My own lips curve up in a matching smile.
Mimi’s voice is the one that audibly softens. “You need to be careful, Ben. You’re getting too close.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do. You know that your task is to help Cam complete hers. I don’t want you to lose sight of that, or you might end up getting hurt.”
“Why would I be hurt?”
“She needs to fall in love, Ben. And if you care about her—”
Ben starts to protest but is quickly cut off.
“If you care about her, you want her to experience true love. You want her to go back home. It’s the only way you get back home too.”
There’s a long silence, and I wonder if their conversation has come to a close or if the emotions whirling around in my head are just blocking out their words. Ben’s task is to help me complete my tasks? The only way he gets to go home is if I do too?
How could he not tell me something this major? I’ve told Ben things I haven’t told anyone before, and he couldn’t even tell me the truth about his task? I wait for anger to overtake me, but where there should be rage, there’s nothing but an aching emptiness.
Ben speaks up once more, his voice hoarse and a bit choked, and I force myself to listen, to gather all the evidence of his double-crossing. “She needs someone smart. Someone who can keep up with her. Someone who will appreciate her work ethic, but also force her to take a break every once in a while. She needs someone who can make her laugh. Someone who listens. Someone who cares. Someone like…”
Ben.
A fist wraps around my lungs and squeezes until I’m gasping for breath. I clutch the counter, trying to keep myself upright, willing myself not to black out, until I realize the pain isn’t actually physical.
There’s only one person I can think of who fits all of Ben’s requirements, and I thought that someone was my friend, though now I’m not so sure.
“How about Noah?” Mimi suggests.
I want to scream that that’s clearly not the right answer. I wait for Ben’s inevitable protest.
“I think he could make her happy,” is what he says instead.
I don’t hear the rest of the conversation, my brain too muddled to parse out individual words.
I do hear when the two of them move toward the door, and the sound sends me bolting for the exit. Pushing out of the café, the bell tinkling behind me, I race back to my cottage and slam the door.
First things first, I grab a bottle of chilled white wine, yank out the cork, and chug. Replaying the entire conversation in my head, I realize that everything I was feeling for Ben—warm friendship feelings and sparks and hints of something maybe possibly warmer than friendship—was all completely one-sided. Ben doesn’t care for me. Not me as a person. He only cares about me completing my tasks. He only cares about getting back home.
My body aches like I’ve just endured a two-hour spin class and my brain is whirring as fast as the wheels.
Mimi’s words loop in my mind,you’re getting too close.
What does that even mean? How not close is Ben supposed to get when we freaking live next door to each other and he’s apparently my own personal babysitter?
And why did hearing Ben describe the perfect man for me send me into a state of physical shock? Shouldn’t I be grateful that this Noah character has Ben’s stamp of approval? If he thinks Noah could be the one for me, he’s already head and shoulders above Jason, who was mostly just shoulders.
Tucking the bottle of wine under my arm, I grab a pint of ice cream and head over to the couch. I flick on the TV and cover myself with the softest knitted blanket to ever inhabit the earth. The couple onscreen is declaring their love for each other and it should probably make me feel worse, but I mostly just feel numb.
—
I wake up on thesofa the next morning, and despite the almost entire bottle of wine I drank, I don’t seem to have even a lick of a hangover. And a quick glimpse in the mirror reveals my hair and makeup to be perfect, as usual. I frown, not because I’m unhappy with my appearance but because I’m starting to not hate these blasted loose curls cascading down my back like a contestant in a beauty pageant. So surely the apocalypse is nigh.
When I open my closet, I freeze in the doorframe. Gone are all my frilly dresses—there’s not a hint of pastel hiding anywhere among the depths. Instead, I find earth tones and soft knits as far as the eye can see. It should be a relief, but mostly I’m just confused as to why the sudden change.
I tug on a pair of jeans and a camel-colored sweater, praying I don’t sweat to death throughout the day. But I needn’t have worried, because when I open my front door, I’m hit with a blast of chilly autumn air. The leaves of the tree in my front yard have turned red overnight, and bright orange pumpkins line the steps.
“What the actual fuck?”
