“Like Nancy . . . Sinatra?”
“No, really. By the way,” she asked, “what do I hear in the background?”
“‘A Little Less Conversation’ by the king himself.”
“You didn’t put music on the other night when I was there.”
“I regret that,” I said. “It was unlike me, but I was in a hurry. You sat on the bed, and I was done for.”
Her voice lowered, probably out of embarrassment. “I feel cheated out of the whole Ben Rooney experience.”
Deciding to tease her, I said, “You really have perfected this flirting thing, haven’t you?”
She cleared her throat, I assumed trying to collect her composure. “Not exactly. Honestly, there’s something about chatting with you. It comes easily, naturally. It feels fun, and I feel more free. Freer than I ever have.”
Her transparency hit me in the gut. I wasn’t sure why, because I’d never been the guy who women opened up to. In high school, I didn’t have the right pedigree. In college, I was too distracted, busy, or self-centered. And since being back home, I’d been flat-out disinterested in making the effort until Murphy showed up in my life.
“I’m glad,” I finally said. “We always had a good way between us.”
“We did,” she said softly.
A long silence stretched out between us, full of undeclared feelings and unanswered questions.
“I believe the experts call that a pregnant pause,” I said, my brain getting in the way of my emotions.
“Apparently, they’re very good when making a point. At least, my dad always said.”
“We don’t need to make a point. That’s just how we are. We flow. Let’s not allow all this underlying stuff to get in the way this time.”
Before I could ask her to agree, she said, “Okay.”
“See? No pregnant pause required. Maybe I know something your dad doesn’t.” Closing my eyes, I couldn’t believe I said that. “I just meant we probably have different perspectives. I wasn’t putting anyone down. I’m sure your dad is a very smart man.”
“It’s okay. I think you may be on to something. It’s like the social media stuff I work on. Honesty and transparency are the hallmarks of a good post. Maybe it’s the same for relationships . . . I mean, friendships.”
“Relationships,” I said, correcting her indecisiveness.
“Anyway, I don’t know how we got on this topic, but I just wanted to tell you about the book club. We’re going to aim for an introductory meeting a week from Friday, chatting about a popular book that many people have probably already read. I haven’t decided which book yet. I may ask a few coffee patrons, if Zara doesn’t mind.”
“Ha. Well, I can’t help you with that, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to go. I’m working the morning shift,” she said, her voice groggy.
“I won’t see you there then. I’m operating in the morning and then going to see Branson play in a summer basketball league. Do you work Friday?”
“Yeah. Only eight to twelve, a short shift.”
“I’ll be sure to pop in.”
“Night,” Murphy whispered.
“Sweet dreams, Murph.”
As we hung up, I wished we could have stayed on for a lot longer. It was easy between us in a way I’d never had.
Murphy’s mind and her body got me equally revved, and I couldn’t help my hand sliding south, taking hold of my length, which was as hard as a rock. I needed to handle business before falling asleep. With memories of Murphy against her door, me sliding to my knees, and a flashback to her in my bed, it didn’t take long.
23
Ben
I pulled into the Busy Bean’s parking lot in a daze, having spent the entire drive there worrying about Branson. He didn’t seem right the night before. The kids seemed to leave him out of the team huddle, and he appeared relieved to hang back on the bench. He didn’t give the game any effort, and I didn’t like what I was seeing.
I might not have appreciated the opportunities thrown at me—football, boarding school, Harvard—but I always gave everything I did my all. In a world full of rich kids who didn’t care about underachieving because they had trust funds, I was the one who always strove for overachieving.
Branson seemed like he was getting complacent, and it ate away at my gut. My sister worked too hard and wasn’t around enough, and I was too close to the situation.
Yanking open the side door to the Bean, the one closest to the coffee bar so I could catch a glimpse of Murphy, I considered sending Branson to Pressman. Christ. I shook my head to relieve myself of the idea.
“Hey, Zara. How are you?” I said at the register.
With a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you in here. Murphy’s about done.”
I nodded. “No getting anything by you.”
Zara laughed. “Hey, Dave said if you stopped in for me to ask you if you have any contacts back in Boston. He has a friend who needs a hip replacement.”
After thinking for a second, I said, “I wish. I know a great team in Brooklyn. I’ll do some asking around.”
“Thanks. The usual?” Zara asked.
“Yes, but I forgot my mug.”
With a raised eyebrow, she looked me over. “That’s unlike you.”
“A lot on my mind, but I’ll be okay.”
“No worries. In fact, I’m going to gift you a Bean Yeti.” She grabbed a dark green one off the shelves and rinsed it out. “Murph, an extra hot Americano on the house,” she said, waving the mug in the air.
It was the first Murphy and I had made eye contact since I came in, and in an instant, a wave of calmness washed over me. Putting my worries of Branson behind me, I looked forward to spending the afternoon with Murphy.
Slipping a ten into the tip jar, I moved down toward the end of the coffee bar and waited for Murphy to finish making my drink.
“Here you go, hot and ready to go in your new mug.” Murphy held the Yeti until I took it from her, our fingers brushing.
“How about you? Are you ready to go?”
“Where? We didn’t make plans.”
