Page 58 of Best Served Cold

“IknowI was at fault,” I say in a harsh tone. “Jonah was right. My aunt and Otis are the only people in my family who think I’m worth anything. My parents sent me off to boarding school”—reform school—“and moved to Florida to get away from me.” My pulse speeds up again. “They only call me on holidays. I’m pretty sure they didn’t want a child in the first place, and once they had me, they decided they definitely didn’t want more. But that doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past.”

“It does matter,” he protests. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be practically hyperventilating.”

“But it doesn’t have to mean everything. I don’t want it to.”

He shrugs, but his expression is a bit disappointed. Like he hoped I’d level with him, but I built a wall instead. That’s true, I guess. But I don’t know how to be any different.

“So,” I say, “let’s talk a bit more about…you know…”

He squeezes my hand and releases it, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Our fake relationship?”

I nod. “It was impulsive.”

“It was worth it for the look on Jonah’s face.”

I study him, taking in the satisfied gleam in his eyes, and realize what I should have caught onto a long time ago. “He did something bad to you, too, didn’t he? Other than repeating your father’s mistakes, I mean.”

He watches me for a moment before slowly nodding. “Yeah, he did.”

I pause. “Aren’t you going to tell me what?”

He smiles. “How about this, Sophie? I’ll tell you as soon as you’re ready to tell me what happened in your past. A past for a past. Then we can decide whether or not the past matters.”

His words shake me. It feels like I’m on the edge of some greater truth, and one misstep could be fatal.

“Okay,” I say through a dry mouth. “Should we shake on it?”

He extends his arm across the table. I shake his hand, feeling those strong, callused fingers against mine. Feeling…I don’t know. Justfeeling.

I clear my throat as I pull my hand back, trying not to do it too quickly. “What happens next? Will someone want to interview me? For Emil, I mean. I want to do everything I can to help. I mean it. It’s my fault?—”

“It’s not,” he maintains. “You want to blame anything else on yourself while you’re at it? Climate change? Rising gas prices? The wart on Patricia’s nose?”

I laugh, then reach across the table and shove his arm, the action feeling natural and comfortable until it doesn’t. Because his arm is hot and hard, and I suddenly want to encircle it with my hand. I pull back instead. “She doesnothave a wart.”

“But it would be fun if she did, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” I agree. “She’d probably sell her soul to get it removed.”

He snorts. “As if. The devil’s already got that locked down.”

“She’s not going to like this,” I say, feeling a tug of worry, not for myself but for him.

“Good.”

“So…?”

“So I’ll call my caseworker and let her know. She’ll tell me what comes next, but if they do want to talk to you, we should discuss what we’ll say first. Thank you, Sophie.”

I smile at him. “Do I get to meet Emil?”

He pauses. “You want to?”

“Of course I do.”

I’m desperate to, actually. I want to see more of this hidden side of Rob. Rob, the musician who’s good with kids and teaches them music.

“We’ll make it happen.” His expression darkens. “Jonah had no right to say those things to you earlier. He didn’t mean them either. If he didn’t want you back, he wouldn’t have shown his face tonight.”

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