“Well, the first one wasn’t what I wanted, so you can’t say that.” She cocked her head to the side, mocking me.
I’d never felt smaller, and somewhere deep in my gut, hoped I’d never made anyone feel that way. But I couldn’t bother to argue with her because now I’d gone and foolishly made eye contact with Ben.
The last time I saw him was after a graduation party. It had been one of those fancy catered events with purple-and-gold tablecloths representing our school colors, and hired help in tuxedos running to and fro. Exactly the type of party that always sent up Ben’s hackles. He used to moan and groan about having to attend them when we studied in my room, sitting on the floor with our thighs almost touching and our backs against the side of my bed. I’d kept my friendship with Ben hidden behind closed doors because he wasn’t part of my family’s social circle, and I was never quite sure whether he minded or not.
At that final party, I was eighteen and he was nineteen, both of us bright-eyed about the future in front of us. Ben had been ready to leave for Harvard to play football, and I hadn’t kept up with where he went from there. Truthfully, it later became clear to me what a bitch I’d been, hiding our friendship. He was the only real person I knew back then. As much as it pained me to think of how selfish I’d been when it came to Ben Rooney, that was the old me, and now I was trying to be different.
I am different.
Being thirty-two years old was a world apart from being eighteen, and I was desperately trying to be nicer, kinder, softer. Basically, more in touch with the real world around me rather than the fake high-society world I’d been raised in.
As Ben stood in front of me wearing rumpled scrubs, looking like he needed a few hours of sleep (yet still amazing), I swallowed a bitter cocktail of regret at how my life was currently in the toilet. Ben and I were nothing but missed connections. I hadn’t followed his career, and we weren’t Facebook friends like the rest of the phonies I knew from prep school. But it was good to see he’d obviously shed his poor-boy image.
Then there was me, the fallen socialite. I stood behind the counter, gaping at him like a fish, wearing a pinstriped apron over my white Busy Bean T-shirt, my hair pulled up in a bad excuse for a ponytail. And to top it all off, I was pretty sure my eye makeup was smeared like crazy.
“Murphy?” His brow furrowed as he said my name with confusion, and perhaps a touch of disdain.
Forcing my mind out of its current tailspin, I looked up. “Hi,” I said, raising my recently burned hand in a slight wave.
“Do you have my Americano?” His voice was stern and gravelly, which contradicted with the smile on his face. He was trying to be all business—I’d give him an A for effort. Pointing toward the stainless mug, Ben dismissed my wave and greeting, but at least he’d let the pretty Vermonter go her own way.
“Oh yes, I’ll get it now. I didn’t realize it was for you. Or that you live here ... I mean, it makes sense. You’re from here.” Despite telling myself tojust shut up, Murphy, I kept rambling. “But I always thought you’d stay in the city after college.”
He’d been so kind and thoughtful back then, and always a little too willing to accept the crumbs I gave him.
Ben was a scholarship kid at Pressman Prep outside Boston, a semi-local kid from Vermont who had been given a chance at greatness. A few students were plucked every year from neighboring middle-class communities and dropped into the elite New England preparatory school. Of course, the scholarship kids never quite fit in, but achieving something greater was more their end game rather than being part of the in-crowd.
Wow, Ben Rooney.He’d been a lost puppy when he arrived at Pressman, and I’d used him while at the same time being mesmerized with him. He was so self-assured and smart, cocky in a non-arrogant way.
I’d talked Ben into helping me with biology and calculus, all the while not-so-secretly crushing on him. He never really responded to my crush, so I left prep school feeling like a fool. Only recently did I understand that he’d liked me back then, but pride kept him from acting on his feelings.
In those days, I’d been nice, befriending him in private. But outside of that, we were from two different worlds and not meant to associate. Ben had tried to hide his hurt and disappointment, but his feelings were pretty transparent. Except, I thought he liked me like a friend.
The final blow to our non-relationship was when he took me to the prom. Bradley Burnett had dumped me two weeks before the dance, and I was desperate, so Ben had been nice enough to pick up the slack.
Across the counter from me, Ben cleared his throat once, then again, yanking me out of my walk down memory lane.
“Murph—look, it’s nice running into you. And yeah, I live nearby. I work at the hospital over in Montpelier and have an office in town. In fact, I have to get to the office to see a few patients right now. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish I had time for your theories on why I didn’t stay in the city. I certainly have my own as to why you’re slumming it in a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere. But, really, I have to get back to the hospital.”
“Sure. Sorry, it was just so nice to see you.”
My head felt congested like when spring allergies first come on. A dull ache throbbed in my forehead and ears, the kind of ache that lingered. I wondered why Ben was here in Colebury—at least a half hour from Montpelier—while his blue eyes urgently bore into me, trying to tell me something telepathically. Maybe he simply wanted me to leave him alone.
“Um, my Americano?”
My cheeks burst into flames. “Right. I’m on it.”
Forcing myself to look down at the counter, I made the drink. At least this wasn’t an order I could mess up. My thoughts, typically a jumbled mess of espresso drink recipes, was now swirling with memories of Ben then compared to the reality of Ben now ... this new version of him.
When I handed him the reusable mug, he tightened the cap and said, “Thanks. You didn’t try to poison me, did you?”
Swallowing my pride, I shook my head. “Of course not. I would never. Plus, Zara wouldn’t be too happy with that. She’s a good one,” I said, the last part a whisper. She’d given me a chance, after all.
“At one time, you did try.” He raised a brow, alluding to the badly spiked punch at Burnett’s after-prom party.
I’d felt compelled to go to that stupid party, determined to show my ex what a good time I was having with Ben. Except, poor Ben got sick and spent the evening puking, and I was at a loss about what to do with him. I’d never been very good at putting anyone else first. After all, I’d never had to.
Ben took a long sip of his coffee, mesmerizing me with the bob of his Adam’s apple. He cleared his throat, drawing my attention away from his corded neck. “Not bad.”
