Prologue
"The Country Kitchen"
"Ask me anything,” I said.
"Anything?" he asked me with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Ignoring him, I took another sip of my coffee. It was awful, just like always, but there was something about the burnt bitterness even underneath all the cream and sugar that made me crave it time and time again.
I rolled my eyes. "Sure. Whatever. Anything."
We had been playing this game of back and forth getting-to-know-each other questions, and I finally told him to ask me anything when I realized that he was tiptoeing around the questions everyone always asked. The generic, boring, and downright unoriginal questions that one could see coming from a mile away.
So, as I sat in the Country Kitchen, the only sit-down restaurant open 24 hours a day in town, I readied myself.
But that would have been too easy for him.
Instead of the questions I wish he would have asked, he asked me the one question that I wish he hadn't.
"Have you ever been in love?"
Chapter 1
"Robbie"
The Country Kitchen is a hotspot for truckers and night owls and is the only place that you can go in Sheridan, Wyoming if you are under the age of 21 and can't get into the bars. Tonight though, it seemed that all the non-smoking truckers and night owls had other places to be, leaving me alone in my favorite corner booth.
It was close to midnight on a Wednesday in the middle of June, and I was enjoying my usual cup of coffee and basket of fries. I was on my third cup when I ran out of the cups of creamer that they give to you, and I asked my waiter if I could have a few more. He had nodded politely before running off to the kitchen.
My waiter's name was Robbie. I gathered that from the cheap piece of plastic that he had pinned to his white polo shirt. He was a good waiter: quick to take my order and to bring it to me , and he didn't hover too much or too little. He kept his chit chat to a minimum, sticking to the necessary questions of, "Everything tasting okay?" and, "Can I get you anything else?"
I liked wait staff like that. I liked when they left me alone, and I thought Robbie was going to be one to leave me alone. That was, until he slid into the booth across from me with his own basket of fries and a tall glass of Mountain Dew at around two in the morning.
"Slow night," he said to me as he took a sip of the green-yellow soda. "You were my first table all night, and you've been my only table. That never happens."
I stared at him as he took a bite out of one of his golden french fries. They must have been fresh out of the friar; steam still rose off the greasy shine of the fry.
I didn’t know what to say so I just nodded. I didn't know this boy; hadn't seen him before a day in my life, but he seemed perfectly content to slide into the booth with me as if we had known each other for years.
Robbie didn't seem to notice my silence. In fact, he pulled out his phone and seemed to forget I was even there. He continued to shovel fries into his mouth, washing them down with the high fructose corn syrup and sodium of his Mountain Dew, completely unaware that I had stopped picking at my own basket of fries and old coffee that had probably been sitting on the burner since that afternoon.
"Won't you get in trouble?" I finally asked when he started slurping the last bits of watery soda out of the bottom of his glass with his straw.
Robbie's head jerked up, and he quickly stuffed his phone back into the pocket of his apron. He glanced over his shoulder as he said, "You're right. I'm not supposed to have my phone out while I'm on shift."
"That's not what I meant," I said as he turned back to look at me.
"Then what did you mean?" he asked, his thick brows furrowing together.
Robbie had russet hair and eyes to match. His hair was long enough that he had it pulled back in some sort of messy bun, and his face was free of any stubble or peach fuzz. He was tall, probably six foot two, and lean. His body definitely had some muscle tone, but not like someone who spent time at the gym.
Robbie still had the question on his face when I finally answered.
"Won't you get in trouble for sitting here?"
A frown replaced the confusion, and I cursed myself for being rude.
"I'm not sure why I would get in trouble for sitting here," he said, looking at me with his head cocked slightly to one side.
"Aren't you supposed to be working?" I asked, not sure I was actually getting my point across that instead of wiping off tables, helping in the kitchen, or taking out the garbage that he was sitting here in a booth with a customer, eating and drinking at his leisure while I'm sure his coworkers busied themselves.
"I am," he said with a grin as he shoveled in another fry. Then, he glanced down at his almost empty basket and frowned. "I forgot that I was going to share those with you. I'll go get us some more."
Then, in a flash, he was gone. Scooping up our baskets, he disappeared behind the swinging door that led into the kitchen. I didn't even get the chance to protest.
