Although I’d never been nervous in social situations, I wasn’t prepared for this one. I was surrounded.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled on past lessons in social graces from my mom and glued a smile to my face. Complimenting the house got me some extra credit, and then there was a small lull in the inquisition when Brenna poured me a second glass of wine and then went to help her mom bring in the rest of the food.
Now, I wasn’t so sure about Ben’s promise to protect me as his mom told stories about his childhood. Soon, she’d ask about mine.
How could I compete with the time Ben helped deliver a calf when he was ten years old, or when he was the MVP of his eighth-grade Pee Wee football league? I’d have to tell a tale of nannies and housekeepers caring for me, combing the tangles out of my hair and making sure I was quiet.
“And Brenna used to dress him like a little girl and make him act in her shows,” Mrs. Rooney was saying when Brenna finally said, “Okay, Mom.”
“Yeah, that’s probably enough walking down memory lane for one night,” Ben’s dad said kindly.
“Branson said you came from New York,” Brenna said to me. “He said he ran into you at the farmers’ market.”
“Yes. I remembered how good the syrup was from our time at Pressman. Ben would bring it back to school when he went home, and honestly, I think I dipped everything into it for weeks. The market was one of my first stops when I got here.”
“Do you like the area?” Ben’s dad asked. He seemed genuinely curious, probably trying to gauge why I was really here.
I felt confident Ben hadn’t mentioned my recent sordid history to his parents, and I didn’t take them for the googling type.
“You know, at first I wasn’t sure,” I said carefully. “It’s growing on me, though. I love the people I work with at the Bean, and I’m doing some marketing on the side.”
I took a much-needed break from talking and ate a bite of my lasagna, chewing it slowly, then followed it up with a sip of red wine to put off any more talking.
Brenna gave me a curious look. “Marketing?”
“Oh,” Mr. Murphy said. “She’s helping Hunnie with her potions and goats—”
“It’s social media,” Ben said quickly. “Tell Brenna about the book club too.” He looked at me while he spoke, all smiles.
“I’m also helping Gigi a bit with her cupcakes,” I said, “although she doesn’t need very much help. Anyway, I combined all my passions and set up a book club at the Bean. We color-coordinate cupcakes and nail polish to the book cover. I know . . . it sounds ridiculous, but it’s a lot of fun and makes for an exciting GNO.”
“GNO?” Mrs. Murphy asked.
“Girls’ night out.”
“Oh, that’s so whimsical. I’m sure everyone loves it,” Brenna said with a wistful look in her eyes. “Who doesn’t need something fun and light like that?”
“You should come,” I told her.
“It’s when?” Ben asked. “Next Friday?”
“Girls only,” I said with a teasing warning look.
“Really? Me?” Brenna asked, sounding surprised.
“Of course, you. But fair warning, we really dive deep into the books. Mostly romance.”
Ben glanced at his nephew before nodding at Brenna. “I was going to say Brans and I could hang Friday night, so you should go.”
“Really? That would be so much fun,” Brenna said to me. “But I need to know which book.”
Ben’s parents’ heads swung between Brenna and me, and I could see their mental wheels turning. They were probably thinking I’d settle here in Vermont, run book clubs and maybe peddle syrup, and be besties with Brenna after marrying Ben. What they didn’t know was this was a step in my plan. I was establishing myself as an out-of-the-box marketer.
“How does this help Zara?” Brenna asked. “I’m not looking to steal secrets. I have a job with benefits, which is exactly what I needed, and thanks to Ben—”
“Don’t,” Ben said firmly.
“Okay, fine. Forget the part about me. Strike that from the conversation,” she said to me. “Now, about Zara, I’m curious.”
Brenna looked older than I knew her to be. Tired, but tried to cover it up with concealer and lip gloss. Her white T-shirt was loose and askew, revealing her nude bra strap slipping off her bony shoulder. I wished she had a different life, one with a partner so she could achieve her dreams in front of Branson’s eyes. I could tell she was holding a lot back—especially her own wishes. After all, I knew the type.
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been combining the marketing of several small businesses to increase revenue at all of them. If not revenue then awareness, word of mouth, new interest . . . which all lead to revenue if the marketing is done correctly.”
“Murph went to Columbia,” Ben said, unabashedly bragging.
“You went to Harvard, and you’re happy here, right?” his mom asked, silently letting me know I’d better not have any more big-city ambition.
But I did.
“You should go grab one of those cupcakes,” Ben said, rescuing me. “They’re a new recipe of Gigi’s, and part of this whole thing Murph has going on.”
Brenna went into the kitchen and came back with a platter of the cupcakes. “Do you eat these at book club? If so, I’m in. I love Gigi’s place. It’s such a special treat.”
As I thought back on my New York days when a stop into Magnolia Bakery was nothing, Brenna’s words gave new meaning to special treat. This was a woman who worked hard as hell to support her son and herself. Stopping at a bakery for a two-dollar cupcake was an extravagance for her.
“We do, and Gigi sells them for a dollar that night. Coffees are also a dollar, specialty drinks two. And I just heard from Colleen
