Friendzoned (The Busy Bean)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “What about me?”

  Running my hand up and down his back, I said softly, “You. Pleasing you.”

  Ben gave me a quick squeeze. “Next time. This way we don’t run out of time. If there’s always something left to look forward to, there will never be a last time.”

  Then he kissed me and said thank you—when it should have been me doing the thank-yous—before he slipped out the door and into the night.

  In a haze, I walked toward my bathroom and peed, but refused to wash my face or brush my teeth or shower. I wanted to hold on to everything about that experience for as long as I could.

  17

  Murphy

  I couldn’t believe that Ben had gone down on me. That’s what the cool kids called it these days, not the high-society ladies, but I wasn’t one of those anymore. Back in New York, prior to the fiasco, I dated guys my mom had picked for me. They gave what I called a smidge of oral to receive a healthy helping of it themselves. It was perfunctory, at best.

  And yes, I thought in Ivy League vocabulary, even when I was thinking of oral sex.

  Anyway, now that I’d experienced what I’d been searching for when I signed up for online dating—to be utterly devoured—I’d resisted showering as long as possible, but decided one was in order when Hunnie texted me the next morning.

  I’m making a new concoction and never had anyone taste test for me. Come over?

  A small smile split my face. No one had ever asked me for my honest opinion before. Ever.

  Instead of being truthful, I texted back.

  How do you know I’m not at the Bean?

  Because I just ran (okay, I drove) into Colebury for some cupcakes for later, and I stopped into the Bean. Ben was there.

  I told myself not to take the bait. Hunnie was fishing, and I was too easy to lure in.

  Sure, I’ll come by.

  Heard you went to the drive-in. Ben said it was a late night and he needed a pick-me-up before picking up his nephew for an overnight.

  I’d already shrugged off my clothes and was jumping in the shower with my hair in a topknot when her last text pinged my phone. After a quick rinse, I threw on capri leggings and a loose tank, shoved my feet into flip-flops, Hunnie and her footwear judginess be damned. Grabbing a sweater for later, I dug into my purse for my lipstick.

  Happy that I needed to actually get dressed, I completely ignored Hunnie’s prying and decided to head over to her place for an in-person inquisition. Except when I pulled up in front of her she-shed, I wanted to turn around when a realization hit me.

  I’d never had a friend I could talk freely with . . . I was taught to always be on guard. Was I supposed to just chat openly? Using crass language? Of course, we did that in high school in the privacy of our dorm rooms, teenage girls trying on new personalities and expressions.

  “Get in here,” Hunnie called out as she opened her door.

  Grabbing my sweater from the passenger seat, I rolled my eyes. As if Hunnie was going to let me escape.

  Dressed in cutoffs, a loose black long-sleeved tee falling off her shoulder, and an apron in a cute bee pattern, Hunnie totally looked the part of honey infusionist. Secretly, I wished to be that cool. Although, I wasn’t jealous.

  “Now that’s what I would call sexy country chic, and I mean that in a very good way,” I told her as I stepped onto her porch.

  “Why, thank you. I see you’re done with your white shorts.”

  “After you put me in my place.”

  “Whatever. Get in here and spill.” She waved me inside and shut the door.

  “Do you really need me to taste something?” I dropped onto her couch and watched her flit around the room like a bumblebee herself.

  “Yes, I’m not a liar. But I want to hear about the drive-in too,” she said while risking her life on a stepstool. She appeared to be climbing the shelves to the right of her kitchen, one toe on the stool, the other on a shelf as she tried to reach something at the top.

  “Wait,” I yelped, and she nearly fell.

  Holding on to the shelf for dear life, she turned to me with huge eyes. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “No . . . sorry. Hold that thought and stay right there. This is such a perfect shot of you. Wearing that outfit and scurrying around—you embody your brand right now.”

  I ran out the door and grabbed my bag I’d left in the passenger seat to pull out my phone. I snapped ten pictures of Hunnie doing her thing before she climbed back down with a jar of something dark purple in her hands.

