I wait on my porch for a few minutes, expecting Ben to pop up with an inevitable “I told you so.” I suppose it would be well within his rights.
But when he does appear on his own porch, on the other side of the fence, seemingly from nowhere, he doesn’t offer me the sharp words I probably deserve.
“I just opened a bottle of Pinot Noir before the concert, if you want a glass.”
I want to take him up on the offer, and not just because I would kill for a good glass of wine right now. But something pulls me away from Ben. Maybe it’s the way he smiled at me during the concert, or the way I subconsciously drifted toward him while we were sitting side by side on the blanket. Or maybe it’s because I can’t bear for him to continually see me in this foreign state of complete and utter failure.
Whatever it is, it has me shaking my head sadly. “I think I’m going to go drown my sorrows in a long bath.” I push open my front door. “Not literally, of course.”
He flashes me a sad smile and it hits me right in the chest once again. “Okay. Maybe we could catch up soon?”
His kindness makes my lungs ache, but I don’t have the willpower to say no twice. “That would be nice.”
“Have a good night, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, youtoo.”
13
The funk follows me into the next few days. I wake up every morning, hair perfectly coiffed, makeup flawlessly applied. I dress in a rainbow of frills and walk to the bakery, smiling and nodding at everyone I pass along the way. I help Emma with whatever tasks need to be completed at the bakery. And I still can’t seem to get out of my head.
I’m refusing to believe that Jason turning down my offer of clear, available, no-strings-attached sex is responsible for my lingering bad mood because there is no way that man deserves to hold such power over me. His biceps aren’tthatbig. Of course, sending him home empty-handed at the end of the night effectively crossed off two of my three falling-in-love options. No word yet as to who my remaining mystery bachelor might be, but I’m not feeling super hopeful about our odds. Maybe Mimi is really just setting me up to fail.
Things seem to be going okay on the career front, though I’d be lying if I said I suddenly found myself with an undyingpassion for baking. I like working with Emma, and she certainly tolerates me better than most bosses would. But while I’m a competent assistant, I don’t ever see myself being more than that when it comes to working at the bakery. I don’t have the passion for it that Emma does. I’m not dreaming up recipes in my off time or thinking of new flavor combinations as I spend hours perfecting a frosting design. I mostly only feel like I’m any good at it because Emma is such a patient teacher.
And as to finding myself a functioning member of the community, I’m beginning to wonder how one even gauges such a thing. Is it how many people wave at me in the morning? Do the smiles cancel out the trauma I inflicted during my stints as bookseller and wedding planner? Does the fact that I haven’t done much else beyond the carnival mean I’m lacking in the community department?
I just don’t know. And not knowing is not something I’m comfortable with. I always know exactly what the goal is and the steps to achieve it. As a kid it was making straight As and getting into an Ivy League, at Harvard it was being chosen as editor of the law review, as partner it was bringing in the most billable hours. In Heart Springs I constantly feel like I’m flying by the seat of my pants.
And if I’m being totally and completely honest with myself, the fact that, despite his offer to catch up soon, I haven’t seen or heard from Ben over the last couple of days feels…bleh. I think I might miss him, which is why I try really hard not to have close friends, so I don’t have to miss them when they inevitably abandon me.
Emma must notice my melancholy because she sends me home after the lunch rush with a warm hug and a box of baked goods, neither of which I feel like I truly deserve.
I decide to swing by Mimi’s on my way back to the cottage since I haven’t seen her in a few days. She’s been suspiciously absent, especially considering how majorly I managed to fuck things up with both Ethan and Jason. I’m on my final job and down to my final man, and yet I’ve received zero guilt trips from the HBIC in recent days.
The bell tinkles as I push through the door, but the café is empty and no one is alerted to my presence. Mimi doesn’t wait for me behind the counter, and as usual, no patrons sit among the distressed tables and chairs.
I slide into a seat to wait, assuming she must be fluttering around the back somewhere, making magic and steering the course of other people’s lives.
I could really go for a coffee though.
Since working at the bakery, I’ve figured out (okay, fine, Emma taught me with an abundance of patience) how to pull my own espresso shots so they actually taste good, and I figure Mimi won’t mind if I help myself. I mean, the woman has basically helped herself to control of my life and all I need in return is some caffeine, so I think it’s a fair trade.
Heading behind the counter, I reach for the espresso and quickly freeze.
Mimi is in the back, I now know for sure, because I can hear her talking. Heatedly. Presumably to someone else.
When that someone else speaks and I recognize his voice immediately, I creep closer to the swinging door separating the kitchen from the café, shameless in my eavesdropping.
“I told you picking Jason was a mistake. She was never going to go for him.” Ben, stating the obvious. “Not seriously, anyway.”
“She was going for him just fine, Ben. The two of them were having a great date until you butted in.” Mimi scolds Ben like she normally scolds me, and I’m not going to lie, it feels great to find out I’m not the only one who can get on her bad side.
“I didn’t do anything! All I did was stop by and say hello to my friend, who I’m supposed to be keeping tabs on anyway.” He sounds defensive, and what the fuck is all this business about keeping tabs? Is he only hanging out with me because Mimi told him to? My brain doesn’t have time to fully digest that interesting tidbit before Ben continues on. “Cam isn’t who you think she is, Mimi. I think you’re going about this all wrong.”
“I’m not wrong. I’ve never once been wrong and I’m not going to start now.”
“She’s different.” Ben says the words with a hint of reverence, and I imagine his eyes softening and a soft smile playing on his lips.
