Page 35 of The Bartender Special

And then it was Benny-hunting season.

“Well, it's been a long time since we had anyone famous here!” Mrs. Robertson danced out of her chair, arms spread wide. A polite attack, coming in hot. “How lovely for you to have come on such short notice.”

The attack became airborne as a cloud of perfume enveloped Benny before the older woman followed.

“Bless your heart, how are you even coping with it all?” Mrs. Robertson cooed. She broke the quick embrace but managed to grab Benny’s hands. Worry of the highest regard covered her expression. “Because there certainly isn't an off switch for all of this attention, is there?”

Benny, also skilled in polite affectations, nodded a confirmation.

“There certainly is not,” he replied.

Mrs. Robertson was the picture of southern sympathy. She shook her head and tsked.

“Oh, bless you,” she continued. Mrs. Robertson dropped one hand but had the other fastened to Benny's, as if they were velcroed together. “Well, why don't we get you settled in with a nice peach bellini or just a mimosa? Maybe a sweet tea if that's more suited to your tastes?”

A bellini sounded as nice as Jack’s smooth chest.

Alcohol, of any kind, reminded Benny that that was why he was currently holding Marcus’s mother’s hand.

“Sweet tea would actually be great.”

The table sat eight people. Jack took one of the two heads of the table with a quick, sly smile to Benny, before Mrs. Robertson set him down to his right. But only after the introductions were made.

The woman in polka dots was Arnesha King, a town council member, and seemingly a very quiet individual. She didn't say a word as Mrs. Robertson introduced her and stayed utterly silent as Ruby and the hostess started to ping pong opinions back and forth about what they would do if they had been the ones to go viral.

Benny smiled and nodded and hit all the social cues he felt he was supposed to hit.

Jack drank a peach bellini.

Maybe this won't be that bad, Benny dared to think after a few minutes. Maybe they'll just talk at me instead of with me.

It seemed a reasonable hope and one Benny held onto as he took a sip of his own drink, lightly delighted by how sinfully sweet it tasted. He wondered where Marcus and his bride-to-be were as his responses became less and less needed. The Robertsons, with the exception of their father, who never seemed to attend garden events, were a social package deal. Which meant if Marcus was coming to his mother’s event, then his fiancée would surely be in tow.

How would he feel when he saw them together?

Had he really gotten over his feelings for Marcus?

Wasn’t seeing him after all this time strange?

Would it feel even stranger to see him with the woman he planned on marrying?

The near-perfect Felicity Fairchild in all her glory?

Would he feel jealous?

Would he be self-conscious?

Would his old feelings of first love try to sway him back to thinking about Marcus nonstop?

Benny looked over at Jack. His glass was almost empty and his eyes, Benny decided, were more green than hazel. Trees trying to bloom to their fullest in spring.

Jack could destroy Benny, if he wanted. Right then and there. Give them Marcus’s name and that would be that. Carol, the town, and the internet would gobble him up, one piece of gossip and one comment at a time.

The One Who Said Nothing would become the pathetic creeper who had said the wrong thing.

Yet, there Jack sat with a bellini in hand and nothing but a small smile across his lips.

Benny wondered if the real reason Jack had agreed to help him out was because, despite his rough and tumbled facade, Jack Knox was genuinely just being nice.