“Really? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” I tilted my head slightly so I could really take all of Ben in.
“Maybe a bit much, but the memory lasted for quite a while. Kind of like the smell did back then. Remember how terrible I reeked? That’s what a few hours hanging over the toilet, marinating in your own puke, will do.” His eyes twinkled again, and this time his humor seemed genuine.
“Oh, you think it’s funny now, do you?” I propped my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes on him. “I thought you were going to die on me that night. How was I going to call your parents and explain it to them? I’d never even met them. And as for my parents, they would have had a major conniption. Tarnishing the family name with consorting . . . and a death on my watch.”
Oh my God. I had to go there, mentioning the family name. It was a bad move in so many ways.
Scraping his fingers through his unruly hair, he said, “Yeah, the family name. Is it still all you thought it was cracked up to be?”
“Not really, but it’s all I have now.” I cleared my throat, trying to fill the awkward pause hanging between us.
“So, what do you say?” Ben said, giving me that smile that always melted me. “Take your break with me? Let’s talk about something else other than that night or your family name. Neither bring back good memories for me.”
“Okay,” I heard myself say, and for the first time in a while, I really meant it when I agreed to do something.
3
Ben
Yesterday, I’d kind of been relieved when Murphy wasn’t at the Bean when I dropped by. Only because it gave me a chance to interrogate Zara as soon as I made it to the register.
When did Murphy start working here? Did Zara know what kind of money Murphy came from? Was she a pain in the ass? I bombarded Zara with questions, and she answered each one like a diplomat.
Murphy had only been at the Bean a few weeks, including training. Zara suspected Murphy came from money, but it seemed like her personal situation had changed and she wasn’t forthright in explaining. No, she wasn’t a pain in the ass. Maybe a slow learner when it came to the coffee bar, but she was trying hard.
I’d been shocked as hell to see Murphy the other day after I’d stopped there as I rushed to check on Branson in between surgery and heading back to see follow-up patients. My car was racking up miles on the two-lane road between Montpelier and Colebury, but I owed it to Brenna to keep an eye on my nephew.
Years ago, I’d begged my sister to stay with me at my house. Lord only knew, I had the space. But she’d refused, wanting to keep her crap place in quiet Colebury. Not that any part of Vermont was loud or noisy or even bustling, but she thought Colebury was best for raising Branson. It was her own small slice of happiness, she called it.
Lately, I disagreed with her, but I wasn’t Branson’s father, as she so often reminded me.
Yeah, where the hell is he?
Now, seated across from Murphy, who had that smile I’d come to know as her armor firmly on her face, I decided not to reveal anything about me or the little I knew about her since she left Pressman. Not because I didn’t care. I cared too much. When I left the ritzy prep school behind, I left our awkward friendship and any hope of it being anything more there too.
While I didn’t know much about this version of Murphy, it was obvious something dramatic had happened to result in her working in a coffee shop in Vermont. The last I knew she was working in New York City.
“So, tell me . . . why Vermont?” I asked Murphy as she sat in front of me, her hands neatly folded on the table.
“I needed a change, and for some reason, the way you used to talk about it here stuck with me, so I gave it a whirl. It wasn’t completely outlandish. We did go to high school near here.”
Taking a sip of my Americano, I realized Murphy didn’t have anything to drink. “Wait, don’t you get something during your break to eat or drink?”
She frowned at me. “Of course. Don’t act like this isn’t a good place full of decent people.”
“That’s not what I meant. Do you want something?” I tilted my head toward the counter.
“I’m good. Roddy had me taste-testing scones when I came in today. I washed them down with a yummy latte. If I have any more sugar, I’m going to fly home.”
“Where is home?” I asked. This wasn’t a huge town, and I wondered why we’d never ran into each other.
Oh, right. I work all the time, and seems this is a new gig for Murphy.
Noting Zara watching us, I waited for Murphy to answer.
“I have a little apartment, part of a duplex cut into four. It’s not much, but it’s all mine. Plus, I’m used to small spaces after living in New York.”
She raised her chin, absolutely refusing to admit any kind of defeat, and I instantly knew this was a bitter pill for her to swallow. Murphy’s pride was always larger than her five-foot-seven-inch frame.
“Funny, I always took you to be the one who would stay in the big city. You were never into the small world surrounding Pressman, other than the syrupy sweets you could find.”
“Turned out New York wasn’t for me. No real maple syrup,” she said, joking, but there was a story there. She might look like the same Murphy sitting in front of me, but this was a more complex version. A Murphy who had lived more, experienced life differently from how she
