Page 29 of The Bartender Special

Fire, meet my face, body, and soul.

“You ever wonder why someone with this much money would stay in a place like Arbor Bay?”

The Robertson Estate was absurdly opulent compared to the humbler homes in town. The main house was no exception. Jack motioned to it after his question as Benny walked up to his side, hoping the humidity wouldn’t fight his hair product too vigorously.

“A throne is still a throne no matter where it sits,” Benny replied after sweeping his gaze across the wide, three-story structure.

The Robertsons had been in Arbor Bay since its founding in eighteen-something, but the estate's pride and glory manor had been custom built for Missy and Donavon, Marcus and Carol's parents, and had been added on to throughout the years.

“Think HGTV-design show inside and cabin in the woods if you had a million dollars on the outside,” Ethan had told Benny once after he’d been given a tour of the main house a few years before. “Shiplap, statues, and exposed beams everywhere.”

Standing at the crest of the circular drive now, Benny knew it didn’t really matter how the house was described. It would forever be one thing to him.

Intimidating.

He expanded on his theory to Jack.

“Ruling over a small town is better than not ruling at all,” he said. “That's why I think the Robertsons stay. I mean, this is only the main house. Carol has her own house a golf-cart ride away from here, custom built too and with all the bells and whistles. And then Marcus lives in a house on the bay, supposedly a painting in itself when the sun sets. Why would they give all of this up by leaving?”

Jack didn't argue his point.

He did interject a little sass.

“If we're the ones always calling the Robertsons royalty, then is it our fault when they act like it?”

Benny did a double take at that.

Jack snorted.

“What? You're not the only one who can sound like someone doing some kind of documentary voiceover.”

“I was actually going to say you sound like you’re teeing up to give me a riddle. The ones that are inside candy wrappers. What gets wet the more you dry type of thing.”

Jack did that wink again.

“Bartenders have just as much ability to make you think as you one-hit internet wonders. I can be surprisingly insightful once I actually start to yap.”

Benny had never thought the contrary, but he was realizing he hadn’t exactly thought Jack would hold a conversation if it wasn’t about work. Or something that truly benefited him. He seemed always on the brink of annoyed. Even now, Benny worried that the cons might outweigh the pros of their arrangement because it involved a lot more than just yapping.

Which would now officially have consequences Benny didn’t think he could sidestep if everything went off the rails.

That new fear being all thanks to Rizzie, who he’d called back in between getting ready and avoiding Callum.

Who knew that one post from Carol would circulate as fast as it had.

That people would believe her without question.

The picture he posted later of just his and Jack’s hands clasped together—with no caption, even—had been treated almost like an afterthought compared to Carol’s declaration.

Who knew that saying nothing would, once again, result in everyone else talking?

Before Carol had typed it out, Benny had every intention of feeling out the situation to see if there was still a way to tell the literary agent that the internet had gotten it wrong, that Jack wasn't actually Guy. But Rizzie hadn’t left an ounce of space to speak into once he’d answered.

“And it looks like our guy gets the guy in the end!” she’d exclaimed. “What a wild, fantastic ride! People are already loving it.”

After that, Benny had all but leaned into the lie.

Then swan dived off the metaphorical cliff when Rizzie had officially offered to represent him. There was still paperwork to go over and sign but, with one well-placed lie, Benny was staring at the possibility of a future that felt exciting and warm and safe.