What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(51)

“You’re making me soup,” I said, standing and making my way past him back into the kitchen without another glance.

Reese chuckled, following behind me. “That’s fair. But so is the warning that I am a terrible cook.”

“You just have to pour the contents of the can into a pot, throw it on the stove, and take it off once it’s hot,” I deadpanned.

Reese held his hands up. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I sighed, shoving him to the side when he went for the grocery bag. “Move. I’ll make it.”

He grinned. “Works every time.”

We both fell silent as I dug out the ingredients, turning the knob on the stove to get it warm as he pulled a pot out from a bottom cabinet. He took a seat on one of the barstools, letting me work on the soup as he watched.

“I’m sorry I cancelled our lesson,” he said.

I shrugged. “You’re the teacher. You kind of make the rules here. If you didn’t want to have a lesson, it’s not a big deal.”

Reese nodded, taking a sip of his beer before we both fell quiet.

“So, you going to tell me what happened?” I asked after a while, keeping my eyes on the can I was opening.

Reese was silent for so long, I glanced over to be sure he’d heard me. He stared at the beer can in his hands, fingers tapping away on the sides, his eyes tired, lips turned down.

He still didn’t speak.

I poured the chicken noodle soup into the pot, putting it on the stove before I rounded the island to stand next to where Reese stood. He glanced up at me briefly, then returned his gaze to the beer can I was almost certain was empty by now.

“Can I ask you something,” I said, leaning a hip against the counter.

Again, his eyes found mine for just a second before he nodded.

“Why don’t you just tell her to leave you alone?”

Reese’s fingers paused, bringing the drumming he’d been doing to a stop.

“I mean, just be honest with her. Tell her that while she might want to be friends, you can’t do that. You’ve tried, you thought it was what you wanted, too — but it’s hurting you.”

I paused when he didn’t respond, his brows tugging inward like what I was saying was absolutely outside of the realm of possibility.

“I mean… unless…” My cheeks flamed as it dawned on me that maybe that’s not what she wanted… to just be friends. “If you guys are still…”

At that, Reese sighed, squeezing his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, no. No,” he said firmly, shaking his head with his eyes still closed. “This isn’t about Charlie.”

I swallowed.

“Oh… I just, she was here, and I thought—”

“Trust me, I know what you thought,” he said, cutting me off. He opened his eyes then, finding my own. “And I know I’m not the easiest person to believe, but I wasn’t lying when I said she just showed up here. Right before you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” he said, a heavy sigh leaving his chest. He wrapped his hands around the beer can again. “I’m sorry. I just don’t really know how to talk about this.” At that, he sort of laughed, more to himself than out loud. “Funny, what happened between Charlie and I slipped out so easily when I told you, up there on the Incline. But this…”

His face grew even more grim, like his stomach had soured with those last words. I wanted to reach for him, my hands nearly doing just that before I mentally stopped them, crossing the kitchen to stir the soup, instead.

“You don’t have tell me, then,” I said, stirring as the storm raged on outside. The wind picked up, so I spoke louder over the sound of it. “We can talk about something else. Like…” I thought for a minute, resting the heel of my left foot on the opposite calf. “The weather. Or that eccentric couple that keeps coming into The Kinky Starfish — you know the one, guy always has a feather in his hat and his wife laughs at everything you say to her, even if it’s just let me take you to your seat? Or we could talk about the election coming up. Are you a Republican or a Democrat?”

Reese didn’t respond, so I kept going.

“I’m a Democrat, though I really don’t like siding with one or the other. To be honest, I think the whole system is flawed. Why can’t we just have independent people running for what they believe in, whether it falls in red or blue or whatever. Like, is there no—”

“It’s the anniversary of my family’s death.”

My hand stopped mid-stir, all the words I’d planned to say instantly gone, like they’d been zapped by a powerful laser into nothingness. I just stared at the soup, at my hand gripping the wooden ladle.

“They died five years ago.”

I closed my eyes, a familiar ache in my chest spreading like a slow fire as I thought of my own father, of that loss. I abandoned the ladle on the paper towel next to the stove, crossing the kitchen to stand next to Reese again. He was still staring at the can in his hands, and I just stared at the floor in front of my feet.

“That’s a long time,” I said after a moment. Saying that I was sorry didn’t feel right, and I knew it never made me feel better when people said it to me, when I told them about my dad.