The Magnolia Chronicles

by Kate Canterbary

  I figured she was going for another dozen. Instead, she headed for the counter filled with cutlery, straws, and coffee complements. She grabbed a few things before giving the display case a meaningful glance. She was thinking about another dozen. I knew it. When she returned to the table, she produced a plastic knife and cut the Bismarck down the middle.

  "Eat that and explain this issue with your boys again," she ordered, wagging the knife at me.

  "I mean, there's not an issue per se," I said, picking up my half of the Boston Crème. Damn, I loved me some Boston Crème. Cake, donut, scented candle, you name it, I wanted it. There was nothing better in the whole world than chocolate, cake, and pudding in one bite. "There's just these two guys and they're both…I don't know. They're both around right now."

  "Do you want them around?" She wiped her fingers clean and reached for her iced tea. "Based on everything you've said recently, it seems as though you find them amusing. Right?"

  "Amusing is one way to put it," I said with a laugh. "First there's Rob, and I really like being with him. I'm not sure what it is but he's—he's funny and smart and easy to be with and I like all of those things. I like them so much. When we first started chatting, it was as if we'd known each other forever. I never have to explain my humor to him and there were never awkward oh shit what did I say moments. He has some issues from his ex-girlfriend and they're rather significant, but—but he looks at me like he wants to listen to everything I say."

  Andy nodded, setting her tea down. "It sounds as though you really like this dude."

  "I do. He has some shit to work through but so do I. When you're in your thirties and single, everyone is fighting the ghosts of exes past."

  "You're not wrong," Andy said, her gaze dropping to the seven donuts remaining in the box. "Then what's the story with Ben? Why is he in the picture if Rob is the model of fucked-up perfection?"

  "He's in the picture because he owns the house across the street from me," I replied.

  "He's the fixer-upper?"

  "Him and the house he bought, yeah," I replied. "Andy, you'd freakin' die if you saw the way he was reno'ing that place. Electrical and water both on during demo. No permits to speak of. He was laying tile on subfloor. No mortar board in sight."

  "My god," she whispered, lifting her hand to her mouth.

  "I know, right?"

  "Yeah, that's tragic," Andy replied. "But this Ben, the bad flipper, does he look at you like he wants to listen to everything you say?"

  "N—" I started to respond but stopped myself. I didn't know how Ben looked at me, not really. "I don't think so. I'm not sure."

  Andy crossed her arms. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

  "I mean, I am not sure about him," I replied, enunciating every word. "Every time I see him, I have to yell at him about something. First it was the tile saw at two in the morning, then it was him crashing my lunch date with Rob, and then it was him fucking up everything he touched at his house."

  She poked at the remaining donuts. "Sounds like a lot of work. Sounds like every guy you've ever dated before. One in particular."

  I reached into the box. Me and sugar, we were going down today. "I see how you're drawing that comparison but Ben is just bad at home improvement and I have no patience for that shit. He's not a couch-dwelling, dog-stealing, no-motivation, self-centered man-baby."

  "Well, I'm pleased we're not dealing with another man-baby," Andy replied. "But he still sounds like a lot of work."

  "You're right," I conceded. "And I'm not one hundred percent certain he's not hanging around and dropping suggestive comments simply because he likes playing the game."

  "Ugh, no," Andy wailed. "Not a game-player. We're not twenty-two anymore, thank you."

  "Believe me, I know. That's one of the reasons I'm not sure about Ben," I confessed. "I'm not sure what he really wants. I'm not sure what would happen if I stopped going to him, you know?"

  "I don't. Explain," Andy said, cutting a s'mores donut in half.

  "The first time I met him was when I went across the street in the middle of the night, a supermajority of my boobs out, to complain about his tile saw. Then I went back and literally fixed his issues and listened to his problems. Aside from running into him when I was with Rob at Flour, I've always made the gestures."

  "Does he text you?" she asked.

  "Not really," I replied. "I assume that has something to do with fighting fires but I've only received"—I held up my finger as I scrolled through my phone—"three texts from him. One telling me he was on his way to the house the weekend we met there, one thanking me for helping him at the house, one asking if I wanted to show him how to hang drywall."

