Page 153 of The Bluffing Game

“What do you know about made men?” I eye her suspiciously, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, maybe his name is Jimmy the Fish because people who went against him wound up swimming with the fishes.”

“Ha-ha.” It’s her turn to laugh. “That’s funny. Is that what he tells people to scare them?” She grins at me. “What, does he have a big aquarium at home or something?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I nod, and we step outside.

It’s a beautiful day today; it almost always is in Santa Capinari, which is one reason I love it here. The bakery a few doors down is buzzing with people lined up for fresh, warm sourdough bread and lemon cupcakes.

“That’s Gigi’s Bakery. They have the best bread and pastries in town. You’ll have to try them out someday, especially if you like sweet treats.”

“I do like sweet treats, very much.”

“So do I.” I wink at her. “The sweeter, the better, in fact. And all of them don’t have to be edible.” I’m not sure why I tease her, but I can’t help myself. There’s something about Sage that makes me forget all the tasks at hand, and I want to banter and flirt with her.

“I’m sure you do, but do the sweet treats like you?”

“Oh, I think the sweet treats love me.” I bite down on my lower lip. “I make them ooze with⁠—”

“I think it’s a good thing that I’m a little sour and a lot tart then.” She gives me a once-over. “I’m not interested in oozing with anything.”

“You don’t like to ooze?”

“Do you like to ooze?”

“Very much so.” I grin. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

“You’re gross.” She shakes her head. “Thank you for helping me avoid my mother’s call, but I’m ready to get back to work, not whatever this is.” She gestures between us.

I notice that her eyes keep looking down toward my crotch. So, she’s not completely oblivious to me as a sexual being then. The thought makes me happy, and yet I know it doesn’t mean much.

“Why didn’t you want to talk to your mom?” I ask her, changing the subject.

She fiddles with her hands, and her face becomes impassive, like I said the wrong thing. The look seems more dejected than annoyed though, and I know I hit a nerve.

“Since when did you become my therapist?”

“Since never.” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that you telling me to mind my own business?”

“He does have a brain.”

“Ouch … I might start to take your hot-and-cold behavior personally. However, since we don’t even know each other that well, I will give you a pass.”

“Sorry.” She presses her lips together. “It’s nothing personal to you. It’s just that I’m still mad that my mom never told me my dad wasn’t my dad for so many years.” She rubs her fingertips together and licks her teeth before finally looking back up at me. “I’m really not this moody, nor am I rude normally. It’s just been a long couple of months, and I’ve had to put on a happy face because I don’t want Rosie to know, but I’m so frustrated and hurt and … well, I feel like my entire life is a lie.”

“Number one, I don’t think you’re rude. Number two, you’re entitled to give me as much sass as you want. I’ve got a thicker skin than most. And number three, I don’t have to be a therapist to tell you that finding out your dad is not your dad would fuck anyone up. Shoot, I’m not sure I’d talk to my mom either if she did that to me.”

“Does your mom live in town? Does she mind that Gracie works here?” She looks at me curiously.

I wonder what she would say if she knew the truth. She’d likely run for the mountains, in Canada or even Switzerland, to get as far away from me as possible. Not that I’d blame her.

“She lives in town part of the year; the other part of the year, she’s elsewhere.”

That’s simple enough, but the way she narrows her eyes lets me know she wants to know more.

I should have explained my answer better. Should have said my mom didn’t like to stay in one place too long. That she’d had close to twenty different homes since she had divorced my dad. That she left Lucia and me with Dad when they divorced, which meant that most of our lives were spent with Gracie. She’s like a second mom to us, more maternal than our real mom. She tried to shield us, and she put up with so much so that she could take care of us. But I don’t say any of that, and she doesn’t prod.

“I see.”

She doesn’t see, but she respects my answer, probably in part because I didn’t push her about her mom. I am quite curious what prompted her parents to tell the truth, and even more, how she knew her dad was in Santa Capinari. The town is small enough that most of the residents know each other. There is a possibility I know her birth dad, which is pretty weird to think about.