I remained in the booth, stunned and unsure what to do. Did I wait for him to come back, or did I make a break for the door? It was almost two in the morning, and my dad, as supportive as he is about me needing quiet time away from the house, would probably be lying awake in bed, waiting for me to come home.
Guilt sparked in my gut. Just because I didn't have to be up early, it didn't mean that everyone else in my dad's house didn't. In fact, both my dad and stepmom had to be up early, and that meant that Tanner, my baby brother, did too.
I grabbed my purse and slid from the booth, stealing a glance at the kitchen door.
No Robbie.
I slung my bag over my head and threw a twenty dollar bill on the table. It was enough to cover my soda and fries and to leave a nice tip.
As my fingers wrapped around the door handle, I heard the kitchen door swing open, and I froze.
"Leaving already?" Robbie's voice rang out behind me, and I could feel my face burning hot; no doubt was I turning crimson by the second.
Embarrassed, I turned slowly on my heel. There stood Robbie, a tray with two baskets of fresh fries and a fresh glass of Mountain Dew in one hand and a large pot of coffee in the other. When he saw me look at the coffee pot, he smiled and hoisted it higher.
"Brewed fresh," he said with a smile, "And it's on the house."
I couldn't help but smile at the friendly gesture, and that only made Robbie's face light up more. His eyes practically glowed in the flickering overhead light of the lobby.
Without a word, we both made our way back to my favorite corner booth.
Chapter 2
"Where I've Been"
Hey Dad,
Still at the Country Kitchen. I know it's late. Just need a little more time. Promise I'll be home ASAP. Love you!
I read over the text message again for the hundredth time, my thumb hovering over the send button. It seemed like I sent this text message to my dad every night that I decided I needed to get away from the quiet of the basement that was my room. And even though I know my dad was supportive and understood why I spent endless nights in that place, I kept waiting for the day he wasn’t so understanding.
"Someday, you'll have to let go, Kelci," he told me after I had spent the first two weeks since moving home sitting in the corner booth of the Country Kitchen.
I had nodded, agreeing that I would only go to the Country Kitchen when I felt I absolutely needed to.
I still went all the time, but now I came home before the sun came up and tried to get some sleep.
"Everything okay?"
When I looked up, Robbie was watching me, his lips hovering over his straw. I nodded, and quickly pressed the send button. I knew my dad wouldn’t answer. He never did, but at least he knew where I was and that I was still alive.
"Yeah," I said, nonchalant. My phone dinged, and I knew that the message was delivered successfully. My screen stayed lit for a moment longer before going black, and I knew by the look on Robbie's face that he saw who I had texted.
"Checking in?"
I nodded, feeling embarrassed again. I was nineteen years old and still checked in with my dad like I was still in middle school. But it made my dad feel better, and in a weird way, it made me feel better too, like I wasn’t alone.
I felt alone quite a bit those days.
Not to mention that I was living under his roof.
His house, his rules, and if he wanted me to check in to tell him where I was at crazy hours of the morning, then I was more than happy to comply.
The question lingered in Robbie's eyes as he munched on a fry, but he didn’t ask, and I was grateful. As I reached for my own fry, Robbie asked another question instead.
"So, what's your name?"
I stopped, my hand in my fry basket, and looked at him confused. Then, I remembered that we actually never introduced ourselves, and the only reason I knew his name was because of his name tag.
"Kelci," I said, "My name is Kelci."
"Kelci," he said with a nod of approval, "I like that name."
"Thanks," I whispered shyly as I shoved a fry into my mouth. We sat in silence for a few minutes, Robbie pouring me a fresh cup of coffee as we both attempted to make dents in the abundance of fries at our table.
"I'm Robbie," he said as he wiped his greasy fingers on his apron.
"I know," I said through another fry, and when he looked confused again, I pointed to the plastic name tag. He looked down and smiled.
"Ah, yes," he said with a chuckle, "I forget that I wear this damn thing. Is nothing sacred anymore? I can't even keep my name a secret and make people think I'm mysterious."
He pretended to be upset as he slammed his hands on the table. We both chuckled, and then settled back into silence.
I could feel my nerves beginning to pinprick across my skin as my palms began to sweat. My heart was pounding a little faster than it normally did, and I had become incredibly interested in the fry basket's weaved pattern.
Although Robbie was nice, he was still a stranger, and I had never done well with strangers.
Well, except maybe one. A long time ago.
