Something flips in my stomach. Why am I so impressed that he maybe can, maybe can’t speak French? Big deal. I guess it’s the knowledge that he has lived an entire life before this moment—a life it would take me years to learn about. Years I don’t have with him.
Before I can think too hard on it, Ben pulls up outside a shack-like building and stops the engine.
“Before you say anything, I know it doesn’t look like it, but this place has the best eggs in town.”
“Better than those scrambled eggs Anna makes?”
“Yes, but don’t tell her I said that, okay?”
“Deal.”
We’re greeted by a friendly waitress who shows us to an empty table. The place isn’t too full, but I suppose we’ve missed the big breakfast rush. I start studying the menu, already knowing I need to get these amazing eggs.
The control freak in me wants to order something else, just because Ben told me I have to get the eggs, but whenthe waitress comes back, I surprise myself by asking Ben to order for me.
He looks dazed for a second. I watch him, trying to push down the building admiration, while he orders scrambled eggs with sausage, Canadian maple bacon and hashbrowns.
“I wonder what Coach Sanchez would think about this breakfast.”
Ben grins. “We need to keep our strength up.” He blushes furiously. “I mean … for our match tomorrow.”
I chuckle into my coffee cup. “And other things,” I mumble over it.
Ben bites his lip.
When breakfast arrives, it may be the best thing I have ever tasted in my life. And of course it’s huge. I can barely move by the time we wobble outside to the car.
“Hey, do you want a tour of the town? We could drive around for a while before we go back to the house.”
I catch the pleading tone in his voice and agree. I don’t particularly want to rush back to that house either.
He gets in and his music starts up again. Another sad girl playlist starring Lana, Phoebe Bridges and Mitski. I smile to myself.
“I didn’t see your siblings at the party last night.”
“They’re coming in today. Sloane had a work thing and one of my sister’s kids was sick—nothing serious.”
His sister’s kid? Not his niece or nephew? Are they all really that estranged? How can someone so warm and kind come from a family so cold and detached?
He drives me through town, pointing out historical landmarks. One glaring aspect of this tour is missing—childhood stories. Where is the fence he snagged his pants on at fourteen? Where is the disco he had his first kiss at? Where is the bridge he got drunk under with his school friends?Did he spend a lot of time in Lausanne? Speaking Swiss French he wouldn’t remember with people who weren’t his family?
His leg bounces as he waits for the lights to change. I put my hand on his thigh to calm it.
He looks at me, eyes wide.
“Is this okay?”
He gulps over the dulcet tones of his sad girl music. “Yeah.”
I swallow my smile as I give his thigh a little squeeze. God, I can’t wait to get him alone again.
“Will there be another party tonight? When your siblings get in?”
“Not a party, per se. Just a dinner.”
I look at my feet in my shabby, off-duty tennis shoes and remember how Ben’s father had looked at us both disapprovingly at the last dinner. The man might be a dick, but I know Ben still cares what he thinks.
“Is there a shopping center … a, what do you call it? Amallaround here anywhere?”
