by Salsbury, JB
Not entirely true, but I need to get out of here.
I snag my bag and disappear into the bathroom for a quick change into a pair of skinny jeans and a halter top. I swipe on darker makeup, pull my hair into a high pony, and shove my feet into a pair of boots. When I head out, I pretend I don’t see Ben’s narrowed eyes on me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, midge!” I’m practically running out the door—running from my feelings, escaping the comfort I’ve found in Ben’s house with Ben’s daughter. Exiling myself from feeling safe in his arms, under his stare.
“Ash.” Ben’s voice is so close as I head off the porch. He’s following me to my car.
“Yeah?” I toss my bag into the backseat. When I turn, I almost slam into his solid body.
His feet are planted wide, and his arms are crossed. His eyes are tight as he studies my face. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want to be late.”
He takes a half-step closer, towering over me. I have to tilt my head back. “You’re lying. What’s going on?”
“Ben, please. I have to get to work.”
“You ran away from me like hell was on your heels.”
He’s right. “I know, I’m sorry.” But I can’t fall in love with you.
“Talk to me,” he says softly. His warm eyes implore mine, his arms flex as if he’s holding back from wanting to touch me.
How do I tell him what I’m thinking? We’ve been on one date! I’ll sound like a psycho. “Believe me, I’m okay. I’ve got a lot going on in my head and I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet.”
“This stuff you have going on in your head.” He studies me. “Is it about us?”
Us. How can two letters dissolve all the tension in my body? “Mostly, yeah.”
He takes a minute to process that. Just when I think he’s going to push harder, demand more, he nods and steps back, freeing me from the invisible hold he had on me. “I can respect that.”
Really?
“Just promise me whatever you’re thinking, you’ll talk to me about it before you make any decisions, okay?”
Could I talk to him honestly? “Yeah, sure.”
He’s not buying it.
“See you tomorrow.” I scurry around the car and pretend I don’t notice Ben in my rearview mirror, watching me drive away.
Chapter Eighteen
Ben
“You’re certified in CPR, have your bachelor’s in child development, and you have five years’ experience.”
The prospective nanny sits across from me in my office. She’s in her mid-twenties, similar to the girl I interviewed yesterday. She’s dressed in slacks, flat shoes, a floral blouse buttoned up to the neck, and her innocent eyes shine through a pair of clear framed glasses. If she’s wearing makeup, it’s minimal. She had a firm handshake when I met her ten minutes before her scheduled interview, and she made it clear punctuality was important to her. Her smile is kind, her voice soft, and her resume states she’s volunteered for several organizations that help homeless and orphaned kids.
“Your resume is impressive.”
“Thank you, sir.” Her hands stay neatly folded in her lap, her spine straight as a rod.
I ask her a few questions about her available hours. She charges more than I’m used to paying Bethany, Colette, and Ashleigh, but it’s worth it to know Elliot would be in good hands.
“Thank you for coming in, Abby. I’ll think this over and give you a call in a day or two if that’s okay?”
“Of course.” She shakes my hand, and I walk her out.
“So? What did you think?” Donna asks from her desk.
“They’re both perfect.” And yet…
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I look at my assistant. I can’t tell her that I’m struggling to fire my current nanny because I’ll miss seeing her face at the end of every day. But after the way Ashleigh acted when she left my house yesterday, if she’s really at risk of losing her job, I should do the right thing, the selfless thing, and let her go. It’s not like I’ll never see her again. I have every intention of taking her out on another date. I wanted to ask her about that last night, but with the indecision I saw behind her eyes, I knew I needed to give her space.
“I liked her.” And I’m not the slightest bit attracted to either of them. But then, I haven’t been attracted to anyone since Maggie. Until Ashleigh.
When I get home that night, I don’t mention the interviews to Ashleigh. She seems more relaxed than the day before, but she still changes quickly and races off to work.
On Friday, I have every intention of getting home early, pulling Ash aside, and asking her out on that second date, but the elders called a last-minute meeting to make a decision about church funds. By the time I got home, she was already changed and practically passed me through the door to leave.
Saturday went by slowly, and at church on Sunday, I drop Elliot off at her Sunday school class and head to the sanctuary to hunt down Ashleigh.
Instead of Ash, I find Kathy.
“Good morning, Pastor Langley,” she says cheerfully with today’s bulletins pressed to her chest. “What are you doing on this side of the pulpit?”
My gaze roams in search of Ashleigh’s bright blond hair, but she’s nowhere. “Are you short on volunteers?”
“Yes.” She scowls. “Mrs. Kendrick called in sick, if you can believe that.” She rolls her eyes. “Some people are so flaky.”
“I wouldn’t consider her illness flaky.” Is she really sick?
“I’m not trying to judge.” She leans in and cups her mouth as if she’s going to tell me a whopper of a secret. “But she didn’t sound sick.”
“You talked to her this morning?”
“No, she left a message on my voicemail late last night.”
Weird. I’m surprised she didn’t text me. “All right. Thank you.”
“Have a good sermon!” she calls as I walk to the sanctuary.
