“And I’ll probably blend in, looking like a local.”
“Yeah.” He nods, eyeing my baby blue Bodega Bay sweatshirt. “If by local you mean tourist.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “I can go home and change first if you can spare five minutes.”
He rubs the back of his neck. There’s that tell. Is he nervous? “I don’t mind if you come. It’s your call, but there’s always a chance?—”
“I’ll come.”
His expression is difficult to discern.
“Ben!” The woman who helped us clean up the paper cups saunters over. She has a swingy, shoulder-length brown bob. She’s followed closely by a kid in a baseball uniform with Giants embroidered on the front in orange and a catching mitt on his hand. He doesn’t look to be above seven. “We have to leave. They planned the next meeting for Wednesday night. Can you make it? I’ll put the flyers together tonight and email them out for approval.”
“I’ll be there. Your house?”
“Yep.” She ruffles the boy’s dark hair. “Eight o’clock good? Then this little guy can be in bed before we start.”
“Sounds great. You got a game, buddy?” Benny asks.
The boy nods, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it in his mitt.
“Good luck,” Benny says.
The mom leans down and whispers in her son’s ear.
“Thanks, Mr. Rhodes,” he says, right before his face wrinkles. “Ugh, I hate this song. My mom plays it over and over and over again.”
It takes a second to register the Jaida song playing on the speaker in the corner.Ughis right. Jaida’s voice is otherworldly, maybe, but she is the absolute worst.
The woman grins, showing us a set of straight white teeth. “I can’t help it. It’s so catchy.”
Benny laughs. “Sure is.”
“I’m Sierra,” the woman says, reaching a hand toward me.
I shake it. “Anne. It’s nice to meet you.” Except that she loves the music of my arch nemesis, but whatever. She seems mostly nice.
Sierra gives Benny a sly smile, but she’s still talking to me. “Hopefully we’ll see you around more, Anne.”
When she walks away, Benny nudges me toward the door. “Quick, let’s escape before they realize you’re the one who ruined everyone’s second dinner.”
I smack his arm playfully. “Hey. You’re supposed to tell me it’s not a big deal and make me feel better.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Again, but like you mean it.”
We make it outside and Benny opens my door for me. I climb inside, and he stands next to my seat, his hand on the door. Lowering his voice to a rumble, he repeats himself. “It’s not a big deal, Bree.”
Whew, that hits me in the chest. My heart is pattering, and I can’t tear my gaze from him, locked. “Much better.”
8
BENNY
As one would expecton a Saturday in Santa Rosa, Costco is straight up insane. Harried mothers, sports dads, and older couples swarm the aisles, each person looking out for themselves and the asterisks implying an item is on its way out for good. Bree is obviously anxious, standing too close to me like my proximity will protect her from hordes of crazed fans. Which I will, obviously, if the need arises.
The longer we roam the aisles, adding things to the big orange flatbed cart—I’m shopping forthreehouseholds—the more she seems to relax. No one is paying attention to us. They’re all scanning the aisles or corralling children or fighting their way to the front of the sample lines. No one has time to look at the woman in a pink tank and jean cutoffs that look a little loose on her.