New Uses For Old Boyfriends

by Beth Kendrick

  “Let me see that.” He took the dress from her and ran his fingers over the ruched red silk. “Here’s your problem—the edges of the zipper yoke rotted out. It happens sometimes with old fabric.”

  “Well, can you fix it?”

  “I can. But I won’t.”

  “Listen, I know we said that last night was the last time. But this is different. This is urgent.” She put the sunglasses back on. “This is literally a matter of life and death.”

  His lips twitched. “Literally? You’re telling me that if this zipper yoke doesn’t get repaired, a human life hangs in the balance?”

  “Fine, it’s figuratively a matter of life and death. I’m supposed to wear this at eighteen hundred hours.” She paused. “That’s six o’clock in military time, right?”

  Suddenly, his whole demeanor changed. He stopped acting irritated and became very—almost suspiciously—chatty. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Um . . . pardon?”

  He glanced down at the red dress. “What’s the occasion?”

  She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “I’m just, uh, wearing it to dinner.”

  He nodded and leaned back against the FUV. “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.” It took every ounce of willpower she had not to fidget. “My mother picked it out.”

  His posture relaxed, but his tone was cagey. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere special.” She shifted her weight, repositioning her boots on the asphalt. “Just, you know, a house.”

  He let the silence drag on for a few seconds. “This is a pretty fancy dress.”

  “It’s a dinner.” She knew she was babbling now. “With friends. A friendly dinner.”

  “Male or female friends?” He draped one arm along the hood. So casual, so breezy. “Singular or plural?”

  She took a step back. “Are you using psy-ops on me? Is this some Marine Corps mind game?”

  He turned up his palms. “We’re just having a conversation.”

  “Then why do I feel like I’m handcuffed to a chair in a room with one-way mirrors?” She patted her hair and tugged on her turtleneck, aware that she was now officially fidgeting.

  “This dress is going to be smoking hot on you,” he announced matter-of-factly. “You shouldn’t waste it on a friendly dinner.”

  She didn’t know where to look. She did know, however, that she had started to sweat. She could feel moisture trickling down her back.

  He straightened up and loomed over her. “Did you bring a needle and thread?”

  “Yes.” She lunged for the sewing supplies in the driver’s seat. “Thank you. Thank you. I owe you, big-time.”

  “Where am I supposed to work?”

  She walked around to the back of the FUV and opened the rear liftgate.

  “God, there’s enough room for a whole sweatshop back here.”

  “I know. Make yourself at home.”

  He unspooled a length of red thread and examined it in the sunlight. “This is the wrong kind of thread.”

  “That was all they had at the drugstore,” she said. “Can you make it work?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t like it.” He glanced back at her. “Why did you tell me to bring duct tape?”

  “Oh, I just thought it set the right tone.” She grinned. “Plus, I figured if you couldn’t get the zipper in with thread, we’d need a fallback.”

  He looked stunned. “You’d stick duct tape on sixty-year-old silk?”

  “No, you would. But only because it’s a matter of life and death. Figuratively,” she hastened to add. “Just do what you can with my substandard thread. It only has to hold for a couple of hours; you can repair it properly later.”

  “Wrong. This is the last time we’re doing this.” All pretense of breeziness had vanished, replaced with what could only be described as menace. “And Lila?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This never happened.”

  chapter 16

  Ben lived in a boxy, contemporary white house bordering the golf club’s fairway, far from the boardwalk and Black Dog Bay’s “downtown.” Lila took a deep breath and rang the doorbell before she could lose her nerve.

  The door opened and Ben peered out at her. “Lila?”

  She didn’t say anything at first, just struck a pose and let him take in the curves and the cleavage and the hair that she’d arranged in a throwback to her high school style. She forced herself to wait for him to speak, but she was suddenly self-conscious of how she looked in the red dress—so obvious, so overdone, so . . .

  “You look . . .” He cleared his throat. “Nice.”

  He was wearing khaki cargo shorts, a faded navy T-shirt, and sneakers. One of them was ready for a cookout, the other for the Oscars.

  She held the liquor bottle out in front of her like a shield. “I brought scotch. It’s from the year we graduated high school.”

  He thanked her and invited her in. The doorframe was narrow, and her body brushed against his as she passed. The house had been decorated in soothing shades of gray, taupe, and white. Soaring ceilings and walls of windows showcased the view of the rolling green lawns, with the result that the interior felt almost sparse. Everywhere she turned, she saw white walls and clean lines and polished silver metal, accented by dark wood and black leather and sharp right angles.

  While she looked at the house, Ben was looking at her with her vampy red dress and her sparkling earrings and her long, dark hair. She couldn’t think of a single syllable to say to the guy she used to be able to say anything to. All her calculated coquetry and charming bon mots fell away as she gazed out at the moonlight filtering through the clouds.

  “Let’s do shots,” she suggested.

  He seemed taken aback, cradling the bottle of scotch protectively. “It’s kind of a waste to do shots with good scotch. You’re supposed to savor it.”

