Chapter 7

Trace Kalecki

He should be back by now, shouldn’t he?

Even though we’d officially exchanged numbers, I couldn’t shake the fear that he’d split.

“Unca Trace, look at me!”

I looked over to the main dining area, where Chip was currently doing cartwheels between the tables.

“You don’t even pretend to be sick, chipster,” I told him.

He jumped up and bobbed his head to the music. “I swear my tummy hurts!”

Uh-huh. Sarah was just a sucker. He liked his kindergarten just fine, same with his babysitter, but none of them came close to Uncle Trace. And I couldn’t blame him. I was awesome. I let him run wild in the restaurant while I treated the bar area as my unboxing station for soup kitchen supplies.

Since we were closed on Mondays, I used the day to catch up on paperwork—as in, send that shit to Ma—and prepare for this week’s soup kitchen services. The floor was flooded with the hygiene kits we were restocking, and I’d do the energy kits next.

Speaking of Ma, she should be here soon too. She and Dad were heading back to Florida tonight, and she wouldn’t waste a moment to dig into my personal life. Ben had started feeling better after being dead to the world for nine hours, and he’d come down, all disoriented from sleep, and bitched at me for not waking him up. Then he’d taken his spot at the bread station, and of course, Ma had noticed. She knew I didn’t date—and loved to remind me how much that “broke her heart.”

“He’s just a friend, Ma. Chill.”

“Who spent the night upstairs where you only have one bed?”

She could be so annoying.

I could be slow too, ’cause it hadn’t occurred to me to tell her that we’d moved the foldable bed into one of the spare rooms or anything.

“Can’t I keep Ziggy over here, Uncle Trace?” Chip asked. Sadly, “Unca” was slowly turning into “Uncle.” My nephew was growing up. “He won’t mess up the bags!”

I smirked and dropped another travel-size body wash into a bag. “It’s not about him messing up what I’m doing here, buddy. We can’t have pets in the restaurant. People have allergies.”

Apparently, Ben was one of them, and he’d been surprised that he hadn’t reacted to Ziggy. Then he’d also reasoned that it was mostly cats that bothered him.

Where was he?

I checked my phone. He’d guesstimated he’d be back around four, and it was…ten minutes past.

Christ.

I might have some issues to work through.

The last thing I wanted was for my past to come back to haunt me when I should be focusing on Ben’s milestone. He’d been so adorably nervous this morning, which, I was learning, manifested itself in minor mood swings. He was a man of few words, so one had to read between the lines and watch his actions. He’d washed his clothes twice, even though the first round had done the job. He’d been testy in an innocent way—like, the tension hadn’t been bad or anything; maybe cranky was a better word. Grumbly. Knee bouncing, checking the time over and over—kinda like me right now.

I was incredibly invested in my friend.

Chip came over to me and eyed all the bags as he chewed on a Twizzler. “Where do you buy this crap?”

I coughed around a laugh and ruffled his hair. “Since when is soap and toothpaste crap, punk?”

“Bath time is so boring!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, but you don’t wanna smell,” I pointed out. “And we don’t buy this. People donate it.” Call it a principle, but I couldn’t waste money on hygiene products when people had drawers filled with shit they’d taken from hotels. It was better to reach them and let them know we could put the products to use.

Chip nodded. “’Cause they think it sucks too. They don’t want soap. Grandpa calls that something. I don’t remember the word, but it’s when you tell people they gotta do it.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what word it was. “Grandpa calls everything totalitarian?—”

“That’s the word! Totaltrian.”

I looked away from him to hide my grin, but Jesus totaltrian Christ, I wanted to laugh. How fucking adorable could a kid be?

“Probably best Grandma and Grandpa are going back to Florida today,” I said, stifling a chuckle. “Your mom already calls me a bad influence.”

“I don’t know that word, and I don’t wanna know either! I’m gonna dance now!”

That was one approach to life.

Hopefully, the guy Sarah had started dating was a good egg. Chip deserved a sibling or two to terrorize. If I wasn’t mistaken, the dude had a kid already. Sarah had been more interested in sharing that there was no ex-wife involved, which I could understand. She’d been through her fair share of shit with Chip’s sperm donor, who’d neglected to mention that he was already married and had a family when Sarah had become pregnant.