I could feel Robbie watching me, but I didn’t look up. If I did, I knew I would have to either force conversation or answer another getting-to-know-you question, and I was slowly starting to regret returning to this corner booth.
"You come in here a lot," Robbie said as if the silence wasn’t awkward. "I've seen you in here a few times in the past few weeks, but I never saw you before then. Are you new to town or something?"
The laugh that escaped me was out before I could rein it in, and I finally leaned back in my seat to look at Robbie. His cheeks had turned a light shade of pink, embarrassed that he asked.
I tried to recover before he got offended.
"No," I laughed, wiping at a tear that had sprung up in my eye from laughing so hard. "No, I'm not new to town." My stomach ached from the laughter, and Robbie looked stiff and uncomfortable.
"Sorry," I said as I regained my composure, "I didn't mean to be rude." As I said it, all traces of what I thought was funny vanished, and I felt like I was the biggest bitch for laughing at someone who didn't know any better.
It wasn't often in Sheridan that I met someone who didn't already know everything there was to know about me.
The humor was replaced with guilt as my stomach twisted into a hard knot. My cheeks, which had been pulled tight with laughter, went lax, and the warmth that had blossomed in my chest went cold.
Robbie waved me off, the pink fading from his cheeks. "Don't stress it," he said, and even though I'm sure he meant it, my guilt didn't vanish. "No, Kelci, really," he pleaded as I looked at him, "Don't stress it. You weren't being rude. I should have known that you were from here. I've just never met someone who left Sheridan only to come back.
My guilt still didn't falter, and it wouldn't. And I would spend the next several hours, and maybe even days, stressing over how rude I was to someone I had just met.
"So, you obviously aren't new to town," he tried to give me a smile, and I tried to return it so he wouldn't feel the need to continue to tell me it wasn't that big of a deal that I had laughed at him. "So why have you just now started coming to the lovely Country Kitchen?"
And so I went on to tell him why.
I went on to tell him that I had moved back to our small town about a month ago, my little 1997 Toyota Corolla stuffed tight with boxes of clothes, shoes, and books.
My choice to move back had been a split second decision, one that I guess had been coming for a while. At least that's what my dad said when I told him I wanted to come home.
I had been living in the small town of Pocatello, Idaho for the past six years with my mom, stepdad, younger brother, and three younger sisters. I had attended high school there, graduated there, and tried to start my own life there, but the last part was not meant to be. I had a yearning for home, for a hometown that I had left behind without looking back.
And just like every child with parents that were divorced and lived states away from each other, I spent most of my winter breaks and summers with my dad, and as I got older, it seemed harder and harder to leave, despite the fact that I was considered one of the lucky few who ever left.
When I was younger, the goodbyes I shared with my family and friends were painful, but they were almost necessary. But as I got older and realized how the years were slipping away, the goodbyes became harder. More tears were shed, and the hurt of leaving lasted much longer than the first 200 miles of the drive home.
But even after I graduated at age 17, I didn't go home. I moved out on my own and tried to make the best of Pocatello as a free adult.
It wasn't until my final trip to Sheridan earlier that summer that I decided I had had enough of Pocatello, and shortly after returning to my lonely one bedroom apartment, I decided there was nothing left for me there.
Robbie listened intently, his arms folded on top of the table, until the very end, but as I rushed through the ending of my story, like I always did, he looked like he had a million questions.
I still hadn’t figured out how to make the last part of the story believable.
Before Robbie could start asking too many questions, I picked up my phone and looked at the time. It was four in the morning. The fry baskets were empty, the coffee pot was empty, and Robbie's Mountain Dew was now just melted ice in the bottom of his cup.
"I really should be going," I said in a rush, "My dad is going to be worried if I'm not home before he gets up for work." And just like before, I slung my purse over my head and stood, brushing the grains of salt from my lap.
Robbie stood with me, a look of concern lining his face.
"Kelci?"
"Yeah?" I asked, pleading with my thoughts that he wasn't going to start asking questions. I wasn't ready to answer questions.
Robbie stared hard at me, his hands in his jean pockets, but he didn't start asking questions even though I could see them burning in his eyes. He knew something didn't add up with my story. People usually did but, unlike Robbie, people usually didn't take interest in the missing pieces.
"What's your phone number?" he asked, pulling his phone from his apron pocket once more.
I stared at him. Was he really trying to get my phone number?
