Ten minutes later, they were seated in a corner of the deli with sandwiches, bags of chips and sodas. The person who had taken their orders, whom Cassie had introduced as the owner of the family-owned and -operated business, had given her lunch companion an exaggerated wink and pointed them toward the partially hidden corner table. Cassie took a long pull of her drink and sighed. “There’s really nothing so good as a Diet Coke. I know it’s bad and chemicals and blah blah blah. I could probably recite the spiel by heart now. Trey’s forever giving me crap about soda.”
It was one of the tidbits Aileen the reporter would have loved to hear. She could have created an entire fluff piece on players and their drinks of choice. But she was supposed to be Aileen the friend now. She nodded and held up her own matching soda. “Cheers for better living through caffeine.”
Cassie laughed and tapped her paper cup to Aileen’s.
“I’m glad you asked me out,” Aileen said after a minute of quiet eating. “I don’t get to do this often.”
“It’s because you’re a journalist,” Cassie said bluntly. “Makes people nervous. Made me nervous, to be honest, at first. Not you specifically,” she added hastily when Aileen’s smile dimmed. “You were upfront from the beginning. I liked that. I respected that. But just the media in general. I didn’t grow up with this, like my sisters did.” She screwed up her face, her nose scrunching in a cute way. “We don’t have to do that whole ‘off the record’ junk, do we?”
Aileen laughed at that. “Let’s just assume if I don’t specifically put us on the record, we’re off. I can’t afford to alienate one of the few people I like around here.”
Cassie laughed as well. “It’s hard right now, knowing who to trust. Trey swears it will get better and we just have to push on.” She sighed and picked up a barbeque chip, then dropped it back down to the paper. “My dad’s wife is always harping about image and keeping the family’s name clean and whatever. I get it, don’t want to embarrass the family. But sometimes I just want to breathe and run around town free to do my own thing without worrying I’m going to get someone bothering me.”
It was telling she referred to Tabitha Jordan as her father’s wife, not her stepmother. “I’m not a huge fan of the stalker tactics myself. That’s why I like these stories I do now. I have everyone’s permission, there’s no secrecy, and they’re sort of fun, too. They’re fluff,” she said, dismissing their importance. Being self-deprecating about her job made it easier to handle that she wasn’t doing what she thought she’d always do . . . sideline reporting. “But people seem to like them.”
“They’re not fluff,” Cassie protested, then looked sheepish. “Okay, I mean, maybe they are. But I like them. I’ve been looking through some of your older stuff,” she admitted when Aileen raised a disbelieving brow. “After we met that first time, I checked you out. Saw some interviews, some funny little pieces. It was nice. Humanizing. And you’re right,” she added, picking up her drink and using it to gesture. “It was obvious all parties were okay with it. No taking photos from behind cars or using spy cams. That shit’s creepy.”
They both looked at each other, then laughed hard enough to have one of the deli workers look at them with a bewildered gaze.
Aileen wiped at the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. “This was nice. Thanks for trusting me.”
“My pleasure, and thank you for being trustworthy.” Cassie bit a chip with a crunch and grinned.
Aileen picked up her sub, then set it back down. “But if you and Trey ever decide to do an interview as a couple, I’m totally game. Just saying.”
Cassie laughed again.
* * *
Killian shuffled into the kitchen for dinner, determined to make himself something grown up and nutritious. After the lunch out—though he’d had chicken and vegetables—he knew his sodium was going to be way off the mark.
But after staring at the vegetable crisper for five minutes, he closed the door and grabbed a loaf of bread and peanut butter and made himself a sandwich. And ate it standing up. On a paper towel. Like a boss.
Peanut butter wasn’t on his top ten list of favorite foods, but he kept it around just in case Charlie ever visited. Much like he kept goldfish crackers, pudding cups, and a few other items. It was stupid, he knew, to keep them when Charlie wouldn’t be coming. Just like it was stupid to keep the second bedroom locked up, hiding the bedroom he’d set up for his son.