It was exactly what Jane and Charlotte warned me not to do. But I can’t help it. Open and honest communication is important.
But Casey’s face falters and my heart shudders at the implication that he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Sure, but let’s grab something at the buffet first. I’m starving.”
11
Sage
Casey leads me across the crowded room as his fingers brush my lower back. It’s the busiest I’ve ever seen the Mill; busier than any wedding I’ve been to or festival in this town. Balloon arches frame the doorways, and a bright light from the photobooth draws my attention. Mrs. Green is wearing a pink feather scarf and making pouty lips to the camera.
There’s a queue for the buffet and we walk to the back to stand in line. Mr. Robinson is in front of us and he scowls when he sees us. “Great,” he mutters under his breath. “Now the roosters will flock here.”
“Pardon?” I ask. “Did you say something, Mr. Robinson?”
But he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze travels beyond me and narrows on a pair of men walking toward us. It’s Matt and Don from the plumbing company. Matt slaps Casey on the shoulder. “How’s it going, man?”
Casey stiffens but doesn’t mention the arm squeezing his shoulder. “Great season last year. Do you think you guys are going to make it to the World Series again?”
“That’s the plan,” says Casey, taking a step forward and out of the man’s reach.
“Should I put money on it? I haven’t checked the Vegas odds, but I’m thinking it’s a sure bet.” Matt hooks his thumbs in his belt straps and puffs out his chest, reminding me of a rooster.
Mr. Robinson groans and shuffles his feet towards the buffet table.
“Have you ever placed a bet against your team? I hear some players have done this—”
“I don’t bet,” says Casey, cutting Matt off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to help the lady with her plate.” He turns his back to the guys and grabs two white plates from the buffet table. His shoulders are nearly to his ears now and his face resembles the night Billy dropped the wine on his shirt.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine.”
His face says otherwise but I don’t press. Grabbing the plate he offers, I scan the food across the long and narrow table. There’s an ice sculpture of a baseball player preparing to bat and some sushi underneath it. I place some Red Dragon rolls on my plate and turn to Casey. “Would you like some?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t like sushi. Never even tried it.”
“How do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?”
“Don’t need to ram my head into that wall to know I won’t like it.”
I snicker. “That’s not the same thing and you know it.”
A brief grin crosses his face, but it quickly fades when he hears something Matt says to Don behind him. I didn’t catch it but the jabs they give one another tell me I probably wouldn’t find it funny.
While I add some quinoa and caprese salad to my plate, Casey squeezes some ketchup onto his burger. When both our plates are full, Casey nods towards a cruiser table all the way at the back. “Let’s go eat over there.”
I feel a hundred pairs of eyes on us, but no one follows us to the table. Most people seem content to just be in the same room as Casey, give him a wave or a nod. But I can tell that it’s starting to make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t wave back or acknowledge their greetings.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says around a mouthful of hamburger. I spear a tomato with my fork, but it hangs on the silverware for a while as I contemplate my next words. “Are you happy, Casey?”
Casey narrows his eyes as though I just asked him if the sky is purple. “What?”
“Are you happy?”
“Yeah, I guess. Why?”