He stared at me expectantly, and despite the alarm bells going off in my mind that it might not be in my story's best interest to give him my phone number, I did anyway. I rattled off the seven digits as he punched each number into his phone. He read it back to me, and I told him that it was correct, and then he slid the phone back into his apron.
"I'll call you," he said, and I nodded. I didn't know why, but I was equally as frightened as I was excited that I might actually have a friend in this town that made me feel more alone than I ever felt before.
Chapter 3
"The Start"
Three days passed before Robbie's number popped up on the caller ID on my phone. I don't know how I knew it was Robbie, but I did.
It was Saturday, and I was sitting in the kitchen chatting with my stepmom as she made dinner when I felt the vibration in my pocket. I hopped down from my bar stool and bolted downstairs to my bedroom, sliding the green button across my iPhone screen as I skipped the last three steps.
I wasn't sure why I was excited. Robbie had said he was going to call, but in the days that followed our meeting in the Country Kitchen, I was worried that maybe he had forgotten about me, and I tried to accept that I had lost a chance to make a friend.
I brought the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
"Kelci?" It was Robbie's voice.
"Yeah, it's me," I said, a smile forming on my lips. I heard a sigh that almost sounded relieved.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Kelci," Robbie said, a laugh coming through his words, "I was worried that I was going to call the number you gave me only to find out that you gave me a fake number."
It was my turn to laugh, and soon we were both laughing together.
"Anyway," he dragged the word out as I continued to giggle, "Do you have plans tonight?"
"I don't think so," I said, pretending to think about whether or not I made plans for that night. Of course I didn't. I hadn't had plans on a Saturday night in quite a while.
There was silence as he waited for me to think it through.
"Why?" I ask.
"Well, I was thinking we could hang out?" It was more of a question than a suggestion, an invitation to shut him down. But I didn’t.
“Sure,” I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. “What did you have in mind?"
"Well, I get off at five.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall to see that it was only a few minutes after four and my stomach erupted in nerves.
"If you don't mind me smelling like the Country Kitchen, then I was thinking we could meet here and have some dinner and just talk; get to know each other a little bit. No pressure, it's only if you want to."
"That sounds great," I said a little too quickly, but Robbie didn’t seem to notice.
"Cool." I could hear the smile in his voice, "See you at five then?"
"See you at five," I say, and then I waited for him to hang up. As I turned around to head back upstairs, I saw my dad standing at the foot of the basement stairs. I hadn't heard him come down.
He was wearing his favorite plaid pajama pants and the local high school football team's state champion t-shirt that he bought a few years ago at the big game. He was studying me with the same brown eyes that I inherited from him, and a small smile was playing at his lips. The silver hairs in his goatee caught the basement light.
"Who was that?" he asked, and I felt myself blush. My dad wasn't nosey, but he sure liked to tease me.
"A friend," I said, putting my phone back in my pocket.
"What's his name?"
"How do you know it's a boy?" I challenged, slipping past him to the bathroom. I splashed some water on my face and ran a brush through my hair before slipping on my glasses.
"You never did have many friends who were girls, Kelci," he said, leaning against the doorframe.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror and debated whether or not to put on makeup. I hadn’t worn any in months; not even the usual coat of foundation that I used to not be able to leave the house without. Without it, I looked pale. My eyes, once adorned with dark eyeliner and mascara, were naked behind the lenses of my glasses.
"So what's his name?" Dad asked again, and this time, I gave in.
"Robbie. His name is Robbie."
"And how did you meet Robbie?"
Now he was getting nosey.
"He works at the Country Kitchen," I said, leaning against the bathroom sink. I folded my arms over my chest and gave him my best poker face.
Dad's face broke out in a wide grin, and I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
"Stop," I said, holding up a hand, "I know what you're going to say. No, that isn't why I've been out so late at the Country Kitchen. I just met him. Besides, I've been going to the Country Kitchen way longer than he's worked there."
Dad tried to feign innocence, but he failed miserably. Instead, he held up his hands as if in surrender.
"Alright, alright. I’m just giving you a hard time." I smiled, and he smiled, but the longer we looked at each other, the more his smile faltered, and his eyes grew more and more troubled.
"What?" I ask, pushing off the bathroom sink. I began picking at my nail beds. I’d been chewing my nails for as long as I could remember, and currently, there was no nail to pick out. Dry blood could be seen on a few of my fingers where I chewed them too short. It was a habit I couldn’t seem to kick.
