Hunnie’s eyes glistened with emotion but she smiled the whole time she spoke. All I could think was she had her shit together in a way I wasn’t sure I ever would.
“I get it,” I said, staring at my hands, “but honestly, I don’t think I even know what happy is. For most of my life I was told what I needed to do to make everyone else happy, but my own happiness was at the bottom of the list.”
“I don’t get that,” she said with a huff. “At all. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I can’t wrap my head around it.”
I shrugged. “It’s impossible to get. It’s just the way it is. But I’m here now and trying to break free of it all. It’s hard, a lot harder than I thought. I will admit this idea I just had makes me happy-ish.”
Hunnie held up her hand. “Then go with it, but don’t tell me until you tell Zara.”
“Deal,” I said with a smile.
Hunnie stared at me. “God, you truly are stunning. I can see why Ben can’t let go. You know, I remember his mom going on about you. ‘He’s hung up on this Murphy girl. Mopes around about her every time he’s home.’”
“Oh God,” I said, leaning my head back against the chair. “It was a bad time in my life.”
“His too. He didn’t want to go on that scholarship. His dad nearly forced him out the door. It was good, though, he needed it. Total mama’s boy. Now he’s all about Branson and work and more work. You know about . . . never mind.”
Hunnie looked away for a second. There was a story she wasn’t telling me, but since I didn’t want to spill all my secrets, I didn’t push.
“Anyway,” she said, “tell me what Ben was going on about. Your idea?” She stood and went back to her blackberries, lifting the jar to smell them.
Getting up too, I paced. “It’s just something I thought of. Back in New York, they had these straws filled with honey. Yes, I know, not environmentally friendly, but so pretty and perfect individual servings. Your infusions would look gorgeous in them. I envisioned them at parties or little gift shops . . . shoot, I’m going to kill Ben for telling you.”
Leaving her fruit, Hunnie turned and clapped. “Yes. Girl. Yes. We need some samples. Do you have someone in New York who can send them?”
Not wanting to reach out to anyone from my former life, I said, “I’ll call one of the stores who carried them and ask.”
“I’ll reimburse you. This is part of your intern responsibilities,” she said with another wink. “We’re back to work now. Can’t be all play. After I see the samples, I can think of manufacturers. Now, go home and eat your cupcake, and please, please, go in and meet Gigi. You’re a genius, and she wants to meet you.”
“I don’t know about genius. Maybe only here in the middle of Vermont.”
“You’re somebody, Murphy. Here, there, anywhere . . . you’re gonna do great things.”
I scrunched up my face in thought. “Isn’t that Dr. Seuss?”
Hunnie laughed. “I know, but it’s also the truth. Now, scat and write a post on my weekend special . . . call it blackberry-pie honey. I love the sound of that. Right? I may have to make it a regular thing.”
She blew a kiss at me as I headed out the door. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have as much fun when I decided to try a big city again.
18
Murphy
Taking off my pink apron on Saturday, I looked down at my Bean tee and skinny jeans, which I was wearing with chunky black patent Doc Martens I bought during my freshman year of college. It was about as Vermont as I got, and the best I had to wear to go look at animals with Hunnie.
“See you tomorrow,” I told Audrey, who’d popped in to check on the temperature gauge on the industrial fridge. Apparently, a few years back, the power went out and the big monstrosity occasionally went on the fritz after being reset.
She waved me off. “I don’t think I’ll stay after I come in to start the baking, but call if you guys need anything. Family day, you know?”
I nodded like I did, but I knew nothing about fun family times that weren’t press opportunities.
Grabbing my bag from the back room, I checked my phone. One text from my mom about a party coming up in October, and if I’d be willing to make an appearance. She even offered to buy me a dress and arrange for salon appointments—which meant she was going to style me up however she liked.
Scrolling through, I saw a text had come in from Ben, and decided to respond to my mom later.
Hey there. I hear you’re going to look at animals. Beware of poop if you’re wearing sandals.
Snapping a picture of my boots while walking to my car, I decided not to reply with words. I simply sent the photo and waited. A few seconds later, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I said, acting surprised.
“Don’t hello me,” Ben said with a mock growl. “You’ve been holding back on all of us. Do you have a secret Vermont wardrobe?”
I giggled into the phone, leaning my butt against the trunk of my car. “These are so old. Bought them on a whim for a Halloween party freshman year. For some reason, I thought a barely there negligee paired with clunky boots was sexy back then. Thank God, sorority rules forbid photos at the party, because I’m not sure I ever want
