I held up my hand so I could continue. “And in my kitchen that night, I was a disaster. I was sobbing. He held me because that’s what a decent person does when someone breaks down in front of them. The kiss was an extension of that, and then he realized what was happening and pulled back.”
Trish was quiet. Listening the way she did when she was taking something seriously, which I appreciated and also hated because it meant she wasn’t going to dismiss what I’d said with a joke.
A joke would be so much easier.
“And the tea?” she asked.
“He noticed my order once. He has a good memory. He’s observant. That doesn’t mean?—”
“Kayla.” She picked up her bag. “I hear you. It’spossiblehe’s just a really good neighbor with a dog who likes your kid. It’s also possible you’re building a case against something good because you’re scared.” She paused. “But I’m not going to say that, because I’m a supportive friend.”
“You literally just said it.”
“I said I wasn’t going to say it. Totally different.” She squeezed my arm. “For the record, a man who stops kissing you because your kid is upstairs and you’ve had a terrible night is not a man who doesn’t want you. That’s a man who wants to do it right. But what do I know. I married to a guy who proposed at an Arby’s.”
The school doors opened, and children began pouring out in the chaotic stream of backpacks and untied shoes and permission slips crumpled into pockets. William appeared near the back of the crowd, walking with Theo, their heads bent together in the serious conference of six-year-olds discussing matters of critical importance.
“William! Over here, buddy!”
He spotted me and waved but didn’t break from Theo. The two of them walked over together. Theo turned toward Trish, already talking about something that had happened at recess, and William arrived at my side with grass stains on his knees and a mood that was considerably better than the one I’d had all afternoon.
I was helping him get his backpack off when the sound of a truck registered. Not unusual in a school parking lot, except that I knew this engine. I’d been hearing it pull into the driveway next door for weeks now, and apparently my nervous system had cataloged the sound without my permission.
Ben’s truck pulled into the parking lot, a short distance from where Trish and I stood. Donovan was in the passenger seat. He gave an easy wave through the window.
Ben got out.
He was in jeans and a dark Henley, sleeves pushed to his forearms. He came around the front of the truck holding a to-go cup.
He walked over to me and held it out.
“Lemon ginger. Two sugars. Should still be warm.”
I took it. The cup was heated against my fingers.
“Thank you.” My voice came out smaller than I intended.
“We were at the coffee shop on Elm going over some reports. Figured I’d swing by and bring you this on my way to the station.”
He said it simply. Stripped to the facts of it, no decoration, no performance. He’d had coffee and thought of me and bought my tea and driven it over. That was all.
I filed it underobservant. Underpolite. The familiar categories where safe explanations lived.
But the tea was still heating my hands, and he was still standing in front of me, and the categories were getting harder to believe.
Trish had gone perfectly silent beside me. I could feel her watching without looking, her entire body radiating the controlled intensity of a woman exercising enormous restraint.
“Ben, this is my friend Trish. Trish, Ben Garrison.”
“The assembly guy.” Trish shook his hand with a friendliness that was, to her credit, only about twenty percent predatory. “My son Theo hasn’t stopped talking about Jolly. You made quite an impression.”
“Jolly did all the work.”
“So I’ve heard. From literally every child in the school.” She glanced at me, then back at Ben, and something shifted in her expression. A decision being made in real time, visible to anyone who knew where to look.
“You know what, this is perfect timing. Kayla was just saying she wanted to have you over for dinner tonight. As a thank-you. For the assembly and for helping find William.”
The parking lot noise faded. My heartbeat filled the space it left behind.
