Lies, Love, and Breakfast at Tiffany's

by Julie Wright

  “Close call,” Ben said.

  He could say that again. On so many levels.

  “I’m afraid you put yourself in the wrong place.

  I have no desire to be kissed, by you or anyone else.”

  —Jo Stockton, played by Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face

  We’d endured an awkward minute of silence while I maneuvered through traffic before Ben spoke. “You’re mad.”

  “Well, yes.” Was my emotion so unusual considering the situation? “He ruined what could have been a perfectly good moment.”

  “Could have been? You don’t think that was a good moment?”

  Why was I still driving? I couldn’t see his expression when I had to focus on the road. We should have switched places while we were pulled over. “You do?”

  “Yes. I learned something very important.” He sounded completely content.

  Frustrated with Officer Stern and now Ben, too, I said, “And that was?”

  “I learned you are not opposed to exploring romantic options with a nerdy guy like me. That was pretty valuable information to obtain.”

  I laughed, the sound nervous and almost ridiculous. “Okay. I guess knowing what kind of ground you’re standing on is valuable information. But I still hate the meter maid.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not making it to my Christmas-card list either, but he did save us from being smashed by a bus. So, there’s that.”

  There was also the promise that a really amazing kiss was coming my way—and soon, if I had anything to say about it. I drove back to his house and might have broken a speed limit or two in the process. When we pulled up to the curb, a truck was already parked in front. A couple of guys lounged against the truck, ignoring me until they realized my car contained a passenger who was of interest to them.

  They didn’t even wait for me to get the car turned off before they were tugging the passenger side door open and pulling Ben out as he tried to disentangle himself from the seat belt.

  “Dude! You said you’d help Mom with the new piano. The company can’t bring the new one in until the old one is out. You’re the one with the moving equipment, and then you just disappear for half the day. Where’ve you been?”

  I stepped out of the car. Ben shot me a look of apology, not that he needed to. I didn’t hold him accountable for the epic-kiss delay; I gave the stink eye to the two men.

  “My brothers,” Ben said to me as a way of introduction. “Guys, this is Silvia.”

  Three years is a long time to work with someone every day, so I knew a lot about Ben’s family and growing-up years. I already knew all about his brothers—the arm wrestling, tackling, broken furniture, rough-and-tumble childhood.

  What I hadn’t expected was that they’d heard of me, too, because they both pursed their lips and nodded their heads. One of them repeated my name with a slow and deliberate drawl. “Silvia . . . How nice to finally meet you.”

  “That’s inconvenient,” Ben muttered. He likely didn’t mean for me to hear, but the loss of an eye meant I paid better attention to my other senses. Was it inconvenient that our time was interrupted, or inconvenient that his brothers had already heard about me and seemed to be unlikely to stay silent about what they knew?

  The idea of them dishing out the information they had appealed to me on all kinds of levels. I waved and smiled. Ben came from a family of three boys. Ben was the youngest. I pointed at his two older brothers. “Jeffrey and Jimmy?” I said aloud, trying to figure out which one was which.

  They both straightened. “Hey,” the tallest one said. “You’ve told her about us? I’m touched.” He crossed in front of the car and held his hand out to me. “I’m Jeffrey. The other clown is Jimmy. It really is nice to meet you, and I’m sorry if we’re cutting plans short, but Mom will disinherit all of us if Benji doesn’t show up.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said. “She’s one of those equal-­opportunity moms. If one of us in trouble, all of us get to be in ­trouble.”

  Ben sighed heavily. “Unfortunately for me, those two were always in trouble.”

  His brothers didn’t deny the fact.

  Ben shot me another apologetic look as he rounded the car to where I stood. He gave a snide-ways look to Jeffrey, who understood its meaning and immediately returned to the driver’s side of the truck. “I am sorry, but I did already promise to help today. I didn’t plan on . . .”

  “On me changing plans?” I asked.

  “Yes. That.”

  “We do have to finish talking about things. Work things and everything else.” I felt the flush in my cheeks as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

  “Tonight too soon?” he asked.

  Not soon enough, I thought, but what I said was, “Tonight is good.” A Saturday night date plan. How long had it been since I’d had a Saturday night plan that didn’t include work in some variety or another?

  Ben looked like he might initiate a more physical farewell—a hug or a handshake or something—but he just inclined his head and said, “Tonight, then.”

  Knowing Ben wasn’t a public-display-of-affection sort of man, I didn’t push for a farewell embrace. We had time for that later. “Goodbye, gentlemen,” I said to his brothers after offering a wave.

  “Goodbye, Silvia.” They drawled out my name in a singsong way. Yep, those guys knew some things about me. I looked forward to spending time with them and finding out what.

  “Goodbye, Ben.” Just saying his name made me happy.

  I didn’t remember the drive home at all because all of my thoughts were on the incredible lighthearted happiness that filled me. And maybe nothing would come from this new adventure. Maybe Ben and I would discover we weren’t compatible, or that we didn’t really care about each other in any way that could make it long-term.