“This song!” Chip stiffened and looked at me before he lit up like a Christmas tree.

I grinned. There was hope for him yet. A song about the Cubs…? He knew how to melt my heart—and it sure fucking beat the Red Sox ball cap he’d had when they’d moved here.

My nephew wasn’t growing up a fucking Boston fan.

“Do you remember the lyrics yet, bud?” I asked.

“Yeah!” He shook his butt and clapped his hands over his head. “Go Cubs, go! Hi, Chicago, what to say—go Cubs, go, they win on Saturday! Yeah, hey, hey!”

Eh, close enough.

I smiled and scrubbed a hand over my mouth, and— Someone banged on the door, so I looked over my shoulder and spotted Mom and Dad.

Which reminded me… “Chip, when my friend Ben comes here in a bit, I want you to sing that song for him.”

“Okay, but that sounds a bit weird, man!”

I chuckled and headed over to let my folks in.

Dad beamed proudly as soon as he saw Chip and heard the music.

“Hi, sweetie.” Ma came over to me, and I dipped down and kissed her cheek. “Is Sarah here yet?”

I shook my head and locked the door. “She was gonna have coffee with that guy first.”

Ma lit up like Chip. “So soon? Oh, that makes me happy. They were on a date yesterday morning, you know. He took her to Kasama.”

I felt my forehead wrinkle, and I scratched the side of my head. For one, my kind of date didn’t involve standing in line for a fucking hour before I could eat. For two, I didn’t need the foreplay gossip, just two pink lines that gave me more eggs to put in my Clover basket.

“Thanks for the update.” I patted her gently on the head, which always got her riled up.

“I swear, Trace.” She batted my hand away, and I laughed as she fixed her hair. Like it was necessary? I’d barely touched it. “Kell! Talk sense into your son.”

They switched places; Dad left Chip and strolled over to me, and Ma went to gush over her “little Charlie.”

I’d never fucking call him Charlie. Ma and Sarah did that.

“So…” Dad had his easy smile on, which he’d had all weekend.

We were the same height, but he had a little less at the top and a little more around the midsection. He also had a tan. I did not. Fuck Florida.

“Am I getting the verdict now?” I was waiting for it. This was the first weekend he’d seen me fully in charge of the place.

“Why would I be givin’ you a verdict?” he asked.

I shot him a look. “Come on. You’ve been Smiles and Mr. Chuckles all weekend, and I don’t fucking like it. Just tell me if I passed the test.”

He let out a gruff laugh and stuck his hands into his pockets. “Boy, if you still needed testing, the Clover wouldn’t be yours.”

Fair point, I guessed.

He nudged my elbow with his. “You got nothing to worry about, son. You’ve made all the changes I didn’t wanna admit we needed. It was why I knew it was time to hand over the reins to you.”

Well, shit.

If he was gonna be all honest and sweet like that, I couldn’t crack a joke.

So I went with the truth, because if one person understood, it was him.

“After we closed on Saturday, I stood over there—” I pointed to the floor where the bar area met the main dining room. “I just…stood there and looked around. We were eighty-nine bucks short. Practically all of Sunday was profit. It felt surreal.”

He grinned faintly and scratched his arm. “Those are the best moments. And you’ll have plenty of ’em, I’m sure.”

I hoped so, but I didn’t mind the grit. I was born to work hard. It gave me purpose.

Like it does for Ben.

Fuck. We were similar in a lot of ways, weren’t we?

I folded my arms over my chest and looked over to where Ma was nodding at whatever Chip was saying.

“Hey, when did Nana start the soup kitchen?” I asked.

Dad hummed and rubbed his chin. “Early seventies, I think. Why?”

I shrugged, mostly curious. “Did she have a particular reason, or…?”

Because ever since I’d met Ben, I wanted to do more. More collabs with local churches and organizations. Hand out more flyers, maybe even create a social media account for the soup kitchen—I could talk to Adam about that. He and his family had returned to California this morning, and he’d said he had plenty of material for future posts. He’d given me instructions, too, about what I should send him—pictures of food, the staff, how we worked, the service in general.

“Well, it was your grandfather,” Dad replied. “He lost his job. He and thousands of others during that time.” He paused. “In the sixties and seventies, more and more corporations were relocating to the burbs.”

