Page 4 of Never Pucking Ending

My shoulders slump. “A Coke would be way better with this meal,” I point out, sipping the cold water anyway. It’s not that I’m opposed to it, but it’s so boring compared to the Mexican Coca-Cola with cane sugar.

Everybody who knows me knows that I have a sweet tooth. I keep Hershey kisses on me wherever I go. In my purse, in my car, in my desk drawer. When I owned Belle’s Place in the heart of Pittsburgh, I always had a stash of something sugar-coated in my office there too. The staff would tease me mercilessly for it, but I never cared, and I always shared the wealth.

In hindsight, the weight gain I’ve experienced over the past year probably has something to do with my coping mechanism for sweets. As soon as I noticed my jeans fit a little snugger and my bras dug in a little tighter, I should have started joining Jesse in our home gym. But I loathe exercise as much as I do vegetables, which is problematic when you’re short. And I’ve dealt with weight fluctuations since high school. I always manage to lose a few pounds when I’m motivated.

Unfortunately, things have been a little too chaotic to think about diet and exercise. My throat gets tight thinking about the business I’m about to say goodbye to. If the sale goes through. If it doesn’t… Well, I’ll have to come up with plan c. Which isn’t ideal because I don’t have a third plan.

The first was opening my dream speakeasy club that doubled as a bar and restaurant. I did that. It took a while, but it was successful. And I know a large part of that success is thanks to the man currently watching me dig into my turkey sandwich. He brought his teammates there when he played for the Penguins, and that brought a lot of press.

Unfortunately, that press didn’t always stay positive. After Belle’s Place made headlines on three different occasions for customers being mugged and attacked by addicts who lingered outside the building at the wee hours of the night, it became clear that it wasn’t the safest place to go. I hired security to make everybody feel safer, but the damage was done. The media’s highlight of the rising crime and homelessness rate in the area made Belle’s Place take a hit, and I needed to make a tough decision.

Inevitably, that was to sell. I couldn’t keep running a business that people weren’t comfortable going to. And I wanted to bow out while I still had my head above water.

Jesse steps closer, his voice soft as he asks, “What are you thinking about?”

Damn him for reading the silence.

Wetting my lips, I shake my head. “Nothing important,” I lie, staring down at my food.

He tilts my chin up to meet his eyes and I hate how he searches for answers on my face. “You can’t lie to me, Bells. I know you too well by now. You get a little wrinkle right here—” He taps the spot between my brows. “—when you’re deep in thought.”

Damn. “I need Botox to fix that.”

He looks offended. “You don’t need any of that bullshit and you know it.”

All I do is shrug.

His hand remains on my chin, keeping me from looking elsewhere. “Talk to me.”

Ugh. Those words. How many times have I heard them? He’s always the one who gets me to admit my deepest, darkest thoughts. My insecurities. Every raw emotion, he’s able to pull from me with those three words. When I was feeling bad about myself after high school during my first initial weight gain, he’d been the one to get me to admit I was only eating one meal a day to trim down. When I found out that my ex-boyfriend was emotionally cheating on me with another girl, he was the one who told me that I was being manipulated and deserved better. Then, when I lost my first apartment and all my belongings to a fire, it was Jesse who made me admit that I thought about giving up on everything I ever worked on because nothing seemed to go my way. It was a dark time, and he pulled me out of it.

Swallowing, I loosen a breath. At least this time isn’t so deep. “I’m just a little sad about Belle’s Place. Letting it go was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I believe everything happens for a reason, so something good will come of it. But it doesn’t make it any easier. That was the first thing that felt solely mine. I put so much blood, sweat, and tears into making it thrive. Now it’s just…” Limply, I lift my shoulders in a dismissive shrug.

Understanding flashes over his face. His hazel eyes veer more towards green than brown, with gold flecks in them that shift their coloring depending on the color of shirt he wears. I discovered a long time ago that wearing purple makes the green pop, so I buy him different shirts for Christmas and his birthday in shades that make them stand out. And he wears them regardless of the color or how badly his friends may riff on him for it.

“Did you hear back from Ty about the sale?”

“It may not go through,” I admit, my appetite waning. “Maybe that’s a sign that I made a bad choice. Maybe that’s fate telling me I shouldn’t sell it. That I should move back to Pittsburgh, and—”

“It will sell,” he reassures me, seeing the spiral I’m about to go into. He moves his hand to capture a piece of my fallen hair that’s gotten a little longer than my typical bobbed style and tucks it behind my ear. “I understand why you made the choice you did, and so did everybody who worked there. It’s going to sell, and you can move on with your life like you planned. You said you liked the space on Main Street that you saw the other day.”

I’d been taking a walk when I saw the lease sign on the window of an adorable brick storefront. It looked like it used to be a café. When I called about it, a very nice older woman told me it was recently vacated but has a fully functioning kitchen and updated appliances. I made an appointment to look at it, saved the woman’s number who gave me the tour, and have been staring at her business card ever since.

“It’s not the right time,” is all I tell him. It’s the same thing I’ve been telling myself. If I’m going to be smart with my money, I need to wait until Belle’s Place sells.

He stares at me for a long moment and then pulls me in for a hug, careful not to smoosh the food on my lap. I melt into his front and heave out a long breath that feels like it’s been trapped since seeing Tyson’s name on my phone screen.

“You don’t always have to take care of me, you know,” I say against his chest. He smells like body soap and his favorite deodorant. It’s oddly comforting that he hasn’t changed a thing since he was in high school.

No number of zeroes attached to his net worth has changed who Jesse Clarkson is as a person, and I love that about him. I love so much about him that sometimes it physically hurts.

His hold on me tightens for a second before he lets go. “I know I don’t. But I care about you. I want to look out for you.”

He cares. I know he does, of course. But a tiny piece of me, that middle school girl inside of me, wishes it could be more. He cares because he loves me. Not as a stepsister. Not as a roommate. As more.

“Of course you do. We’re family.” I smile hoping my voice doesn’t come out watery, but he doesn’t return it. “That’s what family does.”

His throat bobs as he nods once, those eyes roaming over my features a little longer than normal. “Yeah,” he murmurs, drumming his hands against the counter and pushing off it to put space between us. “That’s what they do.”