  "A drywall date," Andy deadpanned. "Adorable."

  "But the thing is, when I'm with him, he seems…I don't know. He's always an asshole but he's not a jerk if that makes sense."

  "Makes sense. I know assholes who aren't jerks. Several." She reached for her tea and gestured at me with the cup. "You have to do something with these guys."

  "I am aware of that," I said.

  "Just sleep with both of them," she suggested. "Separately or together. Whatever."

  I nearly choked on my iced coffee. "They were in the same room together once and wanted to tear each other apart. It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with exceeding the allowable amount of testosterone in a small space. They would've reacted the same way around any set of ovaries. Their heads would explode if I even suggested group naked time. No cuddle puddles for these boys."

  Andy tapped her fingers against her lips for a moment. "It's interesting how you didn't object to my recommendations."

  Good grief.

  "I don't want a threesome," I whispered, swinging my gaze to the donut eaters around us. "And believe me, neither do Rob and Ben."

  "Then you're test-driving both models," Andy supplied. "Right? That's where we're going with this?"

  "Girl, where is your husband?" I asked, glancing around the bakery as if Patrick Walsh was hiding in the shadows. True story though, Patrick was known to keep a close eye on Andy when she was out shopping. He'd appeared in stranger places at stranger times, especially around the holidays.

  "Why? You want his opinion?" Andy asked. "I have an idea which side he'd choose."

  That was all we needed. Patrick's take on my feast-or-famine dating life.

  "No, I don't need anything of the sort," I said, busying myself with my napkin. "I'm not sure I'm test-driving anyone."

  "Oh, don't lie to me. Don't even try."

  I met her gaze but glanced away quickly. Of course, I'd thought about it. About them. About reconciling the idea of seeing two men at the same time. About having sex with two men, not at the same time but damn near close enough. About unraveling the emotions long enough to make that plan plausible because I couldn't imagine my head and my heart allowing such an experiment without concerted effort.

  "I'm not lying," I said quietly. "I'm not sure I can do it. With both of them." After a moment, I added, "Separately."

  Andy lifted a shoulder. "You don't have to. You only have to do what you want."

  From behind me, I heard, "Funny running into you here."

  Swiveling in my seat, I expected to find Patrick. Like I said, he had a knack for showing up. But it wasn't Patrick.

  Oh. Oh shit.

  It was Rob.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My date was enjoying this too much.

  Far too much. Andy—the chick who didn't usually smile in the course of normal interactions—was fighting off a grin as wide as the Mississippi River and trying to hide it behind another donut.

  "Oh. Hi," I said. He dropped his hand onto the back of my chair and gifted me with a warm smile before glancing to Andy. "Uh, Rob, this is my friend Andy. Andy, this is Rob."

  At the same time, they replied, "I've heard a lot about you."

  "Oh my god," I whispered.

  "Sit a minute, won't you?" Andy asked Rob. "I eat donuts once
, maybe twice a year so I'm not likely to share these with you. I hope that's not an impediment to you hanging with us."

  Rob glanced inside the bakery box and back at Andy. "Once or twice a year? I'd heard you were a bit severe but that type of deprivation is insane."

  "Severe?" Andy repeated, leveling me with an arched eyebrow. "You said I'm severe?"

  "Severe is good," I replied. "It's great. We all want to be severe."

  Andy studied Rob for a moment. "It's not insanity," she replied. "I don't favor sweets. On occasion, I'll get donuts or ice cream or chocolate on the brain. When I do, I put that craving to bed."

  Glancing back at the half-empty box, Rob said, "Apparently."

  "What brings you here today?" she asked.

  "Rob has a sweet tooth," I replied. "The first time we had lunch together, he ordered two dozen cookies for himself."

  "It wasn't two dozen," he argued. "Eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Twenty, tops. Nowhere near two dozen."

  "That is still more than the average daily cookie consumption of adult humans," Andy said. "You're in elven territory there."

  "Excuse me? What?" he asked, glancing between me and Andy.

  "She's talking about witches and wizards and hobbits," I said. "Don't worry about it."