I nodded, remembering that from school. I’d written a paper on manufacturing.

“Unlike many others, my old man could come here and work,” Dad went on. “But he saw all his old coworkers struggling. Those who couldn’t afford to move…” He shrugged slightly. “One day, he asked Ma to make a big pot of soup. He’d seen the ladies at church with their coat drives and soup kitchens, so… And Ma ran with it. She started asking for donations and organizing late-night services where she gave away leftovers.”

I remembered that part too, from Nana’s stories. People would flock outside the bar in the middle of the night, and nothing went to waste.

I cleared my throat and debated whether to say anything about Ben. I couldn’t talk to Ma about this, ’cause she’d jump to conclusions that weren’t there. She wanted me to settle down and shit.

A few months ago, I would’ve laughed it off, but now…

Whatever. All I knew was, I couldn’t get Ben out of my head.

Friends.

“That man you saw briefly yesterday,” I started by saying. “My friend who helped out at the soup kitchen?”

Dad nodded. “Mom mentioned him. She thinks yous’re dating.”

I snorted under my breath. “We’re fuckin’ not. He’s a friend. I’ve tried to help him, I guess. He’s, uh… He’s been homeless on and off for a few years. Shitty luck, if you ask me. He has a special needs kid, and I guess all the money’s gone to his care.”

I was missing most of that story, I was sure. But he’d made some comments yesterday about finally being able to afford more therapy sessions for Alvin.

“That’s rough,” Dad said. “He stayin’ with you, then?”

“For now…?” I asked rather than stated. Because ultimately, I had no idea what Ben’s plans were.

I’d told him bluntly that he could stay for as long as he needed, and I’d used his language too. I’d told him I wouldn’t mind help around the bar, whether it was the soup kitchen or handyman work. It was the best way to get him to agree, if he could contribute.

“Either way, I wanna do more for people like him,” I admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m continuing with the soup kitchen. I just feel like we can make more of a difference for people who just need a minor nudge back into society.”

Dad shifted where he stood and faced me more. “You got any ideas? Because…a minor nudge in theory is still a mountaintop in reality.”

I knew that.

“Take day care, for example,” I said. “We see a lot of single parents lining up for the soup kitchen every week, and I don’t know how many times I’ve heard mothers say they can’t afford day care, which means they don’t have the time to look for work, because they gotta be with their kids.”

Dad furrowed his brow. “You’re not turnin’ the bar into a day care center, Trace.”

“What the fuck?” I laughed. “Of course not. And before you go there, I know the Clover comes first. You don’t gotta remind me.”

“Good. So what’re you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” It almost came out as a groan, because I was getting frustrated. I hadn’t thought this through yet. Something so simple as laundry had been on my mind too. Being poor was expensive. It was difficult to get off the ground when you were paying extra at a laundromat because you didn’t have a washing machine at home, or when you lived in a high-crime area where prices on food and gas were hiked up.

“I don’t know,” I repeated. “I’ve just been narrowing down the obstacles to see if I could come up with something—like, I don’t know, a babysitting initiative. Money’s tight for many of us, but sometimes we can give our time.” I shrugged. “I’m gonna see if I can talk to that Christin chick at Ma’s church. Maybe she can—” I stopped abruptly and glared at him. “Can you fucking stop looking at me like I’m crazy?”

That set him off, and he went from smirking to full-on laughing.

“You’re not crazy! You’re sweet.” He threw an arm around my shoulders. “You’re also ambitious, and I don’t want you to burn out. You do enough already, you hear?”

Goddammit, he wasn’t saying the right things. He was parroting shit I always heard from Adam and Julie.

“You weren’t planning on babysitting the kids yourself, were you?”

I shot him a sideways scowl. “Fuck no. But I could help organize shit. I can talk to people.”

“Good.” He nodded firmly. “Because thanks to you, Chip can spell jagoff.”

“I only teach him the essentials.”

“I might agree, but your sister does not.”

I was right, my sister was wrong, end of story.

I opened my mouth to respond, but two knocks on the door interrupted, and I looked back— Oh, thank fuck, finally! It was Ben. It was Ben, and he… Fuck me sideways, I didn’t know I’d needed to see him this way so badly. Utility pants? Check. Hoodie? Check. Beanie with the logo of the company he now worked for? Check. Stubble that glinted silver in the sun? Oh, fucking check. But those pants… We were talking heavy-duty road worker pants. Dark gray instead of orange, but with neon-yellow reflective stripes.

