Smiling at her, I said, “They do now. Roxanne from the salon over in Montpelier is working at Cosette’s on Thursday, and seeing how it goes.”
“I get my hair cut there,” Brenna said, then nodded decisively. “I’m going to try it. I went last time to the place in Montpelier, but Cosette’s is so cute. I love its old-fashioned vibe with its white walls and barebone chairs, and combs in blue Barbicide. But more than that, I feel like Colleen really takes pride in everyone’s hair she does.” Focusing again on me, she said, “Bet you’re not used to salons that are cute or old-fashioned?”
Her question was innocent, but it started my gut churning. I wasn’t used to those things. Even though this was a fun passion project, could I be happy doing this long term?
After a stroll through the trees, where Ben pointed out sap lines, we popped into the tasting room. It was dark, and he flicked the lights on dim. It was a beautiful room with pine paneling and floorboards, light bulbs inside empty syrup jars hanging down from the ceiling, and leather stools lining a tasting bar made of the same pine. The whole vibe was rustic, homey, and romantic in equal measure.
“Sit,” Ben told me, and I did, my butt sinking into soft leather.
He went behind the counter and opened a bottle of syrup, sticking his finger inside before leaning across the table and tracing my lips with it. When he was done painting my mouth, he leaned closer and kissed me, taking his time, running his tongue along my lower lip and then my upper, finally swirling his tongue with mine.
“Mmm,” he murmured while making love to my mouth.
A warm sensation flooded my veins. Need, ecstasy, love, or lust—I wasn’t sure, but a flurry of emotions I’d never felt before took over my body. I wanted to stop this, but I couldn’t.
Worry bombarded my brain, but my heart was a goner. I’d be leaving Vermont eventually, right? My parents would never let this charade go on forever. And would I want this forever? It certainly felt comfortable, but I had something to prove to everyone. I needed to show the world I could make it on my own.
It was impossible to focus on my goals as Ben continued to tease my mouth, his forearms on the bar, straining to stay close to me. I had no clue what inspired me to crawl on the bar, resting on my knees, barely breaking the kiss with Ben.
Our moans rang out in the quiet room, and I swore I could hear my heart pounding inside my chest. In the battle of my better judgment versus my insatiable need, my desire to be with Ben won out as he hopped up on the bar with me.
We were front to front on our knees on the bar top, my hair a tangled mess and sticky on the ends that brushed along my lips. We ground into each other, trying to create greater friction with our clothes on, and then Ben leaned over to grab the syrup.
When he took my hand in his and dipped it in the syrup, guiding me to paint his lips like he’d done mine, I decided to enjoy the moment. It was so decadent, a memory I would have for a lifetime. Stars twinkled in the dark sky outside the windows as the dim lighting in the room brought out the sparkle in Ben’s eyes. Blue for days, a sky I’d like to fly into, maybe forever.
But even as my lips moved in sync with his, I needed to face reality. Eventually, I was leaving for Miami or Boston or maybe San Francisco. Somewhere big and bold, where I could make a name for myself. A city away from New York where my parents reigned and I’d been disgraced, yet somewhere impressive enough that they would be proud of me.
I told myself until that time, I could savor these luscious maple-flavored lips.
In the city, out in the real world, things worked differently. There would be fix-ups and dates because of convenience or connections. Nothing would be real like what I was experiencing with Ben, grinding into each other on a hardwood bar, sticky with pale syrup.
Of course, somewhere deep inside, I knew I wasn’t being fair, but I was selfish. I wanted to have this now, and to deal with making something of my life later. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I knew I’d been stunted, but I’d deal with that later too.
“God, you taste fucking delicious,” Ben mumbled against my mouth. “I want to lay you on this bar and strip you down and devour you.”
Pulling back, I hopped off the bar as if a glass of cold water had been dumped over my sticky hair. “We can’t. I’ve already been part of one scandal and painted a harlot.”
Ben laughed as he hopped down too. “No way you’re a harlot, Murph. You have to know that.” He came up behind me and held me close, his mouth making its way around to my ear for a quick nibble.
