Page 100 of Soft
Bram's mouth curled into a smile. He had a face that didn't give much away, which I'd initially read as coldness and later understood was to preserve his energy. "Where are you coming from at this hour?"
"Friend's place." I held up the bag. "Made a pit stop."
"The biscuits." He gestured with his own cup toward the small bench set back from the foot traffic. "You have somewhere to be?"
I thought about it. I didn't, technically. Paxton was at practice. The afternoon was wide open. I had plans to do something productive with it, though those plans were flexible enough to accommodate time with Bram, who was decent company.
"You look like you've been solving something," Bram said after we sat down.
I tilted my head. "Do I?"
"You've got an expression. It tells me you've been in someone else's business, and you’re trying to decide if you helped or made it worse."
I laughed at that. "I'd forgotten you were a mind reader."
"Occupational requirement." He turned his coffee cup. He didn't elaborate on the occupation, which I understood was his way of not sharing more. Over the months since I'd arrived in Bellport, I'd gathered that Bram ran several things—businesses, properties, other arrangements that weren't fully explained—and that he didn’t feel the need to boast about it like other men in his position might.
"My son's fella," I said after a moment. "He was having a hard morning. I went to check on him."
Bram nodded once. He'd heard about Paxton the few times we’ve run into one another. I had the impression that Bram knew more about most things in this city than he let on. Which meant he’d know I was talking about Grizzly.
"He's a worrier," I added. "A good man. Perfect for my son. But he doesn’t have a ton of other people to help talk him down. It was my turn to tag in."
Bram was quiet for a moment. "That type tends to be loyal once they figure out the worrying doesn't have to be done alone."
I looked at him.
He was watching the street with the same composed attention he always seemed to have. But there was a personal weight to his words. A specificity that didn't come from an impartial party.
I didn't ask about it. It wasn't my business.
"Yeah," I said instead. "I’ll be there for him until he figures it out.”
I'd lived in several places over the course of my life. I knew that cities had personalities the same way people did, shaped by history and circumstance. Bellport felt different from anything I’d ever known. It felt like a place made of fairytale dreams, not reality.
I saw it in the way people moved around each other on the street, all friendly as if they were all friends. I saw it in the mix of long-time establishments and newer ventures. In the way they could coexist without the quiet desperation I'd noticed in other places where everyone was fighting for the same narrow piece of attention.
As a practical man, I didn't believe in magic. What I believed in was evidence. And the evidence in Bellport proved time and time again this was where a person could build a good, long life if they so wanted.
It was what I'd wanted for Paxton. Not the fame or the money. I'd wanted my son to find a home.
"Can I ask you something?"
Bram glanced at me. “Sure.”
"You've been here a while."
"Most of my life, yes," he confirmed.
"Was it always like this? Or is this newer? Life is rarely ever this picturesque."
He considered the question for a few minutes. I waited with him, since I knew the answer would be worth it.
"It changed," Bram said finally. "Slowly, in the way most things do. You look up one day to find life has shifted in subtle ways. It’s usually others who illuminate your understanding.”
I let the words percolate as I opened the paper bag in my lap, pulled out one of the biscuits, and took a big bite. With a bit of reluctance, I held the open bag over to Bram, who smirked and took one.The asshole.
While we sat together eating quietly, I thought about Grizzly’s face when the message from Auden appeared. His expression had been one of shock before turning to joy. In that moment of shock, I’d seen the disbelief beneath the surface. Not in Paxton, but in himself.
