Instead of listening to me, the fucker pulls up a chair, turning it around so he can prop his elbows on the back. “Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, dropping his chin into one hand.
“Yeah, I’m out of here,” Brody says. He gives me a look of pity that leaves me feeling mortified. I have to go back to classes with him like none of this ever happened!
Ben keeps staring at me, throwing a “Bye, Ken!” over his shoulder. I hate that Ben also noticed Brody’s doll-like looks.
“Wait, Brody!” I stand but immediately realize it’s too late, the door already swinging shut behind him. Instead, I turn toward Benoit—the true object of my wrath. “Get fucked, Bardot.”
“I’m trying, Red,” he replies without missing a beat.
I scoff, trying to hide what that statement ignites in me. “As if. I would never touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
He looks down pointedly, and that’s when I realize my finger is pushing angrily into his shoulder. I pull it back to a knowing smirk from Ben. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re too good for that dickhead.”
“Complimenting me now, Benoit? You’ve lost your touch.”
Ben stands, what used to be a lanky body has now turned into lean lines and muscles towering over me. Slowly, he reaches past my shoulder and grasps a strand of my hair between his fingers. The room stills as he wraps it once around his finger and tugs. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes his pupils blow wide.
“Hmm…” he muses, giving one more pull, angling my head up toward his. “I don’t think I have.”
A mix of anger and disappointment wash over me when he lets go. He gets all the way to the door before turning around. “Seven months and two days, Colette.”
Mother. Fucker.
It might make me the world’s biggest asshole to put in my two weeks notice at Scott and Williams Financial Group on Christmas Eve, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.
It has absolutely nothing to do with my run-in with Colette Russell and everything to do with the fact that Ethel, longtime owner of The Coffee Shop, won’t sell it to me unless I plan on moving back to Sassafras. After one look at my twin brother, Jules, the decision was made.
He’s been fucking miserable in his teaching job, and after constantly taking care of everyone around him, it’s my turn to dosomething for him. I have more money than I know what to do with after renting a run-down apartment in Boston for the last several years while I worked my way up the career ladder of the financial group.
I did really well for myself… Like,reallywell. I’ve barely spent any money these last eight years so it’s all just been sitting in investments, making memoremoney.
I’m successful, I’m good looking, and I’m so goddamn bored. No one challenged me in Boston. No one has really challenged me since high school.
Hitting send on this resignation email sends a zing up my spine. I think I’m… excited? And it feels good.
“Why are you smiling?” Gabe, the oldest and most definitely not the wisest of the Bardot siblings, is splayed out on our family couch, head dangling off the side, throwing a baseball up in the air before catching it in his other hand.
“I quit my job.”
The baseball completely misses Gabe’s open hand and smacks him square in the forehead. “Fuck. Ow! Wait—shit that hurt—you did what?!”
“I quit my job,” I repeat. “Do you need an ice pack?” His forehead is reddening quickly, probably killing the few brain cells he has left.
He sits up, rubbing at the mark but completely focused on me. “No, I don’t need an ice pack. What I do need is for you to tell me what you’re talking about. You can’t just quit your job!”
“I just did.”
“To do what?” he asks indignantly. Gabe and I have—well, I guesshad—similar jobs in finance, but he works for a much smaller firm in Sassafras. His job is something he’s actually happy with, whereas I’ve felt the crushing weight of Corporate America slowly sucking my soul out for the better part of the last decade.
He’s also here. With our family. And I’m very much alone in Boston.
“To move back. Be closer to the family.”
“I mean for work, asshole. What are you going to do for work?”
No one in the family really knows just how much money I’ve made and saved over the years. I technically don’t have to work, even though I still plan on finding something to do. “Let’s buy The Coffee Shop.”