  But we’d spent three years splicing and taping, talking and laughing. We’d even had a few heated arguments, since Ben had a fire to him when he thought he was right about something, and since I hated to make concessions because they made me feel like I was giving up. We’d been together through hunger and fatigue, long hours and intense deadlines. All that time assured me that whatever this was with Ben, it could be something different from the relationships of my past, something special, something like what Emma had with Lucas.

  Not that I was mentally picking out wedding dresses or baby names or anything, but the idea of Ben seemed to stretch into something long-term and permanent.

  A text came in when I got home.

  “Sorry about the interruption. I honestly forgot about them, which likely makes me a not-very-good brother or son. What’s your favorite food so I can make plans for dinner tonight?”

  “Anything but sushi.” I actually stuck my tongue out as I wrote the word and made a gagging noise to my phone as if Ben could hear it.

  “Really? I don’t remember any relationship with you and sushi. Maybe I wasn’t paying proper attention.”

  I thought back to my time of working with Ben and wrote, “It’s because all company parties were catered with Italian food. The topic never came up.”

  “Fair enough. Tonight? Six?”

  “Sounds great,” I texted.

  I snuggled down on my couch, crossing my legs underneath me, and scrolled up on my text screen. Ben had said I hadn’t responded to his message last night. I wondered what sort of message would instigate such fury over me not answering. He’d deleted it, so I’d never know.

  But we had a chance to start over here with honest communication. I hesitated with my finger hovering over the screen. “Just do it,” I said out loud to myself before I wrote, “Ben?”

  “Yes, Silvia?”

  “Remember, a long time ago, when you asked me if I was happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am now. See you soon.”

  The words might have been cheesy, but they were tr
ue. Happiness felt like it had seeped into my whole being, even with the extreme tension of the day.

  His simple return text—“Not soon enough”—echoed my earlier thoughts and made me sigh. A real sigh, like the kind countless actresses did in all those romance movies I had pretty much memorized. Ben cared about me. I felt complete satisfaction.

  “Can one kiss do all of this?”

  —Jo Stockton, played by Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face

  I had a date with Ben Armstrong! Tonight, Friend Ben would become something-more Ben, which meant I would be engaged by intelligent conversation and understanding. And, I hoped, there would be moments of no conversation at all. If the feel of his fingers at the nape of my neck could hypercharge every nerve ending in my body, I wanted to see what a full-on kiss could do.

  While I was waiting for Ben to pick me up, my mom called. I let it go to voice mail, silently promising I would call her in the morning. Emma called. Also to voice mail. Grandma called. I answered that one. Because no one ignored Grandma.

  She needed help volunteering somewhere. Real volunteering this time, the kind that required grungy clothes and physical labor. I only half-listened because my doorbell rang at pretty much the same time. Ben was early.

  I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder as I walked to the door to let Ben inside.

  “No, Grandma, I’m still listening.” Not true at all, because Ben and I were suddenly face-to-face. I pointed to the phone, and he smiled, and only then did I realize Ben must have gone home after moving his mom’s piano and changed clothes. His typical attire was Converse shoes, jeans, and a T-shirt with a bad pun or superhero logo on the front. On occasion, he wore a blazer over his T-shirt so that he looked caught between nerd and hipster. The whole style thing fit him.

  Tonight, he wore dress shoes, dark slacks, and a short sleeved, button-down shirt that he left untucked in a way that made him look casual and dressy at the same time. While it wasn’t the tuxedo of the previous night, this look also fit him.

  I glanced down to my own clothes. My black ballet flats and red chiffon shirt over a gray tank top dressed up the jeans enough that I figured there was no need to change. “No, Grandma. I think that sounds like a great charity. Children are important.” She was talking about children, wasn’t she? I couldn’t honestly remember. “I’d love to help. Right.” While she filled in the details, I shot Ben a look of apology. His slight shrug showed he wasn’t worried about the delay. “Okay. Sure. I’ll be there.”

  Once the call with Grandma ended, Ben took my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles, his breath warm on fingers I hadn’t known were cold until he touched them.

  I’d seen every Jane Austen adaptation ever made, and none of them ever came close to explaining how completely, shiveringly sexy a kiss to the hand could actually be.

  Getting in the car, the drive to the restaurant, and getting out again made me self-conscious in ways that made no sense. This was Ben! Ben, the guy who’d seen me take out my eye on several occasions. Ben, who’d seen me throw a tantrum during a tricky commercial edit, and who had laughed at me when I threw a coffee mug at the project manager’s closed door when I was still pretty new to Mid-Scene Films. Ben, who’d had chair races with me in the halls during work hours, and who’d ended up in the instacare when he fell out of his chair and I’d rolled over his arm.

  Ben.

  My friend, Ben.

  How did we go from all of that to awkward?

  “Here we are!” He spread his arms out to the restaurant in front of us.

  My tunnel vision of figuring us out had allowed me to ignore our location up until that moment when we were on the sidewalk and looking up at the words Mori Sushi on the building. I laughed. Well, that was one way to kill the awkward. Make a dinner joke.

  “Well played,” I said.