Straight-up porn.

I opened the door for him, and the day had clearly breathed life into his eyes in a way I hadn’t witnessed before.

“Could you open up in the back?” He nodded toward the alley. “Your entrance, not the kitchen.”

Baby, I can open up any entrance for you.

“Uh, sure…? What’s in the back?” Except for my willing ass.

The corners of his eyes crinkled with a faint grin. “You’ll see.”

So, should I get undressed, or…? I had absolutely nothing against getting fucked by him in the alley.

He pulled out a pair of utility gloves and headed back to the alley, and I had to shake the case of stupid clogging up my brain. After relocking the door, I told Dad I’d be right back, and then I headed for the kitchen. Through said kitchen. Unlocked the door to the stairwell, where Ziggy waited for me, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap.

Maybe Ben could take him to the park. I’d already done that with Chip a few hours ago, and we’d discovered that Ziggy could be incredibly lazy. He was all energy when he was buzzing around someone’s legs, but faced with a park and greenery to run wild, he sat down next to the nearest park bench.

Hearing noises on the other side of the door, I knitted my brows and opened it, only to find Ben not alone. A big-ass truck was parked in the alley, and Ben and another man were hauling out wood that looked like it belonged in a junkyard. The planks were all different colors and types of wood, some long, some short.

There would be no fucking here, not that I’d actually believed it, but I was clearly walking into a scene with its own energy. They had to know each other, and the other man laughed at whatever Ben had just said.

Ben saw me and offered a quick smile before turning to the other guy. “Garrett, this is Trace, the young punk who’s saved my life twice.” That was going a bit far. “Trace, Garrett. We went to high school together, and he’s saved my ass too.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Garrett told me, coming over.

I nodded once and met him halfway down the stoop, and we shook hands. “Good, we’re on the same page. Nice to meet you.”

“You too, kid.”

Kid. Friends. Kid. Young punk. Friends.

Ben grunted as he dragged four wooden planks out of the bed of the truck. “If I’m gonna stay with you for a while, Trace… Ope—fuck.” He almost dropped one. “I’m building you a new bartop.”

My eyebrows crawled all the way up there.

“I called Garrett yesterday and asked if he had anything he wanted to get rid of,” he continued. He proceeded to carry the planks up the steps and into the stairwell. “Hey, Pip. How are ya, boy?” Ziggy ate up the attention.

“And I always do,” Garrett filled in. “We got cherry, hawthorn, oak, walnut, teak…”

I turned back to Ben, too dumbfounded to contribute a single response.

“It’ll take me a few weeks, but I think it’ll look great,” Ben said, coming out again.

I rubbed the back of my neck, and then Ben wiped sweat off his forehead, and I wanted to fucking die. Was everything he did gonna turn me on?

Also, I’d had that priced once, because I was curious what replacing our bartop would set me back, and the answer was roughly four grand from start to finish.

“I’m just happy to get rid of your crap, bud,” Garrett laughed.

Ben flashed a grin and turned to me. “I hope you don’t mind I store some tools upstairs. I left them with Garrett a few years ago and told him to throw me in the lake if I ever tried to sell them.”

Uh-huh.

“Not that they’re worth much,” he added, digging out his phone.

“Still quality shit,” Garrett said.

“Mm.” Ben nodded absently and read whatever, a message maybe, on his phone. “Gare, you mind dropping me off at my ma’s place? Alvin’s anxious. He had therapy today.”

That brought me out of my daze, like a rubber band snapping away every question and ounce of confusion.

“No, of course not,” Garrett replied.

I cleared my throat and stepped aside as Garrett carried more wood through the door. “Ben, can I have a word?” I walked down the last steps and gestured toward the dumpsters.

“Yeah, sure.” He pocketed his phone again and followed me down the alley. “Everything okay?”

Uh, that was my question to him.

I exhaled a laugh and rubbed the back of my neck. “Let’s start over. Hi,” I said pointedly. “How did it go today?”

Maybe it dawned on him that he’d sort of steamrolled in here like a new man.

