“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and I almost believe him. I want to believe him, but the pain is too raw.
“I’m sorry too.” I shrug. “So, what do you want?” I glance back at the house and see my entire family glued to the windowpanes in the front like this is better than football. My mother isn’t even trying to shoo them away, clutching her turkey baster, and I sigh. I feel about as defeated as the last bit of peanut butter stuck in the jar. You want it, you can’t have it, and the only alternative is to get rid of the jar, longing for that last taste.
“Come with me.”
My eyes narrow. “Where?”
“The tree lighting tonight.”
Every year at eight o’clock on Thanksgiving night, our town does a holiday festival, lighting a Christmas tree that stays up until New Year’s. Everyone goes and participates in the tradition along with spending time to catch up on gossip at the hot chocolate stand. Darlington as a whole is good for everyone in town knowing everyone’s business. The last thing I want is to be the talk of the town.
“I’m not going,” I lie.
Tank cocks his eyebrow this time. He knows I’m full of bullshit. Everyone goes. It’s not like I have a real choice anyway. Have you met my family? We all go wearing matching scarves.
Tank sighs. “All right, Beatrice. How about you meet me for breakfast. We can talk.”
“No.” I’m also quite stubborn.
“No?”
“We’re not meeting until I’ve had my first cup of coffee.” I pretend to check my manicure.
“I’ll buy you coffee with breakfast.” He chuffs but it sounds like a frustrated growl and I hope it bugs him to not get what he wants. This guy is arrogant for sure.
“You made me wait thirteen weeks for an explanation. You can wait a few more hours and after I’ve had my fill of caffeine.” I feel very grown up giving Tank the business, but not so grown up when he leans down and his minty, kissable breath brushes past my cheek. He’s so close I could inch forward and feel his lips on my skin, but I don’t. I stay as still as the statue in the town square.
“All right, Honeybee, we’ll do this your way for now. I’ll pick you up for breakfast, after your coffee, at oh-eight-hundred hours.” He turns swiftly, leaving me in the wake of his fresh cologne scent and crisp body wash I can’t place striding down the sidewalk like he frickin’ owns it.
Pfft.
Marines.
I fix my shirt that suddenly feels too tight or too twisted or too something, and sp
in myself around, heading back into the house. I try matching my stride to his and hold my head up high. Two can play this game. My attitude is kept in check by the crack in the sidewalk, and I catch myself before I fall. A glance over my shoulder tells me that Tank didn’t turn around, and thank goodness for that. I’ve got more than enough cracks in my armor for him to squeeze back in if I’m not careful.
My aunts open the door, slow-clapping like I gave them a good show. Dad yells at the television and I think he’s the only one who bothered to respect my privacy with Tank outside in favor of watching the game.
“Sit down, sweetheart, tell us all about it,” the aunts coo like Disney villain sidekicks you don’t expect curling around your ankles.
“Not much to tell,” I deflect. We all sit down at the table and my father joins us as my mother hands him the turkey carver.
“Anything I need to know about this boy, Bea?” Dad revs up the electric carver. So much for thinking dad heard and saw nothing.
“No, I promise.”
We all sit down and say grace over the meal.
“Well, I want to know more about him,” Elisa says, filling her plate with those weird creamed onion balls we swear no one likes and yet magically appear every holiday.
“I second that motion,” Doris chirps, heaping the sweet potatoes on her plate full of marshmallow fluff on top.
“You should have invited him to dinner, Sweat Bea.” Mom uses my childhood nickname, looking tired from the full day of cooking. She’s upset Deacon isn’t here so she can have an inquisition with his girlfriend.
“Mom, he left for the Marines weeks ago. This is the first time I’ve seen or heard from him.” I try to ignore everyone by stuffing food in my mouth, hoping they’ll all get the hint and leave me alone to eat.
“Oh, a hero,” Doris swoons, and I roll my eyes.