  “I knew you’d like this. Everyone says it’s the best in LA.” He took my hand and led me towards the door rather than back to the car where we could go to our real destination that didn’t include sushi. His determination to get to the door allowed a different thought to form in my mind. Ben was one hundred percent serious.

  “Oh.” That one word summed up all my confusion. Just oh. With Ben so eager to please, standing next to me and seeming to believe he’d done something wonderful, I had no choice; I went with it.

  As far as I knew, there were no allergies preventing me from eating sushi. No. Not allergies. Just taste buds.

  We were seated after our reservations were confirmed. I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably. Maybe this really was a joke and he was waiting for me to say something. But a reservation? That might be taking the joke too far. Maybe this was a test to see if I was open-minded enough to try the one thing I said I didn’t want? Or maybe he just forgot that sushi was on my list of non-consumables? Except the list only had one item on it and had been texted to him on that exact same day . . . which made it really, really hard to forget . . .

  I glanced over the menu and felt a spike of anxiety. It was probably unlikely that the tako salad on the menu was actually a taco salad, especially since octopus was listed among the ingredients.

  Ben had the sad misfortune of being as transparent as I was when it came to facial expressions. I was sure I looked bewildered as my eye scanned the menu, but Ben didn’t notice my obvious discomfort since he was too preoccupied by his own.

  Okay, so he didn’t choose this place because he was a closet sushi fan.

  The waiter came to take our orders. I closed my menu, realizing it didn’t do me any good since none of the listed items were familiar to me, even if some of the ingredients were recognizable. Ben soldiered on, scanning it like a man on the Titanic might have scanned the decks for a stray lifeboat.

  “Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

  “Maybe give us a moment,” I said, since Ben had not yet decided to throw up the white flag and admit the menu’s victory.

  Ben glanced up to see my closed menu and the retreating waiter’s back. “At least one of us knows what they want.” His head ducked down as he went in for another round with the menu. After several moments of him intermittently scowling and muttering, he excused himself to go wash his hands.

  While he was gone, the waiter returned with two glasses of water, saw me alone at the table, and left again, probably wondering why people made reservations to eat at a specific time when they obviously intended on delaying that time for as long as possible.

  I sipped at my water, tapped at my menu, and wondered where my date could have gone. After another three minutes, my phone buzzed from within my purse.

  I had a “no texting at the table” rule because it was rude, but since there was no one around for me to offend, I tugged my phone out and swiped open the messages. It was from Ben. I glanced around to see if he was watching me from somewhere, but if he was, he’d managed to hide himself pretty well.

  The text read, “I’m an idiot!”

  While I was trying to decipher what this message actually meant, another one showed up. “Get your things, and meet me outside.”

  “You’re outside?” I texted.

  “Yes. Come out and meet me. But bring all your stuff. Don’t leave anything at the table.”

  “Should I bring the waters the waiter left for us as well?”

  Ben didn’t reply to my sarcastic remark even though I waited another full minute to hear from him. Finally I decided he must be serious, gathered my things, and vacated the restaurant as quickly and as invisibly as possible. For a half-blind girl, that meant I ran into a wall jutting out from the right side, near the entrance. Who put walls in places like that?

  I exited, rubbing my right shoulder where there would definitely be a bruise forming.

  Ben was at the car. As soon as he saw me, he pushed off the car, and hurried over to wrap his arms around me. “I am such an idiot!�
� he repeated.

  “For?”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I asked you where you wanted to eat, and you said anywhere but sushi, but I was so excited to be going out with you, I skimmed the text and read it as you wanted sushi. I hate sushi, but figured if you liked it, we could do whatever you wanted. When I went to the bathroom and read through the text again, I realized my mistake. I’m so sorry.”

  “You were reading texts while using the bathroom?” I asked, laughing at him.

  He rolled his eyes at me and bumped my shoulder, which was not appreciated, since it was still sore from the run-in with the wall. “I wasn’t using the bathroom. I was doing research.”

  “In the bathroom?” I hurried to scoot back, in case he decided to shoulder bump me again.

  “Stop making it sound weird! I was trying to text a few of my sushi-eating buddies for advice on what might actually be edible.”

  I let out a low chuckle. Being with Ben was way more fun than any other man I’d ever dated. This was absolutely the beginning of a great relationship. “So, we’ve committed the great edit caper, parked in no-parking zones on two separate occasions, and did the restaurant equivalent of doorbell ditching. We really are criminals.”

  “Sadly, we’re not very good criminals, or we wouldn’t have been caught on the illegal parking. We better go before the waiter comes out and finds us. So what would you actually like to eat, Miss Bradshaw?”

  “There should be an In-N-Out not too far from here.” I put up my hand, seeing the protest on his lips before he likely knew he was forming one. “And don’t you dare disparage my choice. Sometimes a simple burger is the best thing life has to offer.”

  We went to In-N-Out and ate our burgers with the profound reverence of those whose taste buds were not refined enough for food that looked like slugs.

  “They had seaweed salad,” I said once my burger, fries, and strawberry shake were gone.