My chest feels tight, my breathing is shallow. One of Seb’s dogs still stands beside me, its hot breath warming my leg. I crouch to wrap my arms around its neck. I try to do a couple of slow inhale-through-nose-exhale-through-mouth breaths without being too obvious about it. But when I peer over at Benny, he’s looking into the distance.
When he feels my eyes on him, he turns to meet my gaze. He looks…unnerved. And honestly, a little angry. I feel a pang of regret for bringing any of this up. I just couldn’t help myself this one time, could I? Life of the party, Reese Camden. I’m opening my mouth to suggest we drop it when his voice stops me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, nearly knocking the wind out of me.“You’re right, and that’s really stupid and sucks that you have to think about those things. Is this…I mean, do you think you could tell anyone? About Block’s comment?”
I’m struggling to follow anything after “I’m sorry.” Have I ever, in my entire life, had a boy say they’re sorry to me for any of this shit? If I have, I certainly can’t remember it. I’m still blinking in surprise as the rest of Benny’s words register.
“Um, no,” I answer, shaking my head. “No, I can’t. Or I won’t. Because what would I say? That he told me my dress was nice? That seems so innocent when you say it back, you know?”
Benny’s face scrunches up, clearly displeased with my answer. “But he was looking at you so…Gah, what an ass. I’d back you up if you wanted to tell anyone, Reese. That was gross.”
I give him a sad, oh-you-sweet-summer-child half smile. “It was. But again, ‘He said my dress was nice and looked at me weird’? Not the best claim for aninternto make against theCEOafter meeting him once. This industry is hard enough to break into, especially as a woman. I’m not trying to make it any harder on myself. Besides, I’ve dealt with worse.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, his head jerking my way.
I wave a hand, planning to just brush the question off, but something in his gaze has me reconsidering. There’s a fire there, and I recognize it—it matches how I feel right now. And in a rare, surprising moment, I feel seen. And heard. Maybe even understood. That’s the only reason I can give for why I tell him anything close to the truth next.
“Just some…ugly stuff happened early in high school, mostly rumors, but it made for a tough few years, where I didn’t have a lot of people’s respect or support. And the guy involved made it out scot-free.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. I haven’t given him much, but it’s more than I ever expected to tell another person who didn’t know me prior to this “starting over” stage of my life. For one panicked second, I wonder,Why, oh why, did I bring this up?If Benny doesn’t run screaming back up to the deck pretty soon, there’s something wrong with the boy.
But then I feel his hand on my shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze before dropping back into his lap, and I turn to see his encouraging expression. He doesn’t look like someone who is even considering running or screaming. So, definitely something wrong with him. But the feeling of mutual understanding persists, so I add one final comment on the subject before I let it rest.
“Anyway, I’m always trying to harden myself, to not let things like that get to me as much and not give people any more reasons to judge me, but it’s a process.”
Benny crosses his arms over his chest again, studying me with an intensity that almost makes me want to tuck and roll down the hill and into the bay, goodbye, cruel world. But he clears his throat and speaks before I can even pull my legs to my chest.
“That’s…a lot. But I think I follow. Obviously I can be kinda oblivious about double standards—as pathetic as itsounds, I never had to think much about all this. I had this little Ma angel on my shoulder telling me how to treat women with respect and I was raised to know things like, ‘If you laugh at that sexist joke your friend just told, she’ll smack you,’ right?” He sighs. “I want to do better, though. And I want to know more. I wish you never had to feel like any of this is your fault, because I think you’re so great—” He cuts off, and I feel my breath catch.
He thinks what now?
“Uh, but I want you to tell me if there’re ever ways I can help you or if I’m being one of the shitty dudes making things difficult. Or if there are any shitty dudes I can help you straighten out. Even if they’re the CEO of a company.”
Gracious, did it get warmer out here all of a sudden or is it just this objectively handsome, nice guy validating my feelings and offering his unwavering support? I swallow heavily. “Thanks, Benny. I didn’t have any plans of talking your ear off tonight and wasn’t even sure what I meant to say once I got going, but I…I’m glad you’re here.”
“Seriously, any time,” he answers, his voice barely a whisper. But I hear it loud and clear.
By the time we’re back in the office on Monday, I’ve decided that it’d be best if I avoid talking to Benny again.
He now knows way too much about my innermost feelings. I’m not sure what my juice box was spiked with on Saturday night, but I sure had to be high on something to talk as openly as I did with a guy I work with. A guy who was sweet and understanding, and whose dimpled, lopsided grin has been front and center in my mind for the better part of the last thirty-six hours.
There’s no way this little fixation ends well for me. I wonder if there’s some kind of witness protection program for when the perpetrator is you and the crime is aggressive oversharing. I’m treading dangerous waters in my self-imposed No Feelings Zone, having inched too close to Emotional Intimacy Island.
I do my best at a self-designed protection program, offering to take care of every errand for Margie just to stay on my feet and out of Benny’s path. I get coffee for everyone and their mother,run some tablecloths to the dry cleaners, pick up a specially ordered part for the KitchenAid mixer at a store on the other side of town. I am never as helpful as when I’m avoiding something.
He’s texted me a couple of times—perfectly normal, chatty messages asking how I’m doing and telling me a funny Aiden story, but I haven’t responded. Sure, I know we’ll have to film another video together before long, but that’s Future Reese’s problem.
Unfortunately, a wrench is thrown into the works when Benny and I get pulled into another meeting with Margie and Aiden.
“Sounds like you made quite the impression on Mr. Block at the cookout, on top of what he’s seen of your videos,” Aiden announces, and while he likely intends for us to interpret “you” in the plural sense, he’s looking only at Benny. “He and the rest of the suits love the tension inherent in the fact that you’re both pursuing the fall culinary internship, and they’d love to play that up throughout theAmateur Hourseries.”
My stomach sinks, and I feel Benny shift uncomfortably a couch cushion away from me. He clears his throat and asks the obvious. “And…what exactly do they have in mind?”
Aiden runs a hand over his white-blond hair, which is smoothly gelled back without a strand out of place. “We’re thinking some smaller-scale competitions in each episode. Head-to-head showdowns with each of you preparing your own version of the same dish with blind taste tests to pick the winner, maybesome other ‘challenges’ around the kitchens as we come up with them. The same kind of banter and friendly sparring you already have, just amped up.
“It’s still a work in progress, but thinkThe Amazing RaceorThe Bachelor—a reality show competition format. But instead of money or a ring at the end, you’re vying for the fall internship and a solo gig onAmateur Hour,” he explains way too cheerily. It’s not his future on the line.
A mild ache in my jaw clues me in that I’ve been clenching it, and I make a conscious effort to relax the relevant muscles. I lower my shoulders from where they sit just under my ears and smooth my hands over my jeans-covered thighs. Sure, they’re changing the game up on us. My biggest insecurity in this competition—that I’m not as skilled at cooking as Benny—will now be front and center to entertain the masses. But I’ll be doing myself no favors by falling apart in the middle of this meeting. Weird how sorting this out mentally doesn’t seem to make my physical reactions fall in line.
