Chapter 7 #2
“You know, I'm glad we don't have to suffer this alone,” he said, voice low. “Last year I was trapped backstage with Dewey and his girlfriend before we had to walk out, and I swear that man only talks about the weather. Being in costume made the whole thing even less engaging. I mean, I don’t mind learning some fun facts about nebulous clouds, but there’s just something unsettling about hearing it from a man wearing a see-through lace shirt and a bedazzled eye patch.”
Again, maybe in another lifetime Jack could have laughed and meant it with Golden Boy—everyone did know how Dewey, Arbor Bay’s local meteorologist, had an almost kink-like love for all things weather—but the man was sitting in close proximity to three problems, making himself one by default.
Faking it was the only grace Jack could give at the moment.
“Glad we can suffer together.”
Jack and Benny were keyed into the gossip that followed from the last few festivals after that.
They learned that Brenda “Always Bragging” Ballard was still smooching with Levar Thomas long after the kissing booth had been torn down and that Rebecca Callers had drunkenly booed the Arbor Bay Academy’s performance during the Little Fishies in the Bay play.
That’s why one of the little fishy’s mothers, Lily, had walloped Rebecca out in the parking lot afterwards.
This led the conversation into a more gossip-heavy side of Arbor Bay life and, funnily enough, away from talk of The One Who Said Nothing.
Benny loosened up, seemed to smile more, and even chatted with one of the servers for a bit.
It wasn't until they'd finished off their food and Jack was eyeing another peach bellini that Felicity decided to talk to him. Which, once again, quieted everyone else.
“You know, I saw the list of businesses participating in the different festival activities this year, but Cassidy's Place wasn't on it.” Her brows pinched together, a familiar face that came before a stern-yet-polite scolding. “I know you don't like stepping out of your comfort zone, but it might be a good idea to try to do something to get some added PR points. I’ve heard the bar hasn’t been that popular lately, what with The Drinking Spot moving in down the road.”
And there it was.
The point of him being there.
The main reason why he, Jack Knox, was sitting with the Robertsons and talking to Felicity at all.
The bar was in trouble and he needed help.
She was right.
But.
Her being right was the problem.
“One day you’re going to realize that devoting yourself only to one place isn’t admirable. It’s dangerous. Dangerous because, if it ever goes away, you’ll just be left there standing all alone and with nothing to show for it.”
Jack flexed his hand beneath the table, glad it was there and not in plain view.
Years ago, he would have responded the way he had then.
Dreams, goals, aspirations.
He didn’t need to be dressed in suits and able to write checks with several zeroes on the end. He didn’t need fame and fortune. He didn’t need promotions and prestige.
Now though, Jack couldn’t help but feel angry.
Because he did need some of that now.
And Felicity knew that.
Jack opened his mouth, not sure at all what he was going to say, when Benny spoke up first.
“Actually, we were hoping to throw a party at the bar.” He reached out and placed his hand on top of the one Jack had relaxed on the tabletop.
There was a smile in his voice and one that looked like he knew what he was doing on his face.
“Like a kickoff event Friday night, something to help hype up the festival before it starts.”
Felicity’s eyebrow arched high.
“Really?” she asked Jack.
Benny applied light pressure to Jack’s hand.
“It was Jack's idea, but I turned it down at first,” Benny continued. “I thought for sure we'd get caught as a new couple if we hosted together, but now? Well, now everyone knows about us, so why not?”
“That would be even better,” Arnesha chimed in, face pinching like she was running mental math. “Even more opportunity for publicity for the town and from a group of people we might not usually get—Arbor Bay’s night life.”
Marcus seconded the sentiment.
“Not to mention, it would be nice to have an option to drink after spending, I'm sure, a ridiculous amount of hours on a parade float we all know is going to lose against Carol and her gardening club anyways.”
The queen bee, lying low since her mother had taken over, didn't look amused with where the conversation had gone again.
“We usually have drinks here at the greenhouse the night before the festival,” she said. “It's an unofficial event, of course, but a lot of the people participating in the parade show up.”
“But that's unofficial, dear.” Mrs. Robertson looked at Jack this time, something she hadn't done much since they'd sat down, what with Benny being the focus.
“We could make Cassidy's Place the official kickoff party spot for the festival.