  “Okay, then, let’s get to savoring.”

  He led the way to the kitchen and she followed, her high heels impossibly loud against the polished concrete floor.

  “This place is beautiful.” She twisted her hands together. “And you know how interior designers are always talking about having a point of view? You definitely have a point of view.”

  Ben opened a cabinet, pulled out two glasses, and confessed, “The house came like this. It’s a furnished rental. I’m staying here for the next few months until I have more time to house hunt. My mom keeps hinting that I should move back in with her and my dad, but I’d rather die than live at home in my thirties.” Too late, he realized his gaffe. “Lila, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “No, it’s okay.” She waved one hand. “I would have said the same thing about living with my mom, but it’s actually been interesting. And it’s only temporary. We’re hoping to open a vintage boutique with some of her old couture dresses, and if that works out, I’ll be able to be independent again in a matter of months. Or years.” She nibbled her lower lip, heedless of her makeup. “Someday.”

  He placed the glasses on the counter and gave her his full attention. “About that. I heard you guys need retail space.”

  She blinked. “You did? Already?”

  “The grown-ups here gossip more than the high schoolers.” He tilted his head. “Why didn’t you ask me about leasing the space by the boardwalk?”

  She felt her face flush with shame. “Because I can’t afford the deposit, never mind the monthly rent.”

  “You didn’t think I’d make an exception for you?”

  “I didn’t want to ask. Especially once you got that offer from the funnel cake place. I know how important it is for you to succeed. And then you’ve got the whole dynamic with your dad. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

  He braced both hands on the counter behind him. “My dad and I went over the offer from the funnel cake p
eople yesterday. We’re going to pass.”

  “But why? I thought you said they were paying top dollar.”

  “They are, so in the short run, it seems like a great deal.” He paused to pour the scotch. “But think about it: Why do people come to Black Dog Bay?”

  Lila considered this. “To get over their breakups and be surrounded by strangers telling them to hydrate every two minutes?”

  “To reinvent themselves. To try something they’ve never tried before. This town is one of a kind and a little bit quirky.”

  Lila had to laugh. “A little bit quirky?”

  “Black Dog Bay is full of things you can’t get anywhere else. We have an obligation to keep it that way and in the long run, it’s good for business. A bunch of chain stores and restaurants would ruin the ambience.”

  “That’s true. Although I told Jenna the other day that if she could turn the Whinery into a chain, she’d be a billionaire.”

  “I want you and your mom to have the store by the boardwalk for the summer.” He named a monthly rent that was a stretch but probably (barely) doable. “No deposit necessary—I trust you not to trash the place.”

  “Ben.” She had the odd sensation that her heart was breaking and healing at the same time. “I can’t possibly let you do this.”

  He shrugged. “Can. Did. Already done.”

  “But you could get so much more from any other tenant.” Lila surprised herself with the sincerity of her protests. As much as she’d wanted the space, she realized that she wanted her dignity more. It was time to stop squeaking by on the kindness of ex-boyfriends.

  “It’s not up for debate.” He went all brusque and businesslike. “Pick a paint color for the walls, figure out what kind of flooring you’ll need, and I’ll get my guys on it on Monday.”

  She raised her fingertips to her throat. “How can I ever repay you?”

  He touched her elbow. “Tell you what—forgive me for shattering your eighteen-year-old heart and we’ll call it even.”

  Her eyes welled up. “You’re forgiven.”

  “Good. Because my whole family wants to do this for you.” He smiled at her, his eyes sweet and shining with pride. “Part of me is always going to love you.”

  He opened his arms to her.

  She stepped closer, not sure if they were about to hug or kiss or what, and stumbled in her stilettos. In one fluid, practiced motion, she leaned down to adjust the ankle strap, which showcased all her best physical assets simultaneously. Until the sound of ripping fabric made her gasp.

  “What was that?” Ben asked.

  “I think . . .” Lila closed her eyes and stood up, terrified to inspect the damage. “I think I just tore my dress.”

  “Let me look.” He took charge, placing his hands on her bare shoulders and turning her around.

  “How bad is it?” She winced, her eyes squeezed shut. “It sounded bad. You know what? Don’t tell me. I don’t want to—”

  “It’s bad,” he reported. “You ripped this thing apart at the seams.”

  “Oh my God.”

  He ran his finger along the thin slice of skin now exposed from her shoulder blade to her hip. She put her panic attack on hold for a moment and tried to focus on the feel of his hands on her skin. The delicate black lace of her panties was clearly visible. She glanced back at him, holding her breath, waiting for him to make his move.

  Ben started laughing.

  “Here.” He walked over to the side door and pulled a baggy gray hoodie off a coat hook. “Put this on.”

  She gaped at him, heedless of the rush of cool air on her skin.

  He kept his gaze averted as he pointed down the hall. “Bathroom’s the second door on the left.”

  Lila stood there for a moment in her lipstick and her high heels and her Marilyn Monroe dress, and then she started laughing, too. “I knew I should have lined this sucker with duct tape.”

