Ben reached blindly for his beer, and when his fingers locked on the cold can, he lifted it to his lips and chugged down several gulps. When it was nearly empty, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I spilled milk.”
She coked her head to the side and her lips tilted up in a sly grin. “I know this is horrible, but I really want to make a joke about crying over spilt milk.”
Despite his apprehension over admitting why he’d spilled the milk, Ben felt his cheeks lifting in a rueful smirk. “Yeah. I had that thought too.”
Maeve stood tall and pushed her shoulders back. He watched as she forced a grin to her face. “But like you said, you weren’t going to be a barista forever. Now you can focus on what you really want to do.” She looked at him expectantly.
He recognized this was the point in their conversation where he should tell her what that was. If only he knew himself.
“About that …” He blew out a long, slow breath. He didn’t know if he was trying to buy time or what, but suddenly he was very worried how the rest of this discussion was going to go. “Hey, let’s go sit down.” He reached out to lace their fingers together and then led her over to the oversized velvet sofa in the living room. It was way too large for the space—taking up nearly the whole wall—but Maeve had told him that she’d loved it on sight and had been determined to make it work in her tidy little house.
She settled her body down into the soft, downy cushions and pulled her legs up under her. She turned to him, her brow furrowed. “I’m trying to convince myself that a guy doesn’t show up at your house with expensive steak when he’s going to break up with you, but the look on your face … You’re not breaking up with me, are you, Ben?”
Ben scratched his cheek. “No, I’m not breaking up with you, Maeve. But you … gah. This shouldn’t be so hard.” He pushed to his feet and paced the room.
She twisted her hands in her lap. “What’s going on?”
He stopped and faced her. “I have a lead on a job.” He shoved his hands into his front pockets and rocked back on his heels.
“Oh. That’s good, though, right?”
“It’s in Hawaii.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. Ah. And uh …” Ben slapped his palm to the back of his warming neck. “And, um … it’s with Hartwell.”
Approximately two seconds passed before Maeve’s face morphed from confusion to recognition. “What?!” She shot to her feet, swaying slightly with indignation. She scowled and stomped over to him, stretching out a finger and poking him in the chest. Hard. “I know you didn’t just tell me you’re considering going to work for the corporate thugs who are trying to destroy the very fabric of this community.”
“Maeve, come on. I need a job; they offered me one. It’s not the most unreasonable thing in the world to—”
She shook her head. “I know you’re not this stupid, Ben. You have them up against the wall, and they think they can get you to back off with the promise of …” She narrowed her eyes. “What did they promise you?”
Ben’s neck prickled with guilt. She wasn’t wrong about the offer; of course it came with strings and stipulations. That was just how things worked in his world.
His world. The words echoed loudly in his conscience, promptly followed by Max’s warnings not to get involved with Maeve if he intended to go back to his old life. He didn’t want to be that guy, but he didn’t know if he could be this guy, either. He loved living in River Hill, and he liked who he was with these people. Fuck, he loved who he was when it was just he and Maeve. She’d breathed life back into him when he’d wanted nothing more than to lick his wounds and stay hidden forever. But this Ben had just been fired again, and not from some high-powered gig either. He wasn’t even capable of holding down a shitty job where he made no money. This Ben was a loser.
And frankly, he was fucking tired of losing.
“It’s a chance for me to feel useful again, Maeve.” He went back to pacing the room. “You said it yourself; I wasn’t going to be a barista forever, and I have literally no other skills. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a lawyer. I could do the job for six months and then—”
“Then what? Then you throw some little old lady out of the house she was born in? The house her kids were born in? Do you even hear yourself? How can you stand there and act like this—” She slammed her mouth shut and rolled her lips tightly between her teeth until they formed an angry white slash across her red face.
Ben had never seen Maeve truly angry before. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was the cause of it now.
Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths for several long seconds before she shook her head and then turned silently on her heels. She marched to the front of the house, and when she reached the front door, she flung it open and stalked through it, slamming it loudly behind her.
Ben stood there, listening to the echoing silence of her absence and wondering just what the hell had gone wrong. He’d known this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, but he’d sort of hoped they could discuss the pros and cons logically, maybe make a decision as a couple.
He shook his head as reality set in. He could see now that he’d been kidding himself. There was nothing reasonable or rational about the way he felt about Maeve, and there was no world in which she would have supported him taking a job with the same people who employed Steve Smith. Honestly, he couldn’t really blame her. Her unwavering sense of right and wrong was one of the many things he loved about her.
He had no right asking her to approve of him doing something that was so completely anathema to who she was. He’d let a momentary lapse in judgement—which was more like a months-long lapse in confidence—ruin one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He might have lost his career when he’d moved here, but he’d gained the love of his life.
One who was angry and disappointed, and had maybe just broken up with him. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. Maeve felt deeply, and with her whole heart. A job was just a thing he could do to make money. Maeve, however, was the one. Everything else was secondary. Which, obviously, she didn’t know. She hadn’t given him a chance to tell her.
A renewed sense of purpose propelled him toward the door. When he was halfway there, it burst open, the knob hitting the wall and bouncing away.
