom was a part of Missy Robertson's book club when I was little. Mrs. Robertson hosted a family event after they read some book and had the greenhouse in the garden all set up for it.” Benny walked across to another stone while trying to sidestep the familiar ache in his chest. “I don't remember anything about the actual book they talked about, but I do remember how shiny everything was. Callum kept swatting my hands away from touching anything, worried somehow that if I broke something he’d be the one who had to pay for it.” Benny joked now, but he remembered making a conscious effort to listen to his brother back then. He’d handled his drink with care while looking longingly at a glass-blown boutique flower centerpiece he’d desperately wanted to glide his finger along.
Alas, he’d listened to Cal.
“What about you?” Benny followed up. “Any occasion to see how the higher tax bracket gardens?”
Jack’s smile was all sly and smooth.
It made Benny double down on his focus to avoid falling flat on his face.
“That’s a big no,” he answered. “I never had a reason to come here and definitely never got an invitation. Same for my parents. Though, they didn't really stick around town long enough to visit any of the tax brackets, so I’m not sure I can blame the royal family for keeping their distance.”
“Where did they go? Somewhere with less humidity?” That was usually the answer when families left the zip code. Well, for jobs…and escaping the humidity.
Though, apparently there was a third reason.
“Weed.” Benny laughed out loud. Jack reached out to steady him at the wobble. “Colorado, specifically,” he continued. “Under the cover of helping my grandma out after she got sick.”
Benny sucked his humor back in and tried to spin around to face him without compromising his already-iffy balance. Jack’s hold on him tightened.
“Oh, I’m sorry I laughed,” he hurried. “I just wasn’t expecting—”
“Weed,” Jack finished. That sly smile stayed right where it was. “Don’t worry. I would have laughed too. Nothing wrong with the truth, or my grandma being sick. It’s just a part of life.”
Benny took a moment to search the man’s face.
It really seemed like the bartender hadn’t taken offense.
He continued walking, a question already forming.
“And you decided to stay here instead of joining your parents?”
Benny felt the movement of Jack’s nod through his hold.
“I did,” he said. “I wanted to help Dixon and Cassidy’s Place. The devil’s work, as my grandma called it, never mind her husband opened the bar and her other son was the one running it.”
Benny couldn't tell if Jack resented his parents, his grandma, or his decision to stay judging by his clipped tone. He also didn’t have time to dive into an investigation.
The stone path had led them to a moss-covered archway.
The entrance to El Dorado.
Despite his internal humor, Benny’s nerves recoiled into a spring in his stomach.
“It’s another world in there,” he said to Jack, dropping his voice to a panic-whisper. “A maze of plants I don’t know the names of, a big fountain you’re not supposed to throw pennies in at the center, and the greenhouse that makes their house look like a basic bitch.”
This time, Jack was the one to laugh.
“Did you just call the Robertson’s house a—”
“Well, aren't you two just darling!” The squeal that interrupted Jack became a woman appearing ahead of them with a sun hat that was roughly the size of a small child on her head. Jack released his hold on Benny's hand and repositioned it to the small of his back.
It was only because of the little push he gave that Benny entered Carol Robertson’s orbit.
“I've been called a lot of things in my life, but I don't think darling has ever been one of them,” Jack said, tone switching to customer service smooth.
Benny hoped to copy his confidence during the next hour or so.
Carol was absolutely delighted.
Her red-rimmed smile pulled wider somehow, words still managing to escape.
“So if he's not heard darling, what little nicknames do you like to call him?” she asked. “Or are you still going with Guy?”
Benny's attempt at confidence stalled out before it ever got traction.
They hadn’t even been together a week. Nobody locked in a nickname after a week. Did they?
Was that normal?
Was it a trap?
What did he call Jack?
What could even fit?
Honey?
Sweetie?
Pookie?
What was it that he'd called him earlier?
“Sweet cheeks,” he blurted out.
Carol’s eyebrow went high at that.
“Sweet cheeks,” Carol repeated.
Benny leaned in.
“Yep, sweet cheeks is what we call each other. You know, a one-size fits all nickname.”
Jack, bless him, nodded.
“We're all about equality over here,” he confirmed. “He slaps my ass just as much as I slap his.”
Benny nodded too. Solemn in his fake sincerity.
“Equality,” he repeated.
Mathematically, it only made sense to strengthen the one revelation by expressing a second one. That’s why Benny—and math—flicked his hand out and slapped Jack’s ass, like it was a Pavlovian reaction and the bell had been rung.
Math and science, right there.
And absolute surprise from the one who’d done the slapping.
Benny felt like he had reached his own internal boiling point as Carol channeled the correct response to such a scene.
Her eyes widened in complete contrast from Jack’s utter lack of batting his.
“Well…I'm sure your audience will appreciate that progressive stance.” She turned on her cloth-topped wedges and motioned to the now-paved path that led deeper into the garden.
“Why don't y'all go ahead and take a look around while we wait for the rest of the guests to show up? Not everyone has your punctuality.”
“Everyone?” Benny echoed.
“Oh, you know, just the usual suspects.”
Benny realized too late that he'd been so wrapped up in his fake romance drama that he'd forgotten to ask who their audience was supposed to be. Jack led him down the path and out of sight from the socialite before he could ask her for a list of the new characters.
In his new setting, instead of panic, Benny donned politeness.
“I'm sorry I slapped your butt,” he whispered to Jack. “I got swept up in the moment and the moment felt very slap-appropriate.”
Jack snorted.
“Never had anyone call me darling before today and never had someone apologize for smacking my ass. Hanging out with you, Benny De Carlo, has been a slightly wild ride so far.”
They kept their hands together as they moved past pots filled with flowers that looked like they belonged in a painting, a picturesque stone wall covered in vines, and then finally into the heart of the Robertson garden.
The fountain—not made for throwing coins into, according to Cal’s insistence the last time they’d been there as kids—was smaller than Benny had remembered. That, however, didn’t take away from how fairy-tale it all looked.
Just like the greenhouse beyond it.
Steel and aged glass and flora well-kept yet strategically wild, antique gold and green café tables and chairs. The wall facing them was nothing but two large accordion doors, pushed open so the people seated inside still felt like they were dining in nature.
Beautiful.
Elegant.
Nature meeting romance.
Benny glanced up at Jack to see if the same impressions were washing over him.
However, Benny paused in his list of adjectives for the Robertsons’ garden.
Jack Knox looked good.
Standing among the greens, glasses and stone statues, a barely-there smile and a shirt collar that had come open enough to show smooth, sun-kissed skin. Benny couldn’t help but think he looked better than some fairy-tale fountain with a no-pennies rule.
Just standing there in silence, holding his hand.
It was…nice.
It was…
“Wow,” Jack breathed out. “I guess I can see why almost everyone in Arbor Bay gets a hard on about this place.”
Distracting.
Benny shook his hand out of Jack’s.
“And just like that, you’ve killed the aesthetic for me.”
Jack laughed, following him around the curve of the fountain.
“Think of my feelings, finally realizing everyone’s gotten their panties wet for this,” he added on with a little laugh. “You do know most everything in here can be bought at a Lowe’s, right?”