  “I’ll pour you some more scotch while you’re in there,” he called as she retreated down the hall. “You want a double?”

  “A triple.”

  She took her time in the bathroom, gingerly peeling off the dress, putting on the long, baggy sweatshirt that fell to midthigh, and trying to scrounge up some scrap of dignity. After a few minutes, she resigned herself to the fact that she was fresh out of dignity for the night, so she strolled barefoot to the kitchen, where she found Ben staring down at his cell phone with burning intensity. He didn’t even acknowledge her.

  She helped herself to the glass of scotch resting on the countertop. “Are you okay? You look—”

  “Allison just texted me.” His voice was tight, his words clipped.

  “Allison? Allison who you wanted to marry? That Allison?” Lila went up on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder at the glowing screen. “What did she say?”

  He showed her a text consisting of three little words: I miss you.

  Lila gasped. “The plot thickens.”

  Ben slammed down the phone and turned to her with wild, panicked eyes. “What do I do?”

  “I don’t know.” She rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.” His whole body tensed. “Should I text her back? What should I say?”

  Lila inhaled and exhaled, and encouraged him to do the same. “Let’s take a step back for a second. You want to think about the long run, right? What would you like the outcome to be? Best-case scenario.”

  He didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t have to. She could see the answer in his eyes.

  “Okay, so you want to get back together.” She shoved her hands into the sweatshirt’s pouch. “What you have to ask yourself, though, is whether it’s a good idea to get back together. What will be different this time? What’s to stop you two from breaking up again? Ben. Hello?” She tilted her head. “Are you hearing me?”

  “She misses me.” He looked elated and tortured and terrified all at the same time. “I’m texting her back. What should I say?”

  “You love this woman?” she demanded. “You’re determined to make this work?”

  He looked at her with all the passion that had been missing from their attempts at romance. “I have to, Lila.”

  “Okay, then.” She adopted a tone of supreme authority. “Put down the phone.”

  His forehead creased. “But I—”

  “If you’re really in love and you really want to reconnect, don’t text. Be decisive, Ben. Be bold. Take action.”

  chapter 17

  “So then he strode out of the house, all charged up and alpha male, got into his truck, and peeled out of the driveway. And I haven’t heard from him since.” Lila walked down the front steps of the Jansens’ house with Summer, who was hanging on to every word. “But he left dinner behind and it was really good.”

  Summer whistled. “So I guess you two won’t be spontaneously combusting any time soon?”

  “Nope, but we will be doing business. He’s going to be my landlord for the summer.”

  “You got the lease!”

  “I did.” Lila stopped for a little victory dance. “Oh, and you’ll appreciate this—my dress practically fell off while I was standing in his kitchen. And not because he ripped it off me.”

  “I do appreciate that.” Summer pulled a bag of M&M’s out of her purse and offered it to Lila.

  “You should have seen his face when he got that text. I don’t know if he and Allison are meant to be, but I know that he and I are not.”

  “So you can be friends.” Summer wriggled out of her heavy wool sweater and basked in the afternoon sun.

  “I’d say that’s our only option at this point.” The gravel crunched as Lila walked over to the hulking white FUV. “My dress was literally in tatters, with naked skin and lacy lingerie everywhere, and he just handed me a sweatshirt and told me to c
over up.”

  Summer went around to the passenger side door. “Like brother and sister.”

  “Pretty much.” Lila hit the unlock button on the key fob.

  “And you’re fine with all this?”

  Lila was thankful that she could hide her face behind the tinted glass. “Sure, I’m a grown-up. I’m mature. I understand that people and relationships change.”

  “But . . . ?” Summer prompted.

  Lila’s shoulders sagged. “But why do I always come in second? I’m like the placeholder girl.”

  Summer waited for her to elaborate.

  “My ex-husband pursued me relentlessly,” Lila said. “He asked me to marry him after our third date—yes, I now see that’s a red flag, and no, I didn’t say yes until we’d been together for a year. He bought me my dream house, he remembered my birthday, he gave me roses and jewelry on our anniversary.”

  Summer held up her index finger. “Wait. We hate this guy, right?”

  “Right. Because one day, apparently, all his feelings for me turned off like a faucet. He met someone else, she was prettier and perkier and smarter, and that was it. He was done with me forever.”

  “We definitely hate this guy.”

  “He never had a moment’s doubt or asked for a second chance.” Lila gazed at the red and yellow rosebushes surrounding the gray-shingled house. “He never even apologized. He said it was beyond his control and there was nothing he could do.” She paused to collect herself. “Her name’s Jessica. They’re still together.”

  She had to pause again. Finally, she regained her composure and continued. “Maybe they’re meant to be. Maybe I was just some generic blond placeholder wife until the real thing came along.”

  Summer scoffed at that. “Fuck that guy. You’re well rid of him.”

  “Why? So I can marry some guy like Ben?” Lila tossed her purse back into the bowels of the FUV. “The problem with that is, Ben doesn’t want me, either. He used to, back in the day. But now the real love of his life has come along.”

  “But you told him to take action and go to her!”