An angry Maeve strode through like a tiny, vengeful Valkyrie and pointed outside imperiously. “This is my house. You should be the one to leave.”
He moved toward her, but she held up a staying hand. “Naomi was right. Sharks don’t change their …” She shook her head. “Never mind. Shark, tiger, whatever; it’s all the same. You both sense blood and go in for the kill. I’m not going to be prey anymore.”
“Maeve, I—”
She thrust her arm toward the door. “I said leave.”
“If you just let me explain—”
“You’ve said enough.” She gave him her profile, her chin raised. “Please, go.”
19
Maeve had no idea how she’d gotten to work this morning. She’d spent most of the night after Ben had left crying and scribbling furious, incoherent notes on how to save Youth Mentors herself. Not that she’d be able to once Ben rescinded all of the legal work he’d done before jetting off to Hawaii. Hartwell would steamroll them.
She glanced at the wad of notes she’d shoved into her bag on her way out the door, and then snorted and crushed them into a big ball of yellow paper. She threw the wad toward the wastebasket next to her office door and missed. Somehow, that made the tears flow all over again, and she buried her face in her hands.
How could she have been so stupid? Angelica and Naomi were right. She had terrible taste in men. For all of his pretty words, Ben had been happy to drop the case that meant so much to her as soon as he was offered a plum deal.
Despite her unhappiness, her conscience forced her to be fair and admit that he’d been fired. Again. And was probably worried about money. But surely there were other options he cou
ld have pursued instead? Coffee shop work was clearly out, but if he wanted to return to law, there had to be other firms. Ones that weren’t actively trying to destroy everything she knew and loved.
Her rational side pricked again, pointing out that little bit of hyperbole. Youth Mentors was a valuable part of the community, but her life would hardly fall into some sort of post-apocalyptic dystopia if the organization wasn’t around. Ugh. Her practical side sounded far too much like her father’s voice in her head.
Maybe she’d overreacted. Ben was an adult. He needed a job. Her mind traveled down the pathways of what had happened last night, arriving at logical destinations until it slammed sharply against the fact that his job offer was from Hartwell Properties. She could handle him getting fired—he really was a fairly terrible barista. Nor did she begrudge him wanting to be a lawyer again. He’d proven how good he was at it. She could even forgive him wanting to go back to corporate law, though the idea left a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe he could find a way to only work on projects that benefited the communities they were in?
Which brought her back around to him working for this specific developer. Ben knew first-hand what they did, the sorts of projects they took on. And he hadn’t said it outright, but she had a strong suspicion that the job offer was conditioned upon him withdrawing his support of Youth Mentors, dooming the organization and striking a terrible blow to the kids they worked with. She couldn’t understand how he could think she’d want him to work there. She couldn’t understand him wanting it, either. Not the Ben she’d fallen in love with.
Because damn it all, she was in love with him. Helplessly, hopelessly, head over heels in love. With the man who’d made her the worst cup of coffee she’d ever had. Who’d followed her out of The Oakwell Inn and laughed with her about her outrageous insistence that they’d be having sex. Who’d blown her bloody mind when they finally did have sex, over and over again. Who’d been proud of her success, and fascinated by her skills, and supportive and demonstrative and kind at every turn. She’d fallen in love with that Ben, and she didn’t know how to stop loving him when it turned out she didn’t really know him at all.
She raised her head, feeling the stretch of skin stained by salty tears. Grimacing, she dug in her bag for a tissue. She hadn’t bothered with much in the way of makeup this morning, but the bare swipe of mascara she’d managed was probably utterly wrecked by now.
“Maeve?” Iain stood in the doorway, and when she looked at him, his eyebrows rose swiftly and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffed. “I’m fine.” Her hand closed around the packet of tissues and she pulled one out to try to repair some of the damage.
“You look like a drowned raccoon,” he said bluntly.
What a delight it was to work with one’s brother. She glared at him and rubbed at her eyes with the tissue.
“You’re just spreading it around.” He crossed his arms and stared at her. “Now you look like a zombie. Possibly an improvement over the raccoon, but as far as I know it’s not Halloween, so why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He crossed over in front of her desk and pulled out the small chair she kept in the corner for visitors, slinging his body into it like he was utterly relaxed. His cheekbones stood out in tense contradiction of his body language, however, and his jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes glinted with something hard. He might be an easy-going sort of man, but when someone messed with his family or those he cared about, Maeve knew he could be as harsh as their father.
“It’s just man trouble.” She tried to sound dismissive. “You don’t want to hear about it.”
“Au contraire, ma soeur.” Iain’s French accent was terrible. “Naomi may have mentioned some concerns.”
“Well, you can congratulate her for being right yet again.” Maeve knew her voice sounded bitter. She couldn’t help it. Everyone else got to be happy, and here she was yet again feeling alone and stupid. “He has a job offer.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “Did you hear that he got fired from the coffee shop?”
Iain’s expression remained completely neutral, something she would never be able to manage. “I may have heard something to that effect.” He coughed. “It’s, uh, a small town.”
“Tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes.
“So he’s at loose ends?” Iain looked thoughtful, though she didn’t know why.
