She lifts a brow.
“It’s not,” I insist. “I know you. Something else happened. What was it?”
Leaning back in her seat, she shakes her head. “Everyone else just took the story and ran with it. Why can’t you?”
“Because I know you?” I offer, suppressing a chuckle. “Because that look in your eyes wasn’t put there by some boss who did something stupid and caused all these problems.”
She watches me for a long moment, the internal war she fighting plain as day on her face. Finally, she rushes out a breath and leans forward. “My boyfriend cheated on me, okay?”
“Boyfriend?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrects. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Yeah, it bruised my ego a little but—”
“I’d love to see the girl he cheated on you with.” I laugh, not even trying to hide my amusement. “Or maybe it was a guy—that would make more sense.”
“Cross!”
“I mean it. There’s not a woman better than you in the entire world. Maybe there’s a guy.” I shrug. “I wouldn’t know because I’m not looking over there.”
“But you’re looking at women?”
“Don’t distract me,” I admonish, wagging a finger in the air. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”
“Maybe it’s what I want to discuss.”
“Too fucking bad.” I grin. “So, some asshole broke your heart?”
A shadow drifts across her face as her features soften. “That was a few years ago,” she almost whispers. “This guy just hurt my feelings.”
I shouldn’t want to smile at that, but I do anyway. It should incense me that I broke her heart, but I’ve had a few years to deal with that guilt. All I can process from that sentence is what I can read between the lines, and that shit makes me happy.
She wasn’t in love with him.
“Yeah, well, you know what they say.” I shrug.
“What’s that?”
“If you break something, it’s your responsibility to fix it.”
“If you break something, you’re generally not trusted with it again,” she tosses back.
“Oh, come on,” I scoff. “That’s like telling a man he’s not allowed to eat off the good china because he broke a plate when he was a baby.”
She makes a face. “That’s a terrible analogy.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean, and I know just what you need tonight.”
“I bet you do,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “One track mind, Cross?”
Grinning, I lean forward. “I think we have two different things we’re thinking of, but by the look in your eye, I’m more than happy to go with yours.”
“What are you thinking?”
Picking up my sandwich, I take a bite. “Eat up. Then I’ll show you.”
Nine
Kallie
“Oh my God,” I squeal, bouncing in the seat of Cross’s truck. “Storybook Village! I thought they shut this place down!”
The truck slides into a spot in front of a cutout of a giant shoe. I take in the ducks waddling around and the smell of manure as the engine stops.
“They did,” Cross says. “I think it was down when you left.”
“It was. It hadn’t been open for a few years.”
“Well, this guy named Charlie bought it and opened it back up, last summer, I think. I thought maybe we could play a round of putt-putt.”
Like a kid on Christmas morning, I clap my hands. “You’re going down, Cross.”
“We’ll see, Kallie girl.”
We get out of the truck and enter through the little doorway where the frame around it is painted like a pirate ship. This was where our class had our senior pictures taken because we’d all spent so much time here in the summers growing up.
Storybook Village was a small-town version of an amusement park. The only ride was a little train Paul would start up when enough people were visiting, and it took you on a tour of the entire setup.
Growing up, this was as good as going to a far-off country. There were peacocks and giraffes, a bear and a tiger. I could spend all day milling around, feeding the ducks handfuls of corn, then ending the day with a round of mini golf.
“Nice to see you, Cross,” an older lady says as we enter the little check-in area.
“How are you, Maggie?”
“Good, honey. I’m good. What can I do for you?”
“Two for a round of putt-putt,” he says, placing a twenty on the desk. “I’m gonna show this girl how it’s done, Mags.”
“Whatever,” I scoff, picking out a pink ball. “He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.”
Maggie laughs candidly as she sorts through a bag of change. Handing Cross the difference, she tells us to grab our equipment and start through the door on the left.
The afternoon sun is warm as we step into the golfing area, and a giant plastic giraffe greets us.
“Do you remember when Peck tried to climb up the legs and get a picture taken on its back?” I laugh. “I thought old man Paul was going to have a heart attack.”