Hosted by the internet's new favorite couple! My goodness, that sounds so much fun already! What do you say?”
Benny pumped his hand twice.
Jack, once again, gave a Robertson woman an answer he didn’t want to give.
“Sounds like it'll be one hell of a time.”
* * *
Benny was walking fast. There was no watching his footing on the stone path or trying to keep from looking like a wild animal scurrying away to hide. He was charging full speed ahead to Jack's truck, his date trailing behind.
Benny had already decided that once the food was eaten and the drinks were drained, he was going to get out of the Robertson garden with an excuse and a prayer.
No lingering looks, laughs, or small talk.
Just smiles and waves and a confirmation or two of when the next time they'd see each other might be.
Simple, polite, and sanity-saving. Then, when he and Jack were alone in the truck, they'd get loud and complicated about everything they'd learned and all that had happened during the lunch.
For a moment, Benny thought that this plan would work out for him. He was so close to the truck that he was already mentally opening his door and sliding into the passenger's seat. Yet, there was a saying about being close.
It only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades.
Barely a step off of the stone path, and Benny heard laughter behind them. It was the same laughter they'd heard throughout their shared frill-covered social nightmare in the greenhouse.
Felicity and Marcus. In tandem, laughing, totally and annoyingly in sync.
All while Benny and Jack had been silently sparring with their eyes when no one was looking their way.
At least Benny had.
Out of all of the things he’d had to worry about reacting to when he woke up that morning, Felicity Fairchild hadn’t even remotely been one of them.
Benny slowed his pace so Jack could walk beside him, trying for in sync. Or, at least, covering for the image of him trying to flee.
Jack matched his stride and then lowered his voice so only Benny could hear him.
“Let me open your door.”
His hand landed on the small of Benny’s back seconds after his low voice thrummed against his ear.
Benny, who was smart, capable, and proficient in several kinds of customer service-worthy responses after dealing with panicked brides, overbearing mothers of grooms, and the odd drunk uncle or two, lost all of his common-sense marbles at the request.
Had Jack’s hand always been that big?
It felt like it clear stretched across Benny’s lower back, almost reaching both sides of his hips.
Surely the hand he had held earlier hadn’t been that…expansive?
Was there a saying about big hands or was it big feet that equaled a big—
“Benny.”
Jack interrupted his thoughts, but not the blood flow that sent heat to Benny’s cheeks on the wings of a swift, panicked bird in flight.
“I-I don’t know if opening a door is going to convince anyone we’re that in love,” Benny tried, matching his volume. “I think the table might have heard you growl when I signed us up for the parade.”
Jack didn’t comment but he did guide Benny to the passenger’s side of the truck, all smiles.
“Oh, sweet cheeks, be thankful I was more growl than bite with that one.”
Imagining the bartender biting him made that panicked bird flap even harder.
He could hear Felicity and Marcus getting closer and knew there was no way he could keep them from seeing what had to be Crayola’s newest shade of Hell coloring his cheeks.
Loudly, he thanked his pretend beau and tucked into the truck with his phone out and in his face.
No one called out to him or asked him to participate in any more small-town activities.
No one talked to him at all until Jack was sitting behind the steering wheel.
The loud part didn’t come first, but his hand did.
Jack stretched across the cab, hand moving past Benny’s face with a slow yet steady speed. Startled, Benny dropped his phone. He met Jack’s eye as Jack followed his own hand.
Then Jack’s face was only inches from the heat of Mordor.
“What are you—” he started but Jack was quick with a smirk.
“I’m helping you with your seatbelt, sweet cheeks.”
True to his word, he pulled the strap from over Benny’s right shoulder and across his chest.
A helpful gesture that Benny assumed was for Marcus and Felicity who must have been looking. However, that gesture somehow became slow.
Too slow.
Jack slid the belt across Benny’s chest without any space between them. It rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and perfectly lined up with his nipple underneath.
It hardened.
Jack slowed even more.
Benny felt that heat start to fall south of his waist.
This time it wasn’t a metaphorical bird who panicked.
He swatted Jack’s hand away and took his seatbelt destiny within his own hands.
“I can put my own seatbelt on, thank you very much,” he hurried. “And I’m sure that Felicity and Marcus won’t suspect anything if I’m the one to do it.”