I thank her, or at least I think I do. Is Ash really sick? Would she lie just so she doesn’t have to face me?
There’s only one way to find out. I send a quick text to the Buckham family, who has a daughter Elliot’s age, asking if they’d be willing to take her home with them after church for a play date. They agree immediately.
I get through my sermon in a daze, feeling the aching emptiness of the front row without Ashleigh there looking at me. After the final amen, I ask my associate pastor to hang out for prayer requests because there’s somewhere I need to be.
I pull up to Ashleigh’s apartment just thirty minutes after the sermon ends, climb the stairs, and knock on her door. My hands are braced on the doorframe and a weird sense of panic takes over me. How sick could she be? Would her roommate notice if Ash didn’t get out of bed? Would she even think to ask how she’s doing? What if she needs a hospital?
I knock again, this time harder.
I’m about to pull out my phone and call when the lock clicks and the door slowly opens.
Ashleigh leans into the cracked door. Her hair is a messy pile on her head, her face mostly clean except for a bit of dark makeup still surrounding her eyes. Her face is a little pale, but I can’t tell if that’s because of the lack of makeup, because she’s sick, or because she’s surprised to see me at her door. She’s wearing a thin tank top and low-slung pajama pants and I can tell without looking directly that she’s not wearing a bra. “Ben? What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were sick. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I tell you I’m sick?”
She doesn’t sound sick—her voice isn’t scratchy and there’s no hint of congestion. Her eyes do look a little bloodshot.
“I don’t know, I guess… I mean I thought…” What did I think? That she owed me? That we’re… together? Feeling uncomfortable and a little rejected, I step back from the door. “I guess you wouldn’t. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s okay.” S
he says that, but she doesn’t make a move to open her door or ask me inside.
“Did I do something to upset you?”
“No.” Her gaze drops to the floor. “You’re really great.”
I chuckle, but not because what she said is funny. It’s the way she said it that is anything but funny. She’s blowing me off.
“I thought things between us…” I trail off because I have no idea what we had or if we had enough of it to consider it a thing.
She doesn’t say anything, and I hear what she’s saying in the silence. She’s saying goodbye.
“I need to go get Elliot. I hope you feel better soon—”
A hand slips around her bare stomach. “Excuse me, babe.”
Ashleigh jerks away from the arm as the door opens to reveal the bartender from her club. The one who had his hands on her. He’s looking at her, a secret grin on his face.
“I gotta bolt.” He notices me and his grin widens. “Lining them up, eh, Ash?”
“Fuck you, Anthony.”
He steps by me and jogs down the stairs, chuckling the entire way.
Sick. I get it now. Sick as in hungover. Sick as in she spent last night fucking some asshole and couldn’t get him to leave fast enough to get to church.
Now I’m sick.
“Ben,” she says softly.
“I should’ve listened to you.”
Her brows drop low over her eyes, and I stare at the space between them to keep from having to meet her gaze.
“You told me the kind of relationships you prefer, and I should’ve listened to you.”
Her jaw gets hard. “So that’s it?”
“I’m not cut out for casual relationships.” I shake my head. “I’m not like you.”
“You’re not the man I thought you were.”
“Ditto.”
I pretend not to see the way her eyes glaze over, because how on earth could she be sad? She has no right to feel upset. I have every right to be mad. She led me on, made me believe there was something building between us, only to cast me aside for some asshole who doesn’t deserve her, who disrespects her.
“Fuck this,” I say and push away from her and down the stairs.
“Ben!”
I ignore her, head home, and make a note to hire Abby first thing in the morning.
Ashleigh
I’m staring blindly at the television in Ben’s living room while Elliot’s disappeared to gather things for a game of dress-up. When Ben showed up at my house yesterday and caught Anthony leaving Stormie’s bed, I saw the look in his eyes before he spoke. He assumed I had slept with Anthony, and fuck, that shit hurt. Not only did it hurt because he didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt, but it hurt because he had every right to make that assumption. I didn’t correct him because I thought he’d come to his senses. I waited for him to ask. I believed what we had, no matter how new and vulnerable, would be enough to earn his faith in me.
But it wasn’t.
“I got stuff,” Elliot says as she walks out with her arms full of clothes. She has a big hat on her head, the kind I could see a woman in the south wearing on a hot day at the derby. She drops scarfs and beaded necklaces and sunglasses and a feather boa.
“Where did you get all this?”
“My dress-up box!” She drapes a scarf over my head then wraps it around my neck. “I’m going to wear this one.” She steps into a long floral dress that hangs off her little body.
“Very pretty.”
All the clothes are a little dated. I wonder if Bethany took her to Goodwill to pick out all this stuff to use for dress-up. Elliot slips a pair of sunglasses on my face, then demands I put on a denim vest that’s actually really cute.
“And who are we?”
“We’re ladies going for tea,” she says through a thick layer of feather boa as she drapes it around her neck.
“Yes, dahling, you look gorgeous,” I say in my best English accent.
She giggles and slings a long string of faux pearls over my head. She has a ring on every finger of one hand and puts a pair of actual reading glasses on her face.
“Will we be expecting the queen?”