  “Blackberries,” she said, like everyone kept blackberries on the top shelf. “I have one jar left, and I want to make a special limited-edition batch for this weekend.”

  “Make sure to take some pics when it’s finished,” I said as I swiped through the pics I’d just taken, “so we can promo it. I can post it super quick. I assume it’s going to be local only? No shipping?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Hey, want to come with me tomorrow?”

  “Where? To the market?”

  Hunnie busied herself opening the jar of blackberries. “So it can breathe,” she said. Then she grabbed a jar full of a pinkish honey with flecks of green. Dipping a spoon in it, she shoved it my way. “Here, taste.”

  Knowing better than to argue about calories or anything of the sort, I opened my mouth for the spoon. “Mmm, that’s actually amazing. What is it?”

  “I took my signature elderberry infusion—which, come fall, will be the most popular honey because it fights colds—and I added a touch of lemon and also mint. I’m calling it Forest.”

  “Give me another taste,” I said, and when she obliged, I studied the jar. “You know, it does look like a forest, and the mint is perfect. I need to think of some great copy for Instagram on this. We could do some super-fab reels set to music.”

  “Don’t forget we start with all raw Vermont honey, and then we source as much locally as we can.”

  “Never.”

  As we stood across from each other in Hunnie’s open kitchen, I felt her staring at me, questions swirling behind her eyes.

  “You know Ben spoke with his dad, and the petting zoo is going to be a go.” Hunnie did a small twirl, her hair flopping on top of her head, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her attitude was both nauseating and infectious at the same time.

  I shook my head. “He didn’t tell me. We’re not on that level.”

  Leaning my hip into the counter, I welcomed the biting pinch it created as waves of melancholy washed over me. Ben is just a hookup. We don’t share personal matters on that level.

  “Would you stop it?” Hunnie gently grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her.

  “Stop what?”

  Releasing my chin, she snapped her fingers in my face. “Snap the hell out of it. He likes you, and you like him. Don’t second-guess it. It was my news to tell. Anyway, we’re going to look at animals after the market. Do you work tomorrow? I need you to come and take pictures.”

  “I’m off tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Great. Now sit down and tell me about the date. Oh, and Ben let it slip you have some fabulous business idea. He was all pimping you out, like you matter to him.” This time she winked and struck a pose with her hand on her hip.

  “We’re old friends, you know? And I guess we’re having fun now, but it’s not permanent. I’m going to move eventually, and Ben loves it here in Vermont. He has roots here,” I said, moving over to settle into the velvet armchair.

  “Well, you’re growing roots. Now, shoot the shit, Murphy.”

  She stared me down, sitting with her legs crossed in front of her, her back to the side of the couch. Matching her posture, I swallowed my shame and started to spill my soul.

  “We went to the drive-in, he brought a picnic, and we had fun. I’d never been. Then he came back to my place and took care of me, but wouldn’t let me take care of him.” Although I desperately tried not to do it, the end came out like a question. I didn’t want to admit t
o my lack of experience.

  Hunnie nodded knowingly. “A ladies-first man. I always knew it. They’re the best kind of guy to catch.” Leaning forward with interest, she said, “Was it really good? Divine? Go on.”

  “Um, that’s all I’m going to say because I’m a lady, or at least used to be one. But it wasn’t ladylike at all, against the door.”

  Frowning, she blew out a frustrated breath. “Don’t you dare leave me hanging like that.”

  “Hunnie, you’re my boss.”

  “Hush. I’m your friend too. Speaking of which . . .” She popped up again and picked up a little box. “I got you a cupcake. This one is from Gigi. She heard you loved maple syrup, so it’s a maple-glazed vanilla cupcake made just for you.”

  My mouth dropped open. “But I don’t even know Gigi . . .”

  “Girl, I’ve been singing your praises. She’s desperate to meet you,” Hunnie said, shoving the box toward me.