I nodded, turning in his arms to look up at him. “I know, but I like your parents. I hardly think it will win me any extra credit if they find me spread eagle on their tasting bar with you tasting me.”
This got me a bigger laugh. “Fair enough, but we’re going to recreate this on my kitchen counter soon.”
Reluctantly, I moved back, immediately missing his closeness. “Deal.”
Straightening my shirt and self-consciously running the back of my hand along my mouth, I winced as guilt swept over me. It wasn’t fair to Ben to keep moving along with this relationship, but I couldn’t stop if I tried.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, knowing I had to work the next day, or maybe sensing my internal conflict.
“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.
Ben gave me a naughty smirk. “I need to get home and deal with this,” he said, glancing down at the tightness in his jeans. “You have me all kinds of wound up. For a minute, I thought I was a gangly teen in your dorm room and not a board-certified physician.”
“Now I feel bad,” I said, and I did. Not only for leaving him with blue balls, but for thinking he would understand the personal war I was having.
“Don’t. Just be prepared for a good time later this week,” he said as he opened the door, the chilly air rushing in a welcome slap to the face, bringing me back to reality.
29
Ben
“Hey, Gigi,” I said as I walked into Oh, For Heaven’s Cakes on Tuesday morning.
With a touch of flour on her nose, Gigi looked up and smiled. “Ben, you’re the best boss I know. Your office staff must love you with all the cupcakes you take them. Not to mention, I’m pretty darn happy about it too.”
Clearing my throat, I bent over to stare into the pastry case, surveying what was in there. As I suspected, they were out of the autumn cupcake Murphy liked—no, loved. It was kind of amazing.
“Here’s the thing, I’m not here for my staff. It’s just . . . I remembered Murphy’s birthday is this Thursday,” I rambled, “and she hasn’t said a single word.”
It occurred to me the other night when I dropped her off. Although the dinner with my family had been a little tense and overwhelming, I thought we ended it on a positive note in the tasting room. Especially when we’d been able to sneak out without another encounter with my parents, and promises of a continuation of the good time.
But then something in Murphy changed. She seemed distracted, and it hit me on my way home.
Her birthday is coming up.
“I’ve always known it’s this week. I don’t know how I forgot the date until now, but it was in the back in my mind and I need to put together some sort of celebration fast.”
Gigi walked out from behind the counter, clapping her hands. “This sounds like a job for me. And should we call Hunnie?”
This was turning out exactly how I didn’t want it to go, so I thought quickly on my feet. “If Holden were surprising you, do you think he’d want all your friends involved?”
Gigi thought for a moment. “No, he likes my girl gang to be my girl gang, and my time with him to be with him.”
“Exactly. A man who does things like I would. This is me, doing this for Murphy. Anyway, I was thinking of taking her to dinner at the High Hill Inn in Woodstock. We could even make a night of it and stay there.”
“That sounds like a perfect idea,” Gigi said with delight, practically jumping in place. “What do you need from me
then?”
“Calm down. This is where I need your help. I wanted to do some sort of special dessert, and Murphy seems to be wild for your autumn cupcakes.”
“She loves those. That girl of yours has a wicked sweet tooth. Wait.” Gigi disappeared in the back and reappeared with a magazine. “See, look at this.”
She showed me a picture of a cake decorated with leaves and some sort of glitter, whipping the magazine through the air and back again.
Frustrated, I sighed. “I don’t think you heard me, Gigi. Murphy likes the cupcakes you make. I don’t want a cake.”
Starting to sweat along my brow, I shoved my hair back with my hand. I had patients to see before I took a few days off, and I needed to finish this negotiation.
Coming closer, Gigi said, “Ben, Ben, Ben. That’s a cupcake cake. Inside that cake are a whole bunch of small cupcakes. I’ve been wanting to try one out, and why not make you and Murphy my guinea pigs?”
“Gigi, I’m looking to impress Murphy, you know? Make her happy?”
