Page 23 of The Ex-Best Thing
“You’d think so.”
I take Bree’s hand and pull her toward the door. If we don’t escape now, Rose will keep us here for the next thirty minutes trapped in a small talk storm until we’ve committed to her next bunco night, and I’ve heard how late those can go. “We should get in there. Br—Anne is starving.”
“Sooooo hungry,” Bree says, playing along nicely. “Should we take this conversation inside?”
Rose seems pleasantly surprised to be invited along instead of left behind. “I like this one, Benny.”
“That’s two,” Bree whispers, grinning widely. Her glee at being accepted by the older women in my life sends a spark through my chest. I want to bundle her up and carry her back to her safe, isolated rental house, but I’m fighting a smile. She still has the ability to blend with any group of people, so I shouldn’t be as worried as I feel. She could wear an orange visibility vest as well as she pulls off stilettos and a Gucci gown. I distinctly recall an ad she did on Instagram a few months ago for a pink quilted dog purse and matching heels. She’s high fashion personified, but my favorite version of her is the laid-back Bree in yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt.
Maybe I’m worried because the moment people discover who she is—as soon as it’s out that a world-famous pop star is chilling in our small coastal town—this little bubble we have, hanging out with no pressure and zero expectations, will pop.
Watching her laugh with Rose as they walk ahead of me into the community center, her voice a little funny since she’s trying to disguise it, I realize the last thing I want is for this alternate universe we’re living in to end.
Forget parting ways when this BBQ is over. Forget all the consequences.
I know this has to end eventually, but not yet.
7
BREE
The little communityin Bodega Bay is more varied than I expected. I don’t know why my brain assumed Benny and I would be the only young people in a sea of septuagenarians, but I was wrong. His friend Peter was the one who invited me to the Triple B’s Clean the Beach Day, after all.
We enjoy burgers and a plethora of potluck sides at long plastic tables on metal chairs, surrounded by people of all demographics and ages. Music plays through a speaker in the corner, shuffling through basic pop hits. Peter joined us for a few minutes before he returned to the grill, and it didn’t take long for me to realize the reason he was making so much food was because a large portion of the late-joiners were people in the community who needed a meal.
It’s been fairly easy to get Rose to talk about herself, her friends, this town, Benny—I particularly enjoyed hearing about the time he brought moldy muffins to their board meeting and has spent every meeting since trying to make up for it—but she does eventually swing the conversation back in my direction.
“Ben mentioned you have a concussion? That’s terrible.”Rose slurps at her green tea and brushes her curly hair over her shoulder. “How did that happen?”
Shoot. We never came up with a solid reason, did we? I search my brain for something believable. Anything can cause a concussion if you hit your head hard enough, right?
“It was a few weeks ago,” I start, trying to buy myself time, but Rose blinks at me expectantly. “Because…of…my dog.”
She rears back, disturbed.
“She’s tiny,” I say, to defend my poor, innocent Peanut. “I didn’t see her, and I tripped. Hit my head.”
It’s happened before, so it’s not a total lie. The tripping—not the hitting my head part.
“You tripped?”
“Off my brother’s deck…” Into the ocean? Unrealistic. A tree? No. I need to stop adding details. I’m not a good liar, but I know the more details I add, the more cause I give for suspicion. At least she can’t see how shifty my eyes are right now. I give her a blinding smile and push the sunglasses up my nose. “So the shades keep the headaches away.”
That’snot a lie. Being swarmed by fans wanting selfies and autographs and hugs has given me headaches on many occasions.
“But enough about me!” I look around, waiting for Benny to jump back in. “How long have you known Benny’s grandma?”
“Almost forty years now. She’s had a rough go of it, but so have I.” The end of the orange scarf tied around her gray curls falls over her cheek, and she flicks her head to shift it out of her face. “We’ve been there for each other.”
Benny slides onto the seat beside me with another plate of food. He hands me a brownie covered in weird light brown icing, sitting on a napkin. “Trust me.”
I glance at him. It looks like something that was left out too long and crusted over. Is this how I die? Food poisoning from a questionable dessert? That doesn’t track. Benny is one of thegood guys. His ocean blue eyes are doing that thing where they pierce my soul and make me want to reveal all my secrets.Snap out of it, Bree.
Can you blame me for being a little neurotic, though? This thing doesn’t look edible.
I take a tiny bite. Chocolate and peanut butter explode in my mouth, like a Reese’s brownie, but even better. I go back for a larger bite.
“I knew you’d love it.” He’s smug, diving into his second burger.
