Page 8 of The Jellybean Dilemma

“Yeah, just relax,” she said as if it were that easy. “I mean, it’s Greg. You two have known each other forever, right? You were thirteen when he came around?” She paused, and I could practically see her mind working. “Wasn’t he your driver for most of that? What made him switch to Derek?”

I clamped the lid over that memory and deflected. “Oh, that was about the time I got serious with Kevin. Derek needed a new driver when Greg’s uncle retired.” I shrugged, trying to stay nonchalant. “Kevin already had one, so we just started sharing his.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows jumped up. “You just broke up with Kevin, and now Greg’s switching back to drive for you…”

She’s reading more into this than there is. Honestly.

Chapter Three

Derek snuck back into the room and met my gaze. “Think about Greg’s nickname for you,” he said quietly.

“Derek!” Avery whipped around to glare at him, but her face softened before she turned back to me. “I didn’t know you had a nickname. What is it?” She almost bounced on the couch in her eagerness.

“Jellybean,” I whispered. They were my favorite candy, and Papa’s, too.

The thought of him made my breath catch because I missed him so. Papa had always made Christmas special, and I put up with all the awful traditions—cheek pinching, mistletoe, itchy dresses, fancy food and shoes that hurt—just so I could end the night by sneaking into Papa’s office with him.

Every year, I’d kick off my shoes, and my hair would come out of the bobby pins or ribbons, then I’d dance with Papa. He smelled of bourbon and cigars with a hint of mint. When it was time for me to go home, when I was so worn out I was practically asleep on my feet, my toes tucked back in my awful shoes, my bobby pins gathered up, Papa would slip me a bag of jellybeans, kiss my cheek, and tell me Merry Christmas.

Before I could elaborate further, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out to see a text from Greg letting me know he was back. I stood up. “Greg’s waiting. If you guys think of any more advice, would you let me know?”

Avery bounded off the couch to wrap me in a fierce hug. “Of course. And text me if you need anything.”

I nodded, glancing at Gina.

Gina smirked. “You got this, Rhonda. You’re a badass, you just gotta figure out what you want, and go for it.” She reached out to pat my shoulder.

Derek sauntered over. “I’ll walk you out.” A sheepish expression crossed his face as he slinked past Avery. She gave him a warning glare, and he held up his hands. “I’ll behave, I promise.” He waited for me to gather my bag and coat then escorted me to the hallway. We walked in silence for a few beats. “I know we’ve had our issues—”

“I’ve apologized for that, Derek. I know I was a bitch.” I’d royally screwed up our relationship over the past few years, and it was just in the last several months we’d started to become comfortable with each other again. I didn’t want to do anything to lose him.

“Would you let me talk?” He gave me a sidelong look until I nodded. “Good. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how you felt about Greg before today. I feel like a good brother would have known.”

He doesn’t think he’s a good brother? “Derek…”

“And I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. Greg is one of the best guys I know.” We reached the elevator, and he pushed the down button. “I think you guys would be great together.”

My lips tilted up. “Thanks.” I stared at the floor while we waited. “There’s a very real possibility that nothing will come of this, though. It might just be me.”

The elevator arrived, and Derek put a hand on the doors to hold them open. “Then Greg is a fool.” His soft words wound around me, warmth spreading through my chest as he wrapped me a huge hug. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed with a quiet whoosh.

The tight space made me nervous, so I let the memory of that first Christmas without Papa resurface, playing out in my mind. He passed away right after my eighteenth birthday. It was a difficult time, of course, but I had managed.

Until I heard my first Christmas song.

Greg was driving me home from a charity fundraiser I’d helped Mom with. Not up for conversation, I asked Greg to turn on the radio. Hark the Herald Angels Sing began playing.

All my happy memories of Christmas had elation bubbling up, only for the devastating realization that Papa was gone to crash over me. No sneaking into his office to dance together, away from the stuffy expectations of the family. No classic rock to sing our hearts out to. And, worst of all, no bag of jellybeans.

Just as we pulled into our driveway, I started to cry, knowing Christmas would never be the same.

Greg noticed my tears right away. Pulling over, he turned in his seat to ask, “What’s wrong, Rhonda?”

Through my tears and my hiccups, I explained. He shut off the radio, offering me comforting words, and he’d given my hand an extra squeeze when he helped me out of the car.

As expected, Christmas was exceptionally painful that year. Papa’s absence felt like a huge hole, and nothing brought me the usual joy of the season. I’d put extra effort into my gifts, wanting something special to commemorate his absence. Papa had collected keychains, an absurd, unusual hobby according to my grandma.

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