  "What if I want to worry about it?" Rob asked, nudging my arm with his elbow.

  I took that nudge and did him one better by leaning in, pressing the length of my arm against his. Goddamn, his eyes were fascinating. The ratio of amber to emerald seemed to vary according to the day, the light, the lunar phase. And he smelled incredible. I couldn't pin it to anything particular but I knew he smelled fresh. Rising above the heavenly scent of fresh donuts and coffee was noteworthy but doing it in a subtle, natural way was remarkable.

  "Go ahead," Andy said. "Ignore me."

  Still focused on Rob, I replied, "Don't worry. We will."

  The t-shirt he wore was proof the angels and saints loved me. In fact, they wanted me squeezing my legs together in a bakery because his bare forearms gave me a tiny orgasm. A little squeak of an orgasm, just enough to part my lips and send a rush of heat over my body.

  He reached for my iced coffee, his arm ghosting over the side of my breast as he moved. Without asking for permission, he pursed his lips around my straw and drank. The way he gazed at me as his throat bobbed, it was intimate. Almost overwhelming.

  Tiny orgasm number two, thank you very much.

  He set the cup down, murmuring, "Thanks." The backs of his knuckles ran over my arm and that was it. That was all it took for a third pulse to sizzle through me.

  "You're welcome," I replied. "Although I don't recall offering it to you."

  The corner of his lips lifted. "You didn't."

  "You should ask." Then, I added, "Nicely."

  "I ask when it's important." Still gazing at me, he jerked a shoulder up. "The rest of the time, I take what I want."

  "That's horseshit," I replied.

  Another shoulder jerk. "Maybe it is." He drew his fingertips over my wrist, my pulse, my palm. Curled his fingers around mine. "What are you going to do about it?"

  I had a response to that. A wicked good response too. But the world tilted and my train of thought rolled away when I heard the unmistakable rasp of Ben's voice wafting toward me from the other side of the bakery. I was positive it was him. There was a rough quality to his words. I didn't have to set eyes on him to know it was him. I felt it like a cannonball of sweat rolling down my back.

  Sweet mother, that sounded ridiculous. Really ridiculous. And I didn't have time for sweaty cannonballs, not when Rob was patiently waiting for a clapback to his grabby hands.

  "Well, I'll have you know, I, um," I stammered. "Wouldn't you like to know what I'd do."

  "Mmhmm." Rob grinned at me. "I would."

  I didn't want to glance away from Rob and I didn't want to burst this bubble. But I had to know whether the major league perspiration was from Ben or—or I'd daydreamed his voice while Rob stroked my wrist.

  I was praying it was the former because why the hell would my subconscious complicate matters? Wasn't my entire existence an object lesson in complicated? Why couldn't it be easy for once in my damn life? Meet a nice guy, go on normal dates, have satisfying sex, get married, live happily ever after. Not that I was on the road toward any of that today but I was enjoying some flirting and tiny orgasms.

  What was wrong with that? Nothing. And why did everything have to be so difficult? No. Difficult was determining whether I was imagining men's voices without anyone catching anyone's attention while I did it.

  I knew I wasn't shifting in slow motion but that was how I was seeing this moment. Like every second was a full heartbeat and every breath was a choice as I turned in the direction from which I'd heard his voice.

  As Rob and Andy faded into my peripheral vision, I told myself I wasn't making any choices. I wasn't choosing anything—or anyone. I was merely locating the source of a sound. If I was right, if it was Ben, that didn't mean anything. It meant something but it didn't mean my inner compass was swinging toward him. I wasn't in any position to make that choice.

  Innuendos and length-and-girth competitions weren't offers. They were the games played by boys who had oversized opinions of themselves and little more to offer than their Swiss cheese promises. They weren't offering happy-ever-afters. It wasn't clear what—if anything—Ben offered, but Rob was only available for a short-term distraction. Nothing more than tiny orgasms in donut shops. And maybe that was the truth behind my daydream. Rob didn't check the right boxes. There was no future for us, not beyond sex without strings.

  Even if Rob happened upon me in this donut shop, I had to keep searching. Keep hunting.