He let out a chuckle and removed his beanie. “I’m a full-time employee with decent pay and good benefits. I haven’t felt this good in years.”

That made me smile. He’d mentioned yesterday that the original job he’d applied for was, like, twenty bucks an hour, and the one he’d eventually been offered was almost twenty-six, with opportunities for overtime. And he’d talked about a 401(k) as if it was a strange concept.

“Today was a short shift,” he said. “I have a week of in-house training and tagging along with someone who’s retiring soon, and that’s about it. I got my work clothes, my schedule, I pissed in a cup, and I’m picking up my work phone tomorrow.”

Fuck, I wanted to hug him—and then some. “What’s the schedule gonna look like?”

“Two weeks day shifts, one week nights,” he replied. “What they do is, I have a set of assigned buildings for the day shifts, and then I’m on call for the night shifts where several of us cover buildings throughout the city. Best part, I can stay here until I get called in. I just gotta report to my manager a few times.”

That was fucking amazing.

“I’m really happy for you.” I dared to reach out and give his arm a brief squeeze, and he smiled that gorgeous fucking smile. “So, can we celebrate when you get back, or are you staying at your ma’s?”

He grew hesitant and pulled out his phone again. “It’s never a good idea I stay there. Her place is too tiny, and we gotta get creative with the sleeping arrangements. If you don’t mind, I’d like to come back here, but I might be late. It depends on Alvin.”

I nodded, totally understanding that part. I was just glad he was coming back. “I don’t mind—and…I need you to get that through your thick skull. I want you to stay with me. I’m not doing it to do you a favor.”

He tilted his head. “Then why are you doing it, bright spot?”

Oh, so that nickname was making a comeback, huh?

That was fine.

“We have stellar banter going on.” I shrugged. “Plus, you’re gonna save me a ton of money if you’re building me a bartop. You’re practically doing me a favor.”

He laughed quietly and shook his head. “I liked the first part—and I agree. But the rest was bullshit.”

No, it fucking wasn’t.

“What’re you talking about?” I had to push. I couldn’t help it. I wanted him to see. “Every improvement in the bar leads to better reviews and more customers. This is a win-win situation, Ben.” I folded my arms over my chest and tried to stand a little taller. I felt like I would’ve sounded more convincing if he weren’t such a damn skyscraper. “You’ll be doing what I can’t afford—and trust me, I got a long list if you ever get bored.”

At least he didn’t dismiss what I said. He was listening; he was mulling things over.

When his gaze met mine again, the affection and soft mirth were unmistakable, and a beat later, he cupped the back of my neck and pulled me in for a hug.

“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” He pressed a kiss to my temple and was gone long before I wanted him to, long before I’d gotten a chance to process anything, and he started walking backward to the truck. “I’ll text you when I know how late I’m gonna be.”

I nodded dumbly.

Fuck me, I wanted him. A rush of nerves and desire and longing swept through me and stayed there. This went so far beyond lust and temporary attachments. He was threatening my sanity as it was, and nobody had done that before. Even with Eric, I’d maintained a level of emotional distance, and it hadn’t only been because of his addiction.

* * *

During that week, I felt myself take a step back. My feelings were terrifying me, and Ben was busy settling into new routines. He was too stubborn to let me lend him money, so he insisted on working extra. When he wasn’t at his actual job, he helped out around the bar, he got started on his “reclaimed wood” bartop for me, and he assisted with soup kitchen preparations. Only then was he comfortable eating the food in my fridge.

When he wasn’t busy working, he was with his son and mother.

He came home one day visibly relieved because his ma was in higher spirits now that he had a full-time job he seemed happy with, not to mention living arrangements that didn’t worry her half to death. She was seemingly impressed by Ben’s new address in the city, mostly because she hated the idea of him living in a garden unit or basement somewhere that flooded.

Given that she was an Elmwood Park resident, I could understand her concerns. I didn’t know what that suburb was most famous for, Johnnie’s Beef or the frequent flooding in the area.

Either way, Ben’s ma was happy, and Alvin was now gonna go to therapy once a week instead of two or three times a month.

I had to admit, I was curious about Ben’s family. As always, he was a man of few words, and he didn’t share a whole lot. But I could just be impatient, because he dropped some minor details here and there. Like their whole situation out there and how Ben wanted them to move to a better place where his mother wasn’t forced to sleep on the couch in the front room. Or that it was Alvin’s anxiety and panic attacks that prevented them from leaving.

