“Here you go, the Unicorn as you call it.” Murphy handed the drink over to a teenager, and the girl’s dad looked at her with a smile.
“Just an Americano,” I told Murphy, making my way to her across from the mammoth espresso machine.
“Thank God. That one’s easy.” With her hair slicked back into a low ponytail and a floral apron cinched at her waist, Murphy looked the part, but I didn’t think being a barista was her calling.
“Murph, why are you working here?”
“Shh,” she said, frowning at me. “I need the job. It’s a good job.”
“Are you doing the internship for Hunnie?” I asked, and she nodded. “Good.”
When she brought my Americano to the pickup area, I noted there wasn’t anyone behind me.
“Do I have to call Hunnie for your number? Or are you going to give it to me?”
Murphy playfully flipped her ponytail to the side, and I had to hide my surprise. This was the most youthful, carefree side of her I’d ever seen. She used to be so in control.
Before she could respond, I explained. “Well, I wanted to call you ever since it occurred to me that being from the big city, you’ve probably never been to a drive-in.”
“I’ve had food from a drive-through before, Ben. Don’t be silly.”
“Not drive-through, Murph. Drive-in.” I wanted to reach across the bar and kiss her silly, but I resisted the urge.
Realization dawned on her face. “Oh, I’ve never been to one. You mean where you watch the movies? From your car?”
Feeling a win, I pulled my phone out of my cargo shorts pocket and said, “Go ahead, give me your digits. I have to go grab some snacks for my staff and pick up my nephew, but I’ll call you later with the drive-in info.”
She mock-glared at me. “So, you’re going to tell me what to do? That’s how you do it?”
“Murphy, hurry up and give me the number before you get another rainbow drink to make,” I said, glancing at the father begin his approach toward the coffee bar. “And for the record, I’m going to take you to the drive-in and kiss you like I did the other night. This time, under the moonlight. Maybe a little more if you’re well behaved.”
I tossed in a wink, trying to be playful when the tightness in my pants was anything but. Christ, I was a doctor. I should know how to play things calmer, cooler, and more collected.
She faux growled. “I’m at work, Ben. Don’t tease me.”
“I know. So, hand over your number and an Americano, and I’m out of here.”
Murphy didn’t protest anymore but started rattling off digits while making my espresso shot, and I punched them into my phone like a drowning person gasps for air.
The next day, driving home from work, I couldn’t stop thinking about the talk I’d had with Branson over dinner the night before. The poor kid felt like none of the girls liked him because he wasn’t “rich enough.”
When he divulged feeling that way to me, my heart broke. I knew the feeling all too well.
My parents had struggled as I was growing up, trying to keep up with producing, bottling, and selling enough syrup in the spring, plus fermenting cheese year round to keep us afloat. The problem was the new technology—sturdy and hygienic lines that ran from the tree carrying sap—were pricey.
Unlike other farmers in the area, my parents hadn’t inherited our property. Instead, they’d scrimped and borrowed to buy the land and add to the existing trees, tapping the lines themselves, cleaning out buckets and tirelessly grading colors, repairing equipment, and then fermenting cheese in the off season. Eventually, they bought a few cows for their own dairy and had done a little better financially year-round, but expenses were always going up. They’d built Toptree Maple and Cheese over the years, but it wasn’t without a lot of sacrifice and hard work.
The main difference between my nephew and me was for all those years, I had my dad to lean on, but Branson had no father figure. Only me. I was glad he was turning to me now, and I hoped his getting some more physical activity—like hiking, skiing, and maybe biking—would give him more confidence.
As I made my way home, my phone rang. Answering via Bluetooth, I was elated to learn it was my real estate agent calling to tell me that my offer on the ski house had been accepted. Assuming the inspection turned up no surprises, the land and the small house on it were mine.
After disconnecting the call, my phone seemed to stare at me from the center console. I wanted to call or text Murphy, but I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t been up front with her about my finances, but something about this new purchase made me crazy proud.
I pulled my car into a driveway, then turned around and went the other direction toward Colebury and the Bean. When I’d texted Murphy last night to tease her about having her number, she’d replied she was going to bed because she had work to do for Hunnie early in the morning, and then had to work at the Bean in the afternoon. But with this news in my pocket, I realized I wanted to see her more than I wanted to shower and get out of the stiff pants and collared shirt I’d worn all day to see patients.
“Hey, need a coffee?” Murphy said as I got out of my car in front of the Bean.
“No. Actually, I need you.”
She must have just finished her shift, her apron gone and probably tucked into her tote. Reaching back for her ponytail holder, she pulled her hair free, shaking it all around her face.
“Stalk much?” she asked as she approached, a worry line creasing her forehead.
“Maybe, but not in a bad way.”
She started to bite her bottom lip, and if the worry line had gone away, I’d take it to mean