  I turned in my seat, slowly slowly slowly but only in my mind, and found Ben on the other side of the shop. There he was, a goddamn manifestation of my biological clock with his tousled-slash-bedhead hair and drowsy eyes. If I hadn't known the thin line on his cheek was a scar, I would've guessed it was a crease from his pillow. I would've traced it with my index finger as I curled into his sleepy warmth.

  Biological clocks like whoa.

  But Ben wasn't looking at me. He wasn't hearing the clanging of any clocks.

  No, his dark olive skin glowed like a Coppertone commercial and his biceps tested the limits of that t-shirt and his hand was low on a beautiful blonde's back. Her fingers were curled around his thick forearm and her long lashes—had to be extensions, that was no Cover Girl mascara—fluttered as she smiled at him. His lips grazed her cheek and he whispered something that had her laughing and nodding.

  And there I was, staring at them. I rolled my eyes at all the manifestation bullshit I'd bought into a second ago but that didn't stop me from staring. Ben wasn't checking my boxes either.

  As if he felt the weight of my gaze on his shoulders, Ben shifted toward me. He blinked twice, shaking his head. Without glancing away from me, he spoke to his companion. He held up a finger as if he was asking for a minute but then I saw his lips form a definite "No." There were other words but I couldn't make them out and then—then he was moving toward me.

  Andy shook her cup, the tumble of ice cubes shaking my attention away from Ben. "I need more tea," she announced. "Do me a favor and don't get your pheromones on my donuts."

  "Don't you dare leave," I hissed. I was mentally calculating the seconds until Ben reached our table and this morning went from coincidental to crazy. "Sit your skinny ass down and eat another donut."

  "Did my invitation get lost in the mail again?" Ben asked as he dragged a chair over. He greeted Rob with a sharp stare—and an unimpressed frown at our joined hands—before turning his attention to Andy. He held out his hand. "Hi. Ben Brock. Nice to meet you."

  "Hm." Andy, ever the ice queen, took a moment to wipe her fingers on a paper napkin and rake her gaze over the firefighter before accepting his hand. "Andy Asani. It's bold of you to invite yourself to sit down."

  Ben pulled a bashful, aw shucks,
ma'am smile. "In my line of work, most people are happy about me barging in."

  "Hm." She treated him to another pursed-lip study. "In my line of work, most people are happy when I tear walls down but I don't make a habit of demolishing things in social situations."

  "I think the lady is trying to say"—Rob gestured toward Andy—"that some manners wouldn't kill you, Brock."

  Ignoring Rob, Ben turned toward Andy. "My bad, my bad. I just saw my neighbor"—he spared me a smile that could burn up the entire city—"and had to come. I take it you know the feeling, Russo."

  Rob growled and…and yeah, that was the password to activating my nipples. I freed my hand and folded my arms on the edge of the table, aiming for easy, but Ben answered the gesture with a smirk.

  Was there anything this guy didn't notice? No. Probably not. If I had to bet, I'd say he had an extra eye under all that wavy dark hair and that was his fatal flaw. The eye and the lack of basic handyman skills.

  "Aren't you with someone?" I asked, craning my neck to find the blonde waiting in line. She was gazing at the menu board, her fingers pressed to her lips.

  "Sara? Am I with her?“ he asked, his eyebrows quirking like I'd asked whether he'd walked in with a flock of sheep. "No. No, dude, no. She's my buddy's sister. He lives in Georgia and she just moved to town. I met her at his wedding a few months ago and told her to get in touch when she got settled. I said I'd show her a few spots around town. Completely neutral territory. She's a little too"—he grimaced at the table before finding the words—"high-test. Right? Like, good people but she says some strange shit. You, my neighbor, you're all kinds of all right."

  "As fascinating as this is," Rob started, "it sounds like you should probably get back to Sara. I don't think your buddy would appreciate you ditching his sister."

  Ben shifted to face Rob. They glared at each other for an unpleasantly long period of time. It was like the extreme pauses during elimination ceremonies on reality television. That kind of long and unpleasant. I could've left the table, ordered another box of donuts, returned to the table, and eaten most of those donuts in the time they spent glaring at each other.