  Gingerly, I opened it up and took in the perfectly crafted cupcake covered in a khaki-colored icing and dusted with gold and pink sugar. “Wow.”

  “Look how it matches your nail polish,” Hunnie said, staring at my hand holding the delicacy housed in a shimmery box before going back to her seat.

  “Yes, it does. I put on this shade this morning while finishing the book I’m reading . . . To See You. I thought it went well with the cover, especially the pink accent color.”

  I closed my eyes as an idea came to mind. Nails, books, cupcakes, coffee . . . was there anything better? No.

  “Earth to Murphy?” Hunnie raised her voice, drawing me out of my musings.

  Opening my eyes, I sighed. “Sorry, I just had an idea for Zara. Must be the Vermont air. I’m a creative busy bee here.”

  Hunnie smiled. “Maybe it’s because you’re happy. You know, really happy? You look happy.”

  “Maybe,” I said cautiously. “How would you know?”

  “I know,” she said. “Because for a few years after high school, I was really unhappy. Stuck here in Vermont, wanting to do something like Ben did, or the few others who got out for a while. Then one day, I was sick with the flu and stuck here in my shed. My mom made me soup, and tea with honey. Ben’s mom dropped off fresh cinnamon-maple rolls, and other neighbors stopped by to check on me. When I was finally better and able to get up and see the crisp blue sky . . . well, I knew. This was a place to be happy. To be grateful, content, and not want for more.”

  Hunnie’s eyes glistened with emotion but she smiled the whole time she spoke. All I could think was she had her shit together in a way I wasn’t sure I ever would.

  “I get it,” I said, staring at my hands, “but honestly, I don’t think I even know what happy is. For most of my life I was told what I needed to do to make everyone else happy, but my own happiness was at the bottom of the list.”

  “I don’t get that,” she said with a huff. “At all. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  I shrugged. “It’s impossible to get. It’s just the way it is. But I’m here now and trying to break free of it all. It’s hard, a lot harder than I thought. I will admit this idea I just had makes me happy-ish.”

  Hunnie held up her hand. “Then go with it, but don’t tell me until you tell Zara.”

  “Deal,” I said with a smile.

  Hunnie stared at me. “God, you truly are stunning. I can see why Ben can’t let go. You know, I remember his mom going on about you. ‘He’s hung up on this Murphy girl. Mopes around about her every time he’s home.’”

  “Oh God,” I said, leaning my head back against the chair. “It was a bad time in my life.”

  “His too. He didn’t want to go on that scholarship. His dad nearly forced him out the door. It was good, though, he needed it. Total mama’s boy. Now he’s all about Branson and work and more work. You know about . . . never mind.”

  Hunnie looked away for a second. There was a story she wasn’t telling me, but since I didn’t want to spill all my secrets, I didn’t push.

  “Anyway,” she said, “tell me what Ben was going on about. Your idea?” She stood and went back to her blackberries, lifting the jar to smell them.

  Getting up too, I paced. “It’s just something I thought of. Back in New York, they had these straws filled with honey. Yes, I know, not environmentally friendly, but so pretty and perfect individual servings. Your infusions would look gorgeous in them. I envisioned them at parties or little gift shops . . . shoot, I’m going to kill Ben for telling you.”

  Leaving her fruit, Hunnie turned and clapped. “Yes. Girl. Yes. We need some samples. Do you have someone in New York who can send them?”

  Not wanting to reach out to anyone from my former life, I said, “I’ll call one of the stores who carried them and ask.”

  “I’ll reimburse you. This is part of your intern responsibilities,” she said with another wink. “We’re back to work now. Can’t be all play. After I see the samples, I can think of manufacturers. Now, go home and eat your cupcake, and please, please, go in and meet Gigi. You’re a genius, and she wants to meet you.”

  “I don’t know about genius. Maybe only here in the middle of Vermont.”

  “You’re somebody, Murphy. Here, there, anywhere . . . you’re gonna do great things.”

  I scrunched up my face in thought. “Isn’t that Dr. Seuss?”