She waved a hand, dismissing my concerns. “It’ll be fine. I’ll make a double batch of cupcakes so we can have a backup. Now go, go, go. It will be ready on Thursday.” She shooed me out of the shop before I could even ask how much the cupcake cake was going to cost.
Jumping into my Jeep, I thought about calling Holden and asking him to come over for a beer and some dating advice, which was kind of funny. The guy gave new meaning to keeping to himself, but he was making this whole thing work with Gigi.
Gigi called out to me as I got to the door.
“Wait a minute,” she said, filling a box with random cupcakes. “For your staff. A little advance thank-you for letting me experiment with the cupcake cake. It’s going to be great.”
Handing me the box, she shooed me off again, and I didn’t object.
Murphy wasn’t working this morning at the Bean, so I passed on stopping in. We’d gone over our schedules when I dropped her off on Sunday. I’d only heard bits and pieces of what she had going on because I’d been so worried about what was bothering her.
And then out of nowhere it had hit me. Murphy’s birthday was always the date of the back-to-campus bonfire at Pressman. Every year, she would parade around with a crown on her head that her friends insisted she wear. They’d sing and hug and act like fools, and I always swung by her room later to wish her a happy birthday in private.
But this year, I didn’t have to do anything in private.
Heading the Jeep back toward Montpelier, I called the High Hill Inn. Once I had dinner reservations and a room secured, I decided to not tell Murphy until Thursday morning. It wouldn’t be hard to keep the secret from her since I was operating tomorrow, and she was working at the market this evening with Hunnie, another tidbit I knew from our domestic conversation.
“Hey, Ben,” Zara said cheerfully, greeting me on Thursday morning when I reached the register at the Bean.
“Hey.” I smiled, trying to look calm, even though my nerves were in overdrive when it came to surprising Murphy.
“Haven’t seen you in a few days,” she said. “Been hiding?”
“Nope. Was at the hospital late yesterday, making some extra notes in charts and prepping a few things. I’m off for the next couple of days. It’s my partner’s turn to work a little extra after taking off this summer.”
“Nice. Must explain the jeans and flannel . . . and lack of scrubs.”
As she said this, Murphy looked up from the bar and gave me the once-over. Raising an eyebrow her way, I wondered if she liked my look. Or just me?
With her hair pulled back into a low bun and hardly any makeup, she looked natural and fresh, ready for me to mess it all up in bed. I imagined her hair a mess, strands falling out of her bun as we rolled between the sheets.
“Americano?” Zara asked, bringing me out of my dirty thoughts.
I nodded, swallowing the lump of desire in my throat.
After I handed over my Bean Yeti and paid, I made my way down the counter toward the end and watched Murphy finish making a to-go drink. I was admiring her natural beauty and how far she’d come behind the bar when she finally took my mug and added a shot of espresso. As she filled it with hot water, the door to the Bean banged open.
In unison, every person inside the café looked up.
This was quiet little Colebury. No one banged doors or made grand entrances here. Yet, here we were witnessing something like that, as an older woman with perfectly styled hair, decked out in a Burberry trench coat and a pair of sky-high heels, waved her hand in the air while calling out, “Murphy! Look who’s here.”
A tall, elegantly dressed man trailed behind her, recognizable from his photos splashed all over the news during his scandal. This was Marshall Landon, the disgraced politician and Murphy’s father, which meant the woman was Murphy’s mother, Lyssa Landon, the society matron.
Shocked, I turned toward Murphy, who had a look of horror on her face. For a second, I was pissed because my surprise was getting ruined, but then all my caveman tendencies to protect and care for her kicked in. Tendencies I didn’t even know I had, by the way.
“Murphy!” The decked-out woman screeched her name again while waving her hand like Miss America.
Zara made her way down the bar and spoke softly to Murphy, probably encouraging her to take a break. Smelling drama, Roderick appeared from the back, his apron smeared with streaks of whatever he was baking, and assumed a position by the register like he belonged there. All we were missing were Audrey and Hunnie to waltz in here with their outspoken selves, and this would be like one of those ridiculous reality shows.