“Now we do. Thought we would take a hike. I even brought sandwiches and snacks.”
With a wide grin, Murphy asked, “What kind of snacks?”
“Oh, that’s a secret.”
“Sweet or salty?”
“I wouldn’t dream of salty when it came to you.”
“Deal.”
Murphy quickly untied her apron and washed her hands. The new kid slid under the counter to take her place, waiting for his turn at the sink.
“Hey, buddy, don’t mess up,” Murphy teased before yelling, “See you on Sunday, Zar.”
Zara gave us a wave, and I waited for Murphy to grab her purse.
“Oh, shoot. Look at my shoes,” she said when she reappeared from the back.
“Yeah, those aren’t going to work,” I said, taking in her fashion sneakers. “I was counting on you wearing your boots.”
“I’m sure you were.”
Taking her hand in mine, I led her toward the side door. “We’ll swing by your place so you can grab something better.”
“Hey, are you Murphy?” A young girl in her mid-twenties peeked out from behind her book and asked.
“I am,” Murphy said, giving her all her attention.
“I heard about the book club. I can’t wait. If you need any recs, I’d be happy to share. This is awesome.” She held up a book with a sexy couple on the front, sitting on the kitchen counter, making out.
Whoa.
“Oh,” Murphy said nonchalantly. “I have that one on my to-be-read list.”
“It’s really good so far.”
“Terrific. What’s your name?”
“Corrie.”
“Fabulous. I’ll see you at the first meeting, Corrie, and I can’t wait to hear your recs.”
“’Bye,” Corrie yelled after us, but Murphy was on a mi
ssion to get to the car.
“Did you hear that?” she asked with a huge smile.
I nodded. “Told you it was a great idea.”
Holding her hands together as if praying, she said, “Finally, something is going my way.”
“It’s only up from here,” I told her, and she gave me a doubtful look. “Really.”
“Fingers crossed and toes,” she added.
After a sip of my Americano, we were off to grab her shoes.
“This way I can use the bathroom too,” she said.
“But no makeup or any of that. We’re going on a hike, and you look beautiful naturally.”
“Deal, and thank you.”
Once Murphy had her running shoes on, we got back into the Jeep.
“Hungry?” I asked her.
“For the snacks?”
“No. How about a sandwich? The snacks are for later.”
“I’m actually not hungry. I had a scone at work.”
With a quick nod, I pulled away from her place. “I picked a relatively easy trail, probably around moderate in difficulty.”
“That’s good since I have zero experience hiking other than walking on an incline on the treadmill.” As she scraped her hair back into a ponytail, the long red strands cascading down her back, she laughed at her own joke.
“Well, you live in Vermont now. It’s about time,” I told her.
“Agreed. I see you’ve selected something from the king for the ride.” She pointed at the stereo, where Elvis crooned “Love Me Tender” through the speakers. “You know, I think you may be a softie, Ben Rooney.”
I wanted to open up to her, to tell her about the apps, the extra income, and other recent developments, but my phone rang.
“Shit,” I said, glancing at the caller ID. “That’s Branson. Do you mind if I pick it up?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly, and I hit the take call button.
“Hey,” I said into the Bluetooth.
“Ben? It’s me. I’m sorry to bother you, but . . . but I—”
“What’s up, Brans? You okay?” We were only about ten minutes outside of Colebury when he called. We still had twenty or thirty minutes to the trailhead, so I kept driving.
“Well, I . . . I sort of . . .”
My heart started to beat a frantic pace at his stammering. Couldn’t be good news. “Are you okay? Your mom?”
“Yeah, yeah, Mom’s fine. It’s just, I got caught. Caught doing something.”
Before I could pull over and pick up the phone to give Branson some privacy, he launched into it.
“Beau asked me to take his ATV out past Grandma and Grandpa’s. Way out. He put it in the back of his dad’s pickup, and we drove all the way out there. He has his license, so it’s nothing like that. The police aren’t involved. But Beau picked an area marked private and said it was fine.”
I glanced over at Murphy. She was staring ahead, wringing her hands.
“No one is hurt?” That was my first thought about why he was calling me.
“No, we’re fine. But Dan, who owns the land, caught us. I’m sorry. Really. I told Beau we shouldn’t, but he said it was fine.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “And then called me a pussy. I can’t have people saying that because I take care of Mom. Ya know?”
“Following the rules doesn’t make you a pussy.”
“I know, but . . . Dan is here, and he made me call you. Well, he wanted me to call Mom, but she’s working a double, and I didn’t want to upset her. We didn’t do any damage, but Dan said he could’ve let the horses out and that would have been really bad.”
Branson finally took a long breath on the other end of the line, and I took one myself.
“Also, Beau left right after calling his dad, who was in the middle of ripping him a new one, so I’m stranded here.”
Oh. “I’m in the car but was headed a little farther away in the other direction. Let me turn around and come and get you. Can you ping me your location?”
“I’m sorry, Ben. Please don’t be mad. Please don’t call Grandma and Grandpa. Dan said he’s not going to tell them.”
“I’m not mad, but I am disappointed. We can discuss it later. Send me your location, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Okay, thanks. ’Bye,” he said and then disconnected the call.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Murphy while looking for a place to turn around.
