Hell of a thing to be sitting with.
Aiden drops onto the bench next to me after everyone else clears out.
He doesn’t say anything right away. He never does.
We’ve been doing this long enough to know some things don’t need to be rushed into words.
He sits. I sit.
“You good?” he says.
“Fine.”
He lets that sit. He knows what that means coming from me.
“She’s the grocery store girl.”
Not a question.
I say nothing.
He nods once. Doesn’t make it a thing. Doesn’t push. Just takes it.
“Okay,” he says, and that’s it.
He gets up and leaves.
I sit there a second with my stick and the realization that Aiden knowing means Aurora’s going to know by tonight. Those two have never kept a single thing from each other.
I’ve made peace with that.
I pull out my phone.
Aurora:
I just met your new journalist. We’re getting coffee this week. She’s hilarious.
I stare at it.
Type back:
She’s not my journalist.
The dots pop up.
Four seconds.
Aurora:
Okay
One word. No punctuation.
I’ve known Aurora long enough to know exactly what that means. That specific flat four-second okay is the most dangerous thing in her vocabulary.
It means she’s already decided something.
I put the phone in my pocket. Stand up. Head for the exit.
