Ask Me Why(26)

I clear my throat. “No, Ollie. I don’t.”

“My dad is pretty great, you know.” His legs swing with abandon. I miss feeling that carefree ease.

“Oh yeah?” My response is the definition of evasive.

Maude saves my ass by swooping in at that exact moment. She’s getting a big tip.

“All set?” She has a pen poised and ready.

“We’ll have two of my usual,” I tell her.

“Oooh, that’s fun. I’ll have those right up.” She reaches behind her and produces two icy cups of water. “Hopefully this will hold you over until then.”

I take a long drink to soothe the desert in my mouth.

“Do you like my dad, Miss Braelyn?”

This isn’t the first time he’s asked me. I’m positive it won’t be the last. I pull in a deep breath, dredging up a watered-down version of the truth. “Uh, sure. He seems very sweet to you. And he’s very tall.”

Ollie’s head bobs wildly. “He is. I’m gonna grow up big like him. Won’t that be awesome?”

“I bet you’ll be even taller and bigger and stronger.”

He lifts his arm and flexes the muscle. I give his small bicep a squeeze, whistling for optimal impact. “Oh, wow. You’re well on the way. Your dad better watch out.”

“Really?” His face scrunches up with a growl. “I wanna be a policeman.”

“Then that’s what you’ll grow up to become.”

“But how about my dad?”

I tilt my head. “What about him, sweetie?”

“Do you love him?”

I choke on my sip of water. Just when I thought we’d swerved around this topic. “Oh, um… no. I don’t know him very well. I think we’re just friends. Maybe?” Yeah, because that’s convincing. My flimsy cardboard voice isn’t fooling anyone. I sound like a liar, and a bad one at that.

Ollie is quick as a whip and doesn’t miss a beat. “I think you two should get married.”

Holy shitballs, what tangled dimension did I drop into? It will be a fifty below zero in Hades before that’s even a conceivable option. I attempt to gather my scattered wits.

“Uh, well,” I start. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea, Ollie.”

“Why not?”

“It’s kinda complicated.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure how to explain it,” I hedge.

“But why?”

“Because it’s adult stuff.”

“My dad and Mary talk about this all the time.”

I doubt that very much. “Well, then you should ask them.”

He rests his chin on an open palm, in it for the long haul. “I want you to tell me. Why won’t you marry my dad?”

How bad will Brance hate me if I tell Ollie the truth? Can it get much worse? The hard truth sinks in my stomach. Denial is a much safer route, but I’m running out of steam.

Lord, if you’re listening, please cut me a break.

An angel dressed as Maude sets two overflowing bowls in front of us. Whipped cream and sprinkles have never looked so good. Ollie’s eyes are blown wide when he catches sight of the massive sundae just within reach.

“All this is for me?” His tone is packed with all the wonder in this world.

“Yup.” I add extra emphasis on the last letter.

“There’s even two cherries on top,” he mumbles.

“It wouldn’t be the ultimate deluxe without those.”

“This is the best place ever. I mean, other than Thicket. And I guess my house. I like school, too. But Dapper Diner rules!” He pumps the air.

“Told you so.”

His little fingers curl around the bowl, dragging it closer. “Won’t this spoil my dinner?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He zips his lips, those blue eyes never straying far from the tower of ice cream. “I’m super good at keeping secrets.”

“Just this once. This will stay just between us,” I whisper.

“But what if I want to come back?”

“Then I’ll bring you.” I hold up a hand. “Girl Scout’s honor.” I was never in a troop, but it still counts.

“Promise?”

“Absolutely,” I vow.

Hello, safe ground. I’ve missed you.

I clink my spoon against his. “Enjoy, kiddo.”





Brance



Shove



The words begin blending on the page, and I set the packet down. I rub my eyes, reaching for the mug in front of me. Cold coffee greets my tongue, and I choke it down. I glance at the clock, my shoulders drooping. I’ve already been at this for five hours.

I’m about to buzz Kathy for a fresh cup when my door swings open. As I raise my glower toward the sound, I’m met with the smug smile of my best friend.

“Good morning,” he chirps.

I don’t bother masking my scoff. “It’s almost noon.”

Jordan drops into the leather chair across from me, groaning with gusto. “But it’s not yet. You can still get a donut in the lounge.”

His logic is more ridiculous than the wrinkled shirt he’s wearing. He kicks his feet up on the ledge of my desk.