Staring straight ahead, she breathed in, sucking back whatever emotion was ravaging her. “You mean you didn’t google me?”
“No, why would I do that? I’m not even on Facebook or Insta-whatever-you-call-it. I definitely don’t sit around googling people. I prefer to get my information directly from the people I care about. I guess you can add ‘old soul’ to the list when describing me.”
I risked a quick glance at Murphy and noted her neck reddening. I wasn’t sure whether fear or shame was causing it, but I didn’t want to push.
“I really don’t want to talk about it. Is that okay?” When she finally turned toward me, her expression was as fiery as the ambush making its way up her neck and her hair. Her green eyes blazed, daring me to ask for more of an explanation.
Having no desire to pressure her, I didn’t bite. We might have run hot and cold in prep school, but I knew Murphy’s tics and mannerisms, probably better than anyone, since we spent most of our time behind closed doors with our guards down.
“Of course it’s okay,” I said gently.
Murphy would tell me when she was ready. She might have thought it would be easier for me to force it out of her, but that wasn’t my style. Not to mention, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be involved in all this.
I still couldn’t wrap my head around the contradictions that made up Murphy Landon. We’d done the push-pull thing for four years, and I thought I’d gotten over it. Yet here I was, pulling into the diner parking lot, about to share one of my favorite places with her.
“Cute,” she said as I opened the door, not exactly the reaction I expected from the prep school princess. Then again, I didn’t think she’d ever eat here.
“This place helped me survive the early days of working.” I pointed toward a booth in the back and she made a beeline for it, sliding into the bench seat facing the door.
Taking a menu from in between the salt-and-pepper shakers, Murphy scanned the page. “What’s good here?”
I realized this might have been a bad idea. “Well, I typically get the Biggie Breakfast, no matter the time of day.”
She nodded, setting her menu down. “Your love of breakfast food is now coming back to me. You never missed it at school.”
“Most important meal of the day. Plus, breakfast for dinner is a real delicacy. We used to have it all the time growing up.”
“I’ve never had it.” Her words came out hushed, but I was pretty sure I heard her right.
“What? Breakfast? Or breakfast for dinner?”
“For dinner.”
“Of course not,” I said glibly. “Not all of us can eat Beef Wellington every night of the week, though.”
Her head dropped at my dig. “Please, I know that’s how the old us worked. I’d say something embarrassing, and you’d call me out on it. Back then, I’d laugh, but I’m not laughing anymore. Now I realize how horrible I was.”
“That’s not what I meant, Murph.Shit, look at me. It was more of a dig at myself, you hear me? I was making fun of where I came from, and how I grew up. If anything, I was slipping into old habits, feeling sorry for myself and making jokes to cover it up. It’s an old defense mechanism, but not directed at you.”
“Let’s just not go there. Okay?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Please don’t go there. The differences, all the poor-boy stuff you used to complain about. Guess what? Now I’m the poor little rich girl. Do you see me throwing that around?”
“No,” I said softly, shame washing over me.
Mildred, my favorite server, came over. “Hey there, Ben. Who is this you have with you?”
She eyed Murphy, and I saw her through Mildred’s eyes. Wavy red hair, beautiful face and skin—almost angelic, and definitely too good for me. Murphy might have been dressed in jean shorts and a tank, but I was certain they were some designer brand.
“I’m Murphy, an old friend of Ben’s.” She looked at Mildred and smiled. “I recently moved to Vermont.”
“Is that so?”
Murphy nodded. “I work at the Busy Bean over in Colebury. Do you know it?”
“I do. Designer coffee, adorable furnishings, attracts all the young folk. We only do the old-fashioned drip here. No frilly stuff. Our pies and cakes are sweet enough, though.” Mildred gave it to Murphy, but I knew she was joking.
“That’s good, since drip is the best kind. Don’t tell anyone I said it, though,” Murphy said, dishing it back.
“Never.” Mildred mimed zipping her mouth closed. “You two need a minute?”