"I guess I'm just surprised that you still spend so much time at that dive."
I shifted uncomfortably. "Why wouldn't I?"
It was his turn to shift, and there had only been one other time that I'd seen my dad look uneasy. I could feel my stomach coiling.
"It's just that, you and--"
"Don't," I said, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. I apologized, but Dad was back to his normal self again before I could get the words out, but I swear that I could still see a glimpse of apprehension in his stare.
"Should I tell Jen you won't be staying for dinner?" he asked with a smile.
"No," I say, "I'll tell her."
Jen is my dad's third wife. My mom was his second. His first was a major doozy, and I'm not sure that him and Mom's marriage was much better, but Jen seemed to be perfect for him. And I love her too. She's like a second mom. I considered myself lucky; I knew plenty of others who wanted nothing to do with their step-parents.
Jen understood. She always did, and she promised to leave a plate for me even though I’d be eating dinner elsewhere.
"Lunch for tomorrow," she said with a smile as I grabbed my keys off the hook by the door.
"I'll be back before midnight," I tell them as I slip out the door, and I ignore the look of shock on my dad's face. I've never been home at a decent hour since I moved back, but I figured since I'd be actually be out with someone and that someone was a boy, I should give my father some peace of mind.
Sheridan wasn’t a large town, not by any means. You could drive from one end to the other in ten minutes, fifteen if you hit every red light.
So I wasn't sure what I was thinking when I left at a quarter past four when Robbie wasn't going to be getting off until five, but by the time I had driven the five minutes it took to get to the Country Kitchen, it was too late.
And, of course, it was just my luck that Robbie was standing outside smoking a cigarette with a girl that I could only assume was his coworker. She had on a low-cut black shirt and the same kind of apron Robbie had. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips as she clicked away at the keyboard on her phone.
It wasn't until Robbie caught sight of me and waved that the girl looked up from her phone and I froze. I knew her.
Samantha Trent. Everyone just knew her as Sam.
There was no turning back at this point, no running away. I had been spotted by both Robbie and Sam, so I swallowed the lump in my throat that was threatening to choke me and hoped that I wouldn't puke all over the place when I approached them.
"You're early," Robbie joked before turning to Sam. "Sam, this is--"
"Kelci Thompson," she finished for him, her voice rough from smoking. The last time I saw Sam, she was up to smoking two packs a day, sometimes even more. How someone managed that and didn't keel over was beyond me, but I didn't smoke. I had tried picking up the habit a few times, but the taste always made me so sick that I finally just gave up.
"Hey, Sam," I said shyly, and she gave me a nod. "How's Mikey?" I asked.
"Back in jail," she stated flatly, and I could tell that making conversation with her was going to be harder than I hoped.
Mikey and Sam had been together since middle school. They had been neighbors in the same trailer park and had broken up more times than anyone thought was healthy, but they never stayed that way for long.
About two years ago, Mikey got arrested for beating a punk kid within an inch of his life for talking bad about his best friend Jackson. The kid had apparently said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and Mikey snapped, throwing the kid to the ground before laying into him with his fists.
From what I'd heard, Mikey had gotten off easy. The judge, who had dealt with Mikey from the time he was twelve, said he understood the extenuating circumstances that led Mikey to do what he did, but that it didn't excuse the fact that Mikey did it. So, he was charged with simple assault and battery, and was sentenced to one year in jail, six months of probation, and $750.00 in fines.
Then, during his six month probation, the same punk kid had crossed Mikey again, and despite his best efforts, Mikey couldn't hold back.
When Mikey set foot in court again, he was given another year in jail, one year probation, and another $750.00 in fines, and the judge warned him that if it happened again, he would be going to prison for a long, long time.
As I did the math, I knew that Mikey would be getting out of jail soon, probably by the end of the summer, but then he had a year of probation waiting for him.
"He'll be out next month," Sam said as if she was reading my mind, "I just hope he won't screw it up this time. If he does, I'm leaving his sorry ass."
Robbie and I looked at each other, but didn't say anything.
Just then, someone in a white apron and blue bandana poked his head out the side door that, I assumed, led to the kitchen.
"Sam!" he barked, "You've got three orders up. Get a move on!"