She laughed without any actual humor. “Hardly. He’s off to Hawaii, to go destroy lives in the sunshine and play on the beach afterwards.”
“What?” Now her brother looked genuinely confused.
“The damned developer offered him a job—the ones trying to get Youth Mentors’ building torn down.” She didn’t often swear out loud, but just thinking about Steve Smith and his horrible employer made her want to scream obscenities that would make a sailor blush.
Iain was silent for a moment. “Did he take it?”
She opened her mouth, and then closed it, staring at her brother. “I—”
Iain rolled his eyes. “Do you even know?”
“No, he didn’t actually—” She flushed. “I threw him out of the house.” Conflict-averse Maeve seemed to have vanished lately. She was starting to miss her old self. Little Miss Never Argue might have been a bit of a Mary Sue, but at least she hadn’t known what heartbreak felt like. Although she wouldn’t have recognized love if it bit her on the arse, either. She wasn’t sure which was better. Or worse.
“Maeve.”
She scowled at her brother. “Why wouldn’t he take it? He hasn’t got a job here, or anything to tie him to this place, and they’re offering to send him to Hawaii and give him buckets of money to do what he loves to do.”
“He’s got you,” Iain said gently.
“Yeah, well, apparently I’m not enough.” Maeve felt tears stinging her eyes again.
“I don’t think you should assume that until you hear it from him,” Iain said. “And if that’s true, I’ll punch him in the mouth. And then Naomi will shiv him with a chisel. Sculptors have very strong hands.”
She smiled through her tears. “Sweet, Iain, but it doesn’t matter. He’s on his way out the door.”
“It sounds like you sent him on his way without actually listening to what the man had to say. Find out if he’s taking the job before you complete your transition to full zombie.” He gestured at her eyes, his tone impatient but still kind.
“And if he is?”
Iain sighed. “If he is, I’ll be surprised. I’ll be honest with you, little sister. Naomi has her doubts, but they’re based on some of her own experiences, not necessarily on Ben, the actual person. He strikes me as a man who’s a lot different than the person he used to be, and someone who’s struggling with the transition into living the life he wants to lead.” He paused. “You know, you and I have always had a pretty significant safety net. I don’t think he does.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know that I’d call living with Da any kind of safety. He’d drive me absolutely mad in days. I can barely hold a civil conversation with him on the phone.”
Iain snorted. “And you’re the nice one. Imagine how the rest of us feel.” He sobered, and leaned forward. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s there, Maeve. And so is Brennan’s. If all of this failed—” he waved his arm around, encompassing her office, the distillery, and the life they’d both built here. “—we’d have choices.”
“Ben has choices,” she said stubbornly. “He could choose to not be an asshole.”
“I think he’s trying to,” Iain said dryly. “You just have to give him a chance to do it.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin, scratching lightly at his neatly trimmed beard. “You know, we could use somebody to help us with our contracts.”
“That’s your job,” she said automatically. Iain handled virtually all of the administrative work for Whitman’s, although his real gifts lay in marketing and sales. He’d sold their w
hiskey to restaurants and bars up and down the west coast, and recently he’d been making inroads into the East Coast markets, too. Naomi had been snarky about his sales trips until he’d taken her along and managed to sell several of her sculptures to a gallery in Washington, D.C. Then she’d been too busy to complain.
“I know you’ve been buried in your barrels for the last several months, but I’m assuming you’ve noticed that our volume is growing.” He raised his eyebrows at her and she bit back a snarky remark.
“I have.” She’d been working nearly nonstop, not that she wasn’t delighted to do so. She’d built herself a fantastic team here, and being in charge of the distilling process herself was a dream come true. She’d spent years working in her father’s distillery, fighting a losing battle against the family’s resistance to change. When she and Iain had agreed to try to create a completely new blend, she’d been nearly dizzy with the freedom of it. The feeling hadn’t gone away since.
“I’d been considering asking for some time with one of the Brennan lawyers,” Iain was saying as she pulled herself out of her memories.
She made a face. “Yuck.”
He nodded. “Aside from the yuck factor, they’re still based in Ireland and I’m making primarily U.S. deals for what’s now a U.S.-based brand. Not that Brennan’s doesn’t have the expertise, but I’d prefer somebody local, you know?”
She nodded, not quite seeing where he was going with this. “So?”
“So you could mention it to Ben,” he said patiently.
Understanding bloomed, followed in quick succession by surprise, then hope, then disappointment and a fresh surge of grief. “It’s probably too late for that.”
He sighed. “You never know, Maeve. He might surprise you. You’re worth it, you know.”
She didn’t feel worth it. She felt battered, broken, and stupid. And possibly a bit embarrassed. Iain was right about the safety net they’d always had. Ben didn’t have one; he needed a job. And how could she blame him for wanting his own version of safety? The ease of doing what he’d always done, what he was good at—it was what she was doing, after all. It wasn’t as though she’d gone from distilling to being a dental hygienist or something. She’d struck out on her own, but she was still doing what she did best. Ben deserved to be successful again. She couldn’t begrudge him that. Despite everything, she loved him too much to want him to be unhappy.
The Barista's Beloved (The River Hill Series Book 4) Page 13
