Page 130 of The Score We Never Settled

“I ain’t mad.”

My expression collapses. “Huh? You haven’t come up to the bakery?—”

“You’re mad at me,” he quips. “I’ve just been givin’ you time, is all.”

“You stormed out on fish fry night,” I protest evenly. “And you haven’t spoken to me at all. You’ve never liked him. And I went behind your back?—”

“I spoke to your husband. He has a year.”

“A…year? For what?”

“For me to like him.”

My brain just malfunctions and freezes as I openly gape at him like one of us—maybe both of us—has lost their damn minds around here.

“I don’t understand,” I hedge. “You’renotmad?”

“I was. But I don’t want ya to get a divorce. Unless he’s given you probable cause for a divorce.” His expression hardens. “Has he?”

“No.”

He almost doesn’t look pleased by that because he scowls, but then he sighs as if getting that off his face and chest. “Well…it is what it is, I suppose. As long as he treats you right, and I don’t have to brand him.”

“Uncle Ben…”

“Well, he ain’t gonna just get away with it, now,” he argues. “I still gotta protect ya.”

“You do,” I confirm easily. “I just didn’t want to…disappoint you.”

He frowns, then steps forward and pulls me into his arms for a giant hug. “Layla Jean, you’ve never let me down. You’ve always made me proud, and I couldn’t ask for a better niece. You may have bad taste in men, but?—”

“Uncle Ben,” I drone as I start to pull away, but he only tightens his hold.

“There, there now,” he coos, patting my back mockingly. “We all can’t be a good judge of character?—”

“Says the man in hislovetriangle,” I shoot back, causing him to pull away from me suddenly, but he holds on to both my biceps.

“Now,” he grinds out, but there’s no real animosity or anger in his tone. “You don’t listen to none of them men in there. They don’t know what they’re talkin’ about?—”

“Was Aunt Denise involved in that?”

He scowls. “Now, listen here?—”

“I’m listening.”

He exhales with a huff, not appearing amused or wanting to tell the story, but, I mean, if we’re going to judge men around here and their wiles, may as well start close to home.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he claims. “I was datin’ Priscilla Martin, and then your Aunt Denise came to town.”

“So you dated both?”

“Noooo…” he drags out. “I dated Priscilla because her daddy was a foreman on an oil field, and I wanted the job. A lot of money?—”

“Youdated herfor ajob,” I interject, because oh my God. “Uncle Ben, that’s awful?—”

“Well, she was usin’ me, too. For my body?—”

“Stop—” I hold up a hand because that’strulyenough of this story. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stomach anymore “—I’m good with not knowin’ this story.”