"Alright, alright!" Sam barked back, rolling her eyes. She extinguished her cigarette under her toe before taking her sweet time walking to the door where the cook still stood, glaring. Once Sam had sauntered inside, the cook gave an apologetic nod, which Robbie returned with a What-can-you-do? shrug.
I shuffled, uncomfortable, but Robbie didn't seem bothered at all. He stood, smiling at me.
"Shall we go inside?" he asked, and I nodded. "I still have a few tables, but they should clear out soon, and then we can have dinner." I smiled, which only made his smile grow.
Robbie held the door open for me, letting me step into the lobby before leading me to my corner booth. When he disappeared through the swinging kitchen door, I pulled out my phone and mindlessly perused the timeline of my Facebook.
Forty five minutes later, Robbie plopped down across from me with the food we had decided on: A basket of chicken tenders and fries for me and a basket of mozzarella sticks for him. Robbie had his Mountain Dew, and I sipped on my Coke. No coffee, at least not now.
We ate in silence for a while, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable, and I was sure neither of us wanted to force conversation, but as Robbie munched on his tenth mozzarella stick, he looked up and stared at me.
"So," he said around a mouth full of cheese.
"So," I said.
"Tell me about yourself," he said, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "What?" he asked, acting hurt.
"Are we at a speed dating session?" I teased, and Robbie covered his mouth as he laughed. "I didn't think so!" I laughed before taking a long sip of my soda.
Robbie swallowed. "Well, how else are you supposed to learn things about someone you don't know?"
"Just ask questions. What do you want to know?"
"Uh…"
He looked lost, unsure of what to say, so I decided to help him out.
"I'll start. What brought you to Sheridan?" I leaned back in the booth, nibbling on a chicken tender as he wiped the grease off his mouth with a napkin.
"School," he said simply, "I didn't really feel like going to UW, or any university for that matter, and the next best thing was this little community college."
I nodded, unsure what to say.
"Everyone says I'm an idiot for choosing Sheridan," he gave a half-hearted laugh.
"Why?"
"Everyone says that once you move here that you get stuck here. No one ever leaves. All of my friends here in town grew up here, and all of my classmates did too." He gave me a strange look then, and I knew what he was going to say before the words ever passed his lips.
I suddenly became very interested in the ice floating in my cup. "People in this town don't leave because they're scared," I said to my cup. "Sheridan is a small town, and everyone here thinks they're big. They know once they leave Sheridan that they won't be big anywhere else." I looked up to find Robbie twirling a mozzarella stick between his fingers. He wasn't looking at me. "They say they hate it, but they wouldn't know what to do with themselves once they left."
"Is that why you came back?" He stopped twirling the mozzarella stick and glanced at me. It wasn't an accusation, but I felt myself going on the defensive anyway.
"No," I said, my voice coming out more harsh than I would have liked, "I came back because--"
"Of a boy." Robbie finished for me, and I felt like he had punched me in the gut. I stared at him, but he didn't seem aware of the ripple effect he had set off in me. In fact, he looked completely clueless. "Sam told me." He shrugged as if Sam running her mouth wasn't anything new.
I was speechless. What else had Sam told him, and why did she feel the need to tell him in the first place?
"What's he like?" Robbie asked. He sounded genuinely interested.
"I have a feeling Sam probably told you everything there is to know about the situation," I said, my appetite dying even though I still had food left in my basket. I didn't want to talk about it, and Robbie must have sensed that because he gave an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped down your throat like that. All Sam told me was that you moved back for a boy, and it piqued my interest. He must be pretty special to you for you to move back to a town no one likes."
I didn't say anything.
"So what's he like?" he asked again.
"Robbie--"
"Oh, come on, Kelci!" he said with a grin, "You can tell me! We're just getting to know each other, and this guy is obviously pretty important to you and that means by telling me about it-- about him," he corrected, "Then I'll learn more about you."
I was trapped. If I didn't say anything, he was sure to seek out the information from someone else, and I would be damned if Sam would be the one to spill it to him. But then that meant that I had to say something, and I didn't really feel like doing that either.
I felt my resolve to fight him ebbing away, and my dad's words rang loud in my mind.
You'll have to talk about it sooner or later, Kelci.
I guess this was the start.
"What do you want to know?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
Robbie beamed. "Start at the beginning. Tell me how you met."