I was becoming familiar with an ounce of that anxiety, though it was more related to Ben leaving, and I didn’t know why. He’d settled in fine upstairs. He was weirdly neat when it came to laundry and actual cleaning. Like, he could make a mess and leave his clothes on the floor just like I did, but he’d probably used the vacuum more than I had in the years I’d lived here, and the bathroom had never been so spotless. He’d even cleared the shower glass of most of the limescale buildup.

In other words, he showed no signs of making other arrangements anytime soon, and yet I walked around on eggshells as if I’d wake up tomorrow to find him gone.

I was fucking pathetic.

If this was what it was like to develop deeper feelings for someone, it was garbage.

Besides, he didn’t give me anything to look at anymore. He closed the door to the bathroom when he showered, and he went to bed—right fucking next to me—in boxer briefs and a tee.

That was probably the worst torture. Sleeping next to him every night without any touching. He stayed so close to the edge that it seemed deliberate. He was serious about us being friends.

At the same time, I couldn’t even call him a cocktease, ’cause look at where he was in life. The last thing on his mind should be me. He’d finally achieved a sustainable stability where he could move forward and build a future for his son. If anything, his focus and dedication only made him all the more appealing to me, and wasn’t that just a bitch.

* * *

On Friday, I took a few hours off once Petey arrived, because he offered his car when it was time for the weekly grocery run for the soup kitchen. I had a pocket filled with coupons, apps overflowing with deals, and screenshots of weekly ads stacked with promotions.

Some played games on their phones when they were on the shitter…

I started with the Costco on Ashland, and color me surprised when I spotted Ben right outside finishing up a hot dog. He wasn’t alone either. An older man wearing the same utility clothes stood next to Ben with his own food.

Ben smiled in surprise when he saw me, so I didn’t feel the need to avoid him. I mean, I didn’t wanna interrupt him in the middle of his lunch. I guessed he was fine with borrowing money from his ma and cousin, but God forbid he let me help him till he got his first paycheck.

“Hey,” he said. “You shopping for the soup kitchen?”

“Yeah. You’re on your lunch, I take it.”

He nodded, crammed the last of his hot dog into his mouth, and gestured to his coworker. “Gio bribed me so he can go home early. He says I don’t need a babysitter anymore.”

I smirked a little.

Gio shrugged. “I’d rather nap on my couch than watch him get us all fired.”

Huh?

Ben snorted and elaborated. “He got on my case yesterday for not calling in professionals for something I could fix on my own.”

“It’s in the damn job description,” Gio bitched, though there was no actual heat to it. “Maintenance and basic repairs.”

“Fixing a radiator is basic,” Ben argued.

Gio eyed me and jerked his thumb at Ben. “You see what I gotta deal with? Management’s gonna notice, and he’ll make the rest of us look bad.”

I shook my head in amusement.

So I guessed Ben was going to be popular with his manager for not racking up invoices from outsourced professionals, but maybe he wouldn’t make many friends at work.

Gio muttered that he was glad to be retiring soon, and he handed over the car keys to Ben before he called it a day. At…noon.

“How are you getting home?” Ben asked.

Gio was already walking off. “Ever heard of the train?”

I smirked.

Ben was amused too, and then it was just the two of us.

“You need a hand with the shopping?” he asked. “I don’t have anywhere to be for another hour.”

“Hell yeah, you can push the cart.” I was suddenly happier about this outing. “They have insane deals on peanut butter, Barilla pasta, and Rice Krispies.” And some other shit.

We headed inside, with Ben dutifully pushing the cart, and he let me ramble about the next few services’ menus. On Sunday, I was thinking mac and cheese with bacon, ’cause we’d been stocking up on cheese, and I had collected sixteen BOGO coupons for bacon from Aldi’s weekly ad. I’d handed them out to our staff, so everyone had come to work with bacon. Each ad was limited to four packs, but I could get creative.

“And Rice Krispie treats for the kids,” I added. “My sister’s coming over tomorrow to help me make them.”

Obviously, I’d check if store-brand cereal was cheaper first, but sometimes you struck gold in the world of coupons.