  Hunnie laughed. “I know, but it’s also the truth. Now, scat and write a post on my weekend special . . . call it blackberry-pie honey. I love the sound of that. Right? I may have to make it a regular thing.”

  She blew a kiss at me as I headed out the door. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have as much fun when I decided to try a big city again.

  18

  Murphy

  Taking off my pink apron on Saturday, I looked down at my Bean tee and skinny jeans, which I was wearing with chunky black patent Doc Martens I bought during my freshman year of college. It was about as Vermont as I got, and the best I had to wear to go look at animals with Hunnie.

  “See you tomorrow,” I told Audrey, who’d popped in to check on the temperature gauge on the industrial fridge. Apparently, a few years back, the power went out and the big monstrosity occasionally went on the fritz after being reset.

  She waved me off. “I don’t think I’ll stay after I come in to start the baking, but call if you guys need anything. Family day, you know?”

  I nodded like I did, but I knew nothing about fun family times that weren’t press opportunities.

  Grabbing my bag from the back room, I checked my phone. One text from my mom about a party coming up in October, and if I’d be willing to make an appearance. She even offered to buy me a dress and arrange for salon appointments—which meant she was going to style me up however she liked.

  Scrolling through, I saw a text had come in from Ben, and decided to respond to my mom later.

  Hey there. I hear you’re going to look at animals. Beware of poop if you’re wearing sandals.

  Snapping a picture of my boots while walking to my car, I decided not to reply with words. I simply sent the photo and waited. A few seconds later, my phone rang.

  “Hello?” I said, acting surprised.

  “Don’t hello me,” Ben said with a mock growl. “You’ve been holding back on all of us. Do you have a secret Vermont wardrobe?”

  I giggled into the phone, leaning my butt against the trunk of my car. “These are so old. Bought them on a whim for a Halloween party freshman year. For some reason, I thought a barely there negligee paired with clunky boots was sexy back then. Thank God, sorority rules forbid photos at the party, because I’m not sure I ever want to be reminded of the night.”

  “I don’t know if I agree with any of what you just said,” Ben said, his sexy voice rumbling over the line.

  I can’t lie—a shot of something surged through my body, making my cheeks burn. I told myself it was the Vermont sun, but deep down I knew it wasn’t.

  “Well, you’ll
have to live without them. Can you imagine my parents’ reaction if they saw them?”

  As Ben laughed, I could hear someone call his name in the background.

  “Branson is hanging with me this weekend. We’re watching golf on TV. I don’t even know who I am, but he seems to like it. Anyway, wanted to see if you wanted to go walk around the Montpelier farmers’ market on Tuesday? They’re open. We could bring some dessert back here if you want.”

  “Oh yeah. I actually work Tuesday morning at the Bean, and I could spy on some other honey vendors while there.”

  “Great. Can I pick you up around five or a little after?”

  “Sure. You want to drive back and forth to Colebury? I can meet you.”

  “I want to. I’ll stop for a coffee. Make sure you tell them to make me a good one.”

  “I’ll see . . .”

  “And, Murph?”

  “Yes?”

  “Wear those boots.”

  “With knee socks?” I asked, lowering my voice to a husky purr.

  I don’t know what came over me—I was wanton in a way I’d never imagined. Like a heroine in a historical romance yearning for a man, taking what she wanted or needed. I was no longer the woman I was raised to be, and it felt good.

  Ben blew out a frustrated sigh. “Murphy, you’re really making me regret having my nephew here.”

  Snapping out of my decadently sexy moment, I said, “Go. Don’t regret being with family. See you Tuesday.”

  I hung up before the conversation could go any further, and thought about goats as I settled in my car, trying to cool my hormones. Apparently, this was what happened when a young girl was repressed all her life.

  Later that night, tucked in bed after a day with Hunnie and her goats, I was reading my latest romance, jotting some notes in the margins. Not those kinds of notes. I noted themes, an outfit or two for color schemes, along with a few other ideas.