“I am the queen,” she says.
We pour water from a measuring cup (teapot) into plastic cups (teacups) and eat our finger sandwiches (goldfish crackers). Sooner than I expect, I hear the tell-tale sound of Ben’s car in the driveway. I look at the clock. It’s only four.
I manage to get off the sunglasses but nothing else before he walks in the door. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t say his usual “hey.”
Elliot seems to pick up on something too as her eyes go wide behind her glasses.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands.
My eyes dart to his and Elliot immediately cries. I jump to my feet, noticing the fury in Ben’s eyes as he takes in my clothes, Elliot’s clothes, and her broken face as tears stream down her cheeks. There is no softness in his eyes, only a fiery anger.
“Take it off.” His voice shakes with barely concealed rage. “Now.”
I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on as I look between Elliot and her dad.
“Now!”
Elliot scrambles to get off the dress, the glasses, the rings.
“You know those are off-limits, Elliot. You know you’re not to touch your mother’s things.”
My stomach drops to my knees. “Ben—”
“Take it off, Ashleigh,” he snarls, but I hear the utter heartbreak and devastation in his voice. “Right fucking now.”
I slip off the vest, the scarf, and the pearls.
“Daddy, I’m sorry,” Elliot cries.
Ben’s body is strung tight, his jaw pulses as if he’s biting back a furious rage.
“I didn’t know,” I say as I help Elliot gather her mother’s things off the floor.
We must not be doing it fast enough because Ben picks up the remaining things, cradling them to his body as he barks at Elliot to go to her room. She runs off, sobbing.
“Take it easy, Ben. She didn’t mean—”
He whirls around so fast the movement sucks the breath from my lungs. “Get out of my house.”
My eyes fill with tears, but I suck them back because if there’s one thing I learned at a young age, it’s to never show weakness. I grab my bag as Ben disappears down the hallway to his room, I assume, to put the clothes away. I want to tell him I never would’ve agreed to play with Maggie’s things and that I thought they were dress-up clothes, but I don’t want to get Elliot into more trouble.
When he comes out, he stalls in the hallway and snaps, “What?”
“It’s not Elliot’s fault. Don’t be mad at her.”
He closes the space between us so quickly, I flinch. “This was your idea?”
I don’t answer.
“You went into my wife’s closet, took out her things, dug through her jewelry, so you could play fucking dress-up?”
I hold up my hands, trying to calm a wild animal. “Don’t be mad—”
“Don’t be mad? Oh I’m not mad, Ashleigh.” He seethes through his teeth. “I’m disgusted that you would think you could wear my wife’s clothes.”
The strike hits. Bull’s-eye. Like a blow to the sternum. I stumble back.
“I thought you were different. You act so confident, so free, but it’s all an act. You’re as insecure and needy as everyone else.”
“And you’re not insecure? My God, Ben, you wear your mourning of Maggie like armor. Easier to keep people away when you still have your wife’s clothes—”
“This coming from a woman who’s never had a relationship that lasted longer than a night?” His eyes glisten with tears as the nasty words fall from his lips. “Get out of my house.”
I swallow hard and turn to leave.
“You’re fired.”
The first tear falls, but with my back to him, he can’t see it. “We’re all fucked up, Ben. You don’t get to decide who’s fucked up worse.”
> I leave the house, hoping Ben stays mad at me and leaves Elliot out of it.
On the drive home, I think as much as it hurts, it’s better this way. I was stupid to think Ben and I could be compatible in any way.
He deserves to be happy.
But then, when do we ever get what we deserve?
Ben
After Ashleigh left, I calmly put Maggie’s things away in her closet. Her perfume once lightly clung to a few pieces of her clothing. Specifically the one Elliot was wearing when I came in. I press the silky garment to my nose and it smells like dust and cedar. Her scent has evaporated like a ghost.
I can’t believe Ashleigh would come in my bedroom and dig through my things. I was already disappointed about her sleeping with that fucking asshole from her club. This is an entirely different kind of disappointment.
I bring Elliot a grilled cheese sandwich and give her a silent hug. She knows her mother’s things are off-limits. I can’t imagine her not telling Ashleigh to put the items back.
“I love you.” It’s all I can manage right now with the anger still so close to the surface.
Her face is swollen and splotchy. “I’m sorry.”
I kiss her forehead. “Eat up. Early bedtime tonight.”
I leave her in her room and drop down at the kitchen table, pushing away my own grilled cheese. I’ve lost my appetite. Maggie’s brilliant smile shines at me from a frame across the room.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, honey,” I say, feeling a new layer of shame and guilt fall upon me.
Am I such a terrible judge of character that I didn’t see what kind of person Ashleigh really was? I could’ve sworn she was different. My sister-in-law would never encourage me to date someone who has so little respect for herself and others. How could I have read things so wrong?
How could I have been so naive to think I’d ever find a woman I could love again?
Chapter Nineteen
Ben
“I’m home!” I call when I walk into my house at six o’clock.
With Abby as Elliot’s new nanny, I’ve been able to extend my office hours, and bonus, the house smells like pot roast.