“Then next Thursday, I’m thinking hot dogs to celebrate the new season starting,” I went on. “I ordered extra fries from our suppliers too.”

Would this be the Cubs’ season? Well, I’d be a shitty fan if I said outright it was unlikely.

We went down the aisle where the peanut butter was, and just as I started counting on my fingers, I remembered I had a math whiz with me.

“How many tubs do I need?” I asked him. Because they were actual wholesale tubs. “At this rate, we’re pushing three hundred servings twice a week, and I think we’ll do ramen and PBJ sandwiches the Sunday after this one.”

Ben stepped closer and grabbed one of the tubs, and he checked the label. “It literally states fifty servings, Trace. You need six of them.”

Oh. I scowled. How the fuck was I supposed to know?

I started filling the cart. “Thank you.”

He chuckled and draped an arm around my shoulders. “You’re cute, you know that?”

Oh, hell fucking no. I straightened in an instant as a bolt of…something…shot through me, stripped me of all filters, and let the bruised ego out to play.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” I told him. “You’re welcome to stay with me and be my friend, but you don’t get to cozy up with me like this and call me cute unless it comes with a big side of dick. Are we clear?”

Aside from a second-long flash of surprise when his eyebrows hitched, he remained his frustratingly unreadable self—and he stayed close too. He kept his arm around me. He maintained eye contact.

“Is that what you want? A big side of dick?”

Hnnghff.

His voice in that low tone robbed me of most of my fight as a violent shiver rolled through me.

I swallowed dryly. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah. I am, Trace.” He let his arm drop and positioned himself right in front of me instead, and he was essentially towering over me. “When were you forthcoming about wanting anything other than friendship? How am I supposed to know what you want when you’ve been distant all week?”

I opened my mouth to let my anger out, but it was shoved back when my brain replayed the question. You’ve been distant all week. Fuck. Oh fuck. How am I supposed to know what you want? Motherfucker. I’d been so cooped up in my head, and I was acting as if he could read my fucking mind. Jesus Christ. Cue mortification.

It wasn’t only this week either. Other than the night we’d fucked back in January… I hadn’t shown my interest in the slightest.

So, uh…maybe I had sharing problems too…?

Maybe.

“I’ve only held back to give you space to settle into your new routines,” was my weak defense.

He huffed under his breath and eased back. “How kind of you. But I can multitask.” He nodded up the aisle. “Come on. Tell me what’s next on your list. And then we can talk about your taste in men.”

Excuse me? “What’s wrong with my taste?”

“You can start with raising your fucking standards,” he told me. “You want a quick fuck? Say the word. I’m fairly confident I can deliver. But you gotta learn to aim higher. You deserve more than?—”

“Okay, you can stop.” I was done. I was so goddamn done that I felt dead inside. Zero emotion, including anger and annoyance. If he was gonna circle back to that again, like he’d done in his stupid letter, I didn’t wanna hear it.

Friends, it was.

Fuck him.

* * *

I stuck the key in the ignition and rested my forehead against the wheel.

What was wrong with me?

I’d fucking told myself not to make decisions on his behalf, and here I was, pushing the kid away because I was so certain he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. And he didn’t. He really didn’t. But that wasn’t all on him. I wasn’t even giving him a chance.

This was better in the long run, though. I needed stability and people who stayed in my life, and I could think of a million ways I’d fuck up a relationship because I couldn’t be a good partner. I had to focus on my son, on getting him and Ma out of that apartment. I had to save up money. I had to work.

A friendship was easier to maintain. Trace wouldn’t have the same demands, and I’d hopefully have him in my life for as long as I breathed. Because that was where I’d landed. He had to be a permanent fixture.

I didn’t even know what he wanted. I just picked up on our chemistry every single day, and it fucking killed me, because there wasn’t a chance in hell we’d ever be on the same page. He was young, driven to go further with the Clover, passionate about the projects that helped people, and…he had a more “fuck it, let’s see what happens” attitude. I didn’t. I couldn’t afford that. For one, I’d already screwed myself over by being halfway in love with the little shit. For two, Alvin.

I wanted them to meet. I wanted to coax Alvin out of hiding and eventually find comfort in a social setting with people he liked, and I knew he was going to like Trace. Which made it all the more important to keep the pressure off so I didn’t do something that sent Trace running.