Chapter Twelve: Late-Night Confessions and Unsaid Things

BuyMore was finally closed for the day.

The last receipt had printed. The automatic doors had stuttered shut. The overhead lights flickered into their dim nighttime setting, casting a pale glow on the tile floors. Only the buzzing of the floor cleaner and the occasional sigh of exhausted employees lingered in the air.

Brenda tossed her name tag into her locker with a dramatic sigh. “Another twelve-hour day, another batch of angry coupon moms. I should be getting hazard pay for this.”

From a few lockers down, Marcus let out a grunt of agreement, tugging off his branded polo and replacing it with a flannel shirt he kept folded in his bag.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “You doing anything tonight?”

Brenda arched an eyebrow. “Unless you count microwaving leftovers and yelling at my cat, no. Why?”

“Come have a drink with me,” he said casually, but his voice had that slightly-too-casual edge. “There’s that 24-hour diner-bar off Edison Street. Half-off wings. Free peanuts. Booths you can fall asleep in without judgment.”

Brenda gave him a skeptical look. “Are we celebrating something? Did you finally organize the HDMI cables by length like corporate asked?”

Marcus smirked. “Let’s just call it a ‘we survived another week of BuyMore hell’ toast.”

She paused. Then shrugged. “Sure. But if this turns into karaoke night, I’m out.”

“No promises.”

The place was exactly what Marcus had promised: dim lighting, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox that played the same five rock ballads on loop. The bar was tucked into one corner, manned by a sleepy bartender in a band tee.

Brenda sipped on a gin and tonic while Marcus downed his second beer like he was trying to outrun something. He looked rough around the edges—his hair messier than usual, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Not unkempt. Just… off.

“So,” Brenda said, setting her drink down. “You gonna tell me why you dragged me out here, or are we bonding over shared trauma and bad mozzarella sticks?”

Marcus stared into his beer like it held answers.

“I just needed to not be at home,” he muttered.

“Okay… broody. Got it.”

He sighed. “Sorry. I just… I’ve been weird lately.”

“No kidding.”

Brenda didn’t press. She wasn’t the kind of friend who needed to force confessions. She just sat there, listening, letting the moment take its own shape.

He glanced at her. “You ever like someone you weren’t supposed to?”

Brenda’s expression didn’t change, but her grip on her glass tightened slightly. “Define ‘not supposed to.’”

Marcus gave a dry laugh. “I mean, someone who wouldn’t see you that way. Or who’s… with someone else. Or just totally out of your league.”

Brenda didn’t answer. She just tilted her head slightly, watching him carefully.

He looked away. “It’s Callie.”

There it was.

The words fell out of his mouth like they’d been waiting in his throat all week.

Brenda blinked once. Twice. But didn’t flinch.

“I think I like her,” Marcus continued. “I don’t even know when it started. Probably sometime between her yelling at me for mislabeling clearance items and the time she dragged me away from that Karen who tried to slap me with a mop.”

Brenda let out a soft snort. “Ah yes. Romance.”

He grinned, but it faded quickly.

“I dunno. She’s just… different. Sharp. Doesn’t care what people think, but still knows how to get things done. And she actually listens, even when she pretends not to.”

Brenda’s chest tightened, but her face stayed neutral.

“She’s not with Eli,” Marcus said, eyes a little glazed now. “Not officially. But I see the way she looks at him. Hell, I see the way he looks at her. And it sucks.”

Brenda took a slow sip of her drink. “Have you told her?”

He laughed bitterly. “What would be the point? She’d never go for a guy like me. I’m the guy who hides in the back and fixes the label guns. She likes guys who challenge her. Who don’t blink when she’s on fire.”

Brenda didn’t respond right away. She watched him—really watched him—and beneath the beer and the self-deprecation, there was a kind of raw honesty in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.

“And what do you think she sees in you?” she asked quietly.

Marcus shrugged. “Comic relief?”

Brenda gave him a look.

He looked down. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

Silence stretched between them.

Outside, a neon sign flickered. Inside, the jukebox changed to a slower tune—something bluesy and low.

Marcus rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “God, I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Brenda’s voice was calm. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my friend. And I don’t want you to think I’m pathetic.”

“I don’t.”

He looked at her, surprised.

Brenda leaned back in her seat, swirling the ice in her glass.

“I think you’re scared. And I think you’re a little drunk. But you’re not pathetic.”

Marcus chuckled, relaxing slightly.

Brenda didn’t tell him about the tightness in her chest.

She didn’t tell him that hearing him talk about Callie made something twist low in her stomach.

Because somewhere between late-night restocks and shared smoke breaks, she’d started noticing things too.

The way Marcus always handed her the good pens. The way he remembered how she took her coffee. The way his laugh—loud and unfiltered—was often the one bright spot in her shift.

She hadn’t labeled it. Hadn’t dared to look at it directly.

But now, here he was—spilling feelings for someone else.

And she couldn’t say a word.

So she smiled instead.

“You know,” she said, “Callie’s a lot of things. But she’s not heartless. If you ever decided to say something… she’d at least hear you out.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

He leaned back, shoulders slumping.

“You ever wonder what we’d all be doing if we didn’t work at BuyMore?” he asked suddenly.

“All the time,” Brenda replied.

He stared at the ceiling. “I used to think I’d end up in tech. Like, actual tech. Wires, software, startup hoodie vibes. But now? I think I’m just… here.”

Brenda nudged his foot under the table. “You’re more than just here, Marcus. You hold half that store together. You’re the guy who fixes things.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Including myself?”

“One thing at a time.”

They left the diner-bar just after midnight.

Marcus was leaning slightly against her, not quite stumbling but clearly looser than usual.

Brenda guided him to his car and took his keys with a sigh.

“Come on,” she said. “You’re not driving. I’ll call a ride.”

He leaned his head against the cool window of the passenger side. “You’re a good friend, Bren.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly: “Yeah. I am.”

She stepped back as the rideshare pulled up, handing the driver Marcus’s keys and explaining the address.

Before he climbed inside, Marcus turned to her.

“You won’t tell anyone what I said, right?”

Brenda shook her head. “Your secret’s safe.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Thanks. For listening.”

Then he climbed in, door shutting behind him.

Brenda stood on the curb, arms wrapped around herself, watching the car disappear into the night.

She didn’t cry.

But something inside her curled in on itself.

Not jealousy.

Not quite.

Just… something unnamed and heavy.

At BuyMore the next morning, Marcus was his usual self—maybe quieter, maybe slightly more careful around Callie, but still cracking jokes, still fiddling with the display wires like nothing had changed.

Brenda watched him from across the employee floor, a smile fixed on her face.

But she felt it now.

The quiet ache of knowing something, and keeping it to yourself.

The weight of something she couldn’t say, not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But she would still laugh at his jokes.

She would still pass him the good pens.

And she would still be his friend.

Even if that meant holding back.

Even if something in her stirred every time he smiled at someone else.