Giving Ben a small smile, I said, “I wanted to ask about you, but I didn’t want to bother the kid. He seemed like he didn’t want to get personal. I should’ve, though. I’m sorry about that.”
I couldn’t stop the words pouring from my mouth to save my life. A bad habit my mom had desperately tried to cure me of with her endless Little Miss Manners sessions.
Ben nodded. “My nephew, Branson. He’s a good kid. No worries on not making it personal; it’s been a while. A lifetime, practically.” Ben kept his answers brief, obviously not having the same rambling issue as me.
“A lifetime, right?” I repeated his words, not wanting the conversation to end. “Branson . . . I forgot you have an older sister. I guess she’s married and has kids?”
“Well, thanks for the support of the family business,” he said, ignoring my hopeful conversation starter. This was a different Ben, confidently directing the conversation where he wanted it to go. “Listen, I really do have to go. Guess I’ll see you sooner than later.”
And like that, Ben Rooney walked out of my life again, but this time on his own terms. Sue me, but I risked a glance at his ass in scrubs, and I’d say the years had been good to him.
Wish they’d been as good to me. Yeah, I still looked young and good and all that, but to be honest, I was lost. And it looked like Ben had found . . . everything.
“Murphy, try to speed it up, sweetie, we have a tiny mid-afternoon rush. Everyone wants a coffee with their fresh baked scone, and I need to get home shortly. Audrey is running late to relieve me, and Dave’s waiting for me.” Zara winked at me, trying to lighten the moment, and then turned to see Ben leave. “Date night, you know?”
No, I didn’t know the first thing about date night.
Zara gave me a meaningful smirk, obviously mentally pairing Ben and me together. The old me would try to set her straight, but not this version. I wasn’t controlling everything around me anymore.
At least, I was trying not to. Instead, I moved on to the lineup of cups and settled back into my job, doing my best not to obsess about what I’d wear when Ben came in next.
Whenever that would be?
2
Murphy
The next day, hump day, I was on the early morning shift with Roderick.
I wished I could say my barista skills were going as well as my scone eating was, but that would be a lie. Honestly, I was a mess. My hands were already dry and cracked from washing them so often, and now they were permanently coffee stained. My hair was an absolute mess—frizzy and dry—and I didn’t think there was anyone in Colebury who could fix it.
As I cleaned the counter at the end of my shift, I cursed the jackass crunchy granola guy who didn’t think I was qualified enough for a marketing position at his kayak company. I’d been sitting right over there . . . I looked toward the corner of the Bean where the leather chairs sat.
That’s where I’d been that day a few weeks ago, gripping my almost empty low-fat latte as I had a brief interview with Ricky the Kayak Guru, who said he’d think about my résumé. Then he deserted me, leaving me alone with a set of mismatched chairs and my thoughts.
Why did I even bother? Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I’d never amount to much without their backing me up. When I’d set up the interview, I’d thought a kayak company in Montpelier would be my ticket out of the well I’d figuratively thrown myself down.
To escape my own negative thoughts, I’d wandered over to say hi to my favorite barista, Kirk. Nothing would cheer me up like hearing about his upcoming journey to Costa Rica where he planned to experience the world. Instead, I whined about how I desperately needed to get out of the Kwikshop and find a beefier job to pay the bills. I’d thought the combination of the marketing gig with the kayak company plus a few shifts at the grocery store would set me up nicely.
Kirk stopped short behind the gigantic espresso machine, looking at me wide eyed as he blurted out the solution. “With tips, a barista job would be perfect for you.”
To be honest, Kirk made this gig look easy, and we’d become fast friends during my morning visits to the Bean for a hit of caffeine, despite us being total opposites. I was fancy like a vanilla bean crème latte, and Kirk was simple like a plain cup of joe.
My mid-morning pop-ins usually came at a slower time at the Bean, so we would usually chat over my first few sips of coffee or bites of what I considered a well-deserved treat, although it was mostly me chatting and Kirk nodding. In those days, I still got up wicked early to fit in some exercise. My mom would never accept anything less from me, except she didn’t accept me at all lately.
Kirk didn’t even wait for me to answer that day—instead, he’d walked over to Zara and told her he’d found his replacement. The training that followed was sort of easy, mostly because Kirk did all the heavy lifting. Now, here I was, exhausted, dirty, and daydreaming about Ben Rooney and why I hadn’t run into him before, which was probably because he was successful these days and didn’t hang with people like me anymore.
“See you tomorrow afternoon,” Zara said,