“No reason, seriously.” She half turned in her seat.
“Do you mind coming with me? I’ll get Branson settled at home, and then maybe we can rent a movie or something?”
“Can we eat the snacks then?”
Like a crack of thunder, the tension broke inside me, and it felt so good.
“Absolutely,” I told her. “All the snacks, but I’m still not telling you what they are.”
“Fine,” she said, pretending to be mad as she crossed her arms in front of her for a few seconds. Then she fooled around with the stereo, finding some eighties station. “Maybe a little pop will make you feel better.”
More tension drained from me, and I felt lighter already.
24
Murphy
With Branson sulking in the back seat, we pulled out of Dan’s property after Ben shook his hand and made promises of a stern lecture and punishment. Ben was laser focused on something in front of him, but it wasn’t until I looked ahead that I saw what. A colossal black cloud was forming in the sky.
“Good thing we didn’t go hiking,” I said, trying to lighten the mood again.
“I don’t know. The storm seems to be moving north rather than south. But it’s right where we’re heading to cross back over and down to Colebury.” Bumping along the half-paved, half-gravel road, Ben eyed Branson in the back. “Dude, you’re lucky your mom isn’t the first to hear about this. She’d have a fit.”
Tugging on his hair that he wore a little shaggy like his uncle, Branson said, “I know. She’d be having a hissy fit that I’m just like my no-good father.”
“You know you’re not,” Ben said, his voice softening.
“She’d say everyone would be talking about how I’m like him. He’s gone, so how could I be like him? Maybe Mom should worry more about letting me be me, and less about my being like him.”
“I hear you on that,” Ben said, gripping the steering wheel.
This was probably why he wasn’t always so forthcoming about Brenna and Branson. I could practically feel the guilt and responsibility radiating off of Ben, and he shouldn’t feel either of those things.
“Whatever, let’s talk about it when she’s not here. You know, you look familiar to me?” Branson said, eyeing my back. I could feel his gaze drilling into me.
Ben had briefly introduced me as his friend Murphy when Branson got in the car. For a minute or two, I think he’d forgotten I was there, but now he was putting it all together.
“You sold me some syrup a few months ago,” I said, turning back to look at him. “At the farmers’ market.”
Branson scowled. “What are you, a spy? You can’t be his girlfriend. My mom hasn’t said a thing about you, and she’s all focused on Ben getting married someday and having his own family.”
“Brans, it’s not necessary. Let’s just get you home.”
Suddenly, the cloud broke and rain poured down in sheets.
“Shit,” Ben said softly.
“Another thing you can blame on me,” Branson muttered.
“You can’t blame a storm on someone,” I said, interjecting like an idiot.
“The road we have to cross floods when it’s been dry for a while,” Branson said matter-of-factly.
“Oh.”
We puttered down the dirt road a little longer, and I was hoping we made it. All of a sudden, my stomach growled, and I reminded myself Ben had sandwiches.
On our left, we passed a large farm sign marked Stevens’ Cattle. As soon as we passed it, we came to a crossroad that was in fact flooding.
With another ro
und of cursing, Ben made a U-turn and turned left onto the Stevens’s property. “Looks like I’m going to say hi to an old friend.”
“Who?” I asked. “Here?”
“Here. Scott Stevens was a few years older than me, but he was a mentor in the Pee Wee football league and a friend of Brenna’s back in the day. I think they went to a homecoming or two, and then things went cold.”
Having been quiet for a while, Branson piped up again. “Oh, great. Just what I need.”
I nodded for lack of nothing better to do or say, all the while wondering if Scott was Branson’s dad. But Scott sounded like a stand-up guy, which Branson’s dad definitely didn’t sound like.
“They have great cattle,” Ben said, “and also do cheese on the side. Not in direct competition with my folks, but enough that we don’t sell their steaks. We’re working with a new steak supplier.” He rambled on, probably due to nerves, I thought.
Pulling up in front of the farmhouse, Ben said, “Let’s make a break for it.”
Not giving either of us a chance to respond, he was out of the Jeep and running to open my door. With my hand in his and Branson trailing behind us, we dashed toward the door.
Ben didn’t even need to knock when the door was opened by a tall guy, probably about six-foot-one with blond hair and blue eyes.
“Scott.” Ben extended his hand in greeting while the rain pelted the covered porch.
“Ben Rooney, what are you doing here?” Scott shook Ben’s hand, his blue eyes taking me in, absorbing every detail. Then he offered me his hand, ignoring a sullen Branson. “Hi, I’m Scott.”
“Murphy,” was all I could say before a huge bolt of lightning lit the sky, quickly followed by a loud roll of thunder.
Scott waved us inside. “Come in, and then you can tell me why you’re here. Not that I’m not thrilled, but . . .”
“Road’s flooded,” Ben said when we were inside.
“You know that road floods.”
“Yeah. Murphy and I were heading in the opposite direction when I got a call to pick up Branson near here.” Ben cocked his head toward his nephew. “Do you know Branson? He’s Brenna’s—”
Friendzoned (The Busy Bean) Page 17