Murphy blindly handed me my Americano as she made her way out from behind the bar, not making eye contact with me or anyone else, so I didn’t know if that meant she wanted me to go or stay.
“Mom,” she choked out.
“Darling,” the woman said, all crocodile smiles. “Isn’t this a cute little place you found to work in? It’s a perfect hideout for you to reinvent your image, don’t you think?”
I wasn’t sure if Mrs. Landon was addressing the last part to her husband or to Murphy.
Ignoring her mom, Murphy addressed the man. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hello,” he said, his response curt.
“We flew in to surprise you for your birthday,” Mrs. Landon said, “and to talk about when you’re coming back. Dad is being awarded a lifetime achievement award from the cultural trust.”
“I’m sorry,” Roderick said, moving closer to insert himself in the conversation. “It’s only ten o’clock in the morning. How did you fly in so early? We’re hours from the airport, and it’s always a connecting flight.”
“Roddy, not now,” Murphy said, waving him off.
“We flew private, darling,” Murphy’s mom whisper-shouted as Roderick walked away, disgruntled but continuing to eavesdrop like the rest of us.
Murphy’s hands fluttered uselessly as she tried to compose herself. “Mom, Dad, this is a surprise. Truly. And not necessary.”
I’d never met her parents because Murphy always traveled to school by private town car. If she saw her parents, it was when she went home to fill out their family’s pictures at an event they had to attend. In fact, I recalled Murphy’s parents not attending her graduation because they were on a grand tour of Europe.
“Of course it is. It’s your birthday,” Mrs. Landon said, “and it’s been over six months since you’ve gone. Time’s up, darling. It’s time to come home.”
Blinking wildly, Murphy stammered, “I—I’m not sure.”
“And you are?” Her mom abruptly turned to me, her lip curled in distaste as she took in my jeans, hiking boots, and flannel shirt, along with the scruff on my face and my hair in desperate need of a cut.
Although it was obvious she’d decided I was nothing but a country bumpkin, I offered my hand and said politely, “Ben Rooney. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Very nice to meet you too, but we’re trying to ta
lk with our daughter. Honey,” she said to Murphy, “I thought you said you were doing marketing. Then why are you wearing an apron and back behind that counter?” She waved her hand toward a scowling Zara.
“Ben and I are seeing each other,” Murphy said, not bothering to explain her employment status.
“I came to wish your daughter a happy birthday in person and surprise her with dinner at the High Hill Inn.” I spoke as if they knew the place and would be impressed. In a flash, I was once again the scholarship kid at Pressman, desperately trying to impress everyone around me in the hope I’d make it big one day.
“Oh, that’s where we’re staying. I heard it’s lovely,” Mrs. Murphy said, disregarding the rest of what I’d said. “We plan to dine there with Murphy tonight. Marshall’s assistant made the arrangements.”
“You know what?” Murphy said quickly. “I’m working now. Maybe we can discuss this all later?”
Murphy’s mom looked her up and down again with a sniff. “You will need to clean up.”
“Yes, Mom, I know what I need to wear. And we’ll be four, so can you handle changing the reservation? Or should I text Betty or maybe Dad can? Ben will come since he planned to take me there.” Murphy let out a short breath and turned to me. “I’m sorry. Rain check on just the two of us?”
“Um, yeah.” I stumbled over my words, not sure why she was agreeing to go with her parents so easily. But family was family.
“Zara, is my break over?” Murphy called over her shoulder toward her boss. “Doesn’t Nicole have that show at school you wanted to see?”
I didn’t know if Murphy was lying, but Zara went along with it and nodded.
Turning back to her parents, Murphy said firmly, “Mom and Dad, I’ll see you later.”
“Seven. Don’t be late, darling,” her mom said, failing to register the tension building inside the café. “I’m going to the spa this afternoon and your dad is golfing, so we’ll be busy. Thanks for texting Betty to make a change in the reservation.”
Friendzoned (The Busy Bean) Page 21
