The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(27)

The only trouble with me and smart ways forward was that I always, always, always fucked it up. But I was working hard at avoiding all manner of fuck up today.

Today, this month, forever.

"Let's talk about this place," I said, pointing toward the house and gardens with my seltzer. "Not that you've asked for my opinion on the landscaping but I'd build some rock features in here to break up the flat space and restore habitats for pollinators and other local species. Something to add a bit of depth and regrow the moss and lichen populations. They don't survive well in suburban lawns. I'd also prioritize drought-tolerant plantings. Hosta, sedum, chokeberry. Inkberry, maybe some American holly. If you added forsythia along the side of the property, you'd create a natural privacy fence from the street. Those are just a few ideas but they are more efficient but also require far less maintenance than your current setup. That might be something to consider if you don't want to spend your weekends working in your yard."

"Haven't asked my opinion on the landscaping," he murmured. "Sweetheart, I don't think I've asked your opinion on a damn thing but that hasn't stopped you yet."

I regarded him. "Shall I take my opinions—and my sandwiches—and go?"

"Don't even think about moving that fine ass of yours," he replied. "Sit right there and mouth off about all the things I'm doing wrong."

"It's not mouthing off when it's accurate."

"And that fizzy water, the kind that had a nightmare about cherries, is disgusting." He arched a brow. "We'll survive this disagreement."

"All right. Fine. How did you decide on this property? What are you looking to do with it?"

He stared at me as he tipped back another sip. "What am I looking to do with it?" he repeated, the words tinted with bitterness. "Get rid of it and get some of my money back. That's all I want. I'm not looking for a side hustle here."

"Then…why did you buy it?" I asked.

His gaze skated down my body and back up again. He winced, looked away. Staring into the yard, he asked, "What's going on with you and the suit?"

"We're talking about the house," I said.

"He seemed like a douchebag," Ben continued, glancing back at me. "Why would you be interested in a douchebag?"

It was fascinating how Ben seemed to toggle through attitudes when it pleased him. Impatient and angry when faced with remodeling issues. Arrogant and brash when faced with Rob. Friendly and decent when faced with my breasts.

"Not that it's any of your business but he's not a douchebag," I said. "And just so you know, defaulting to the argument that he's a douche because he wears a suit to work is as unimaginative as you can get. If you have a point worth making, I'll listen. Otherwise, save it for someone who appreciates low-hanging insults."

Ignoring me, Ben continued, "You should get outta that situation real fast."

"Thanks for the tip," I murmured.

"I'll give you more than the tip, honey," he replied. "A whole fuckin' lot more. And you'll enjoy it more than anything that douchebag has for you."

My lips parted as a furious blush climbed up my neck and over my face. "I can help you here or you can say that shit," I countered. "But not both."

"I never asked for your help."

"That's funny," I replied. "It's really funny because you invited me into this hot mess when you decided to run the tile saw in the middle of the motherfucking night, dude." Ben shrugged that off as he balled the foil in his palm. "You can have my help or you can have the city and county inspectors knocking on your door." I turned an exaggerated glare toward the house. "Oh, wait. You don't have a door right now because you thought it was a brilliant idea to rip the doorframe off. I guess the inspectors will have to climb in through the damn window when they come to shut you down."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

"You know what's even more funny? You'd rather say rude things and make unwelcome advances than have my help. If you're the kind of person who enjoys making women uncomfortable, then, yeah, I'll be going now." He pitched the foil ball across the yard. "Fucking hilarious, Ben. I knew you were a lot of talk but I didn't realize it was this kind."

Without looking in my direction, he said, "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did." He glanced to the side, swore under his breath. "Not all of it."

I stood, crossed the yard to retrieve the foil, and stalked back to the patio. "Then what are you trying to do?"

"I—" He stopped himself, let his shoulders drop. "I don't know. I can't deal with anything right now and everything about this house makes me crazy and I don't know what your regular voice sounds like because you're always fucking yelling at me."

"Like I said"—I gestured toward him with more graciousness than I felt—"you can say that shit or I can go."

"I'd tell you to get the fuck out but I'm sure you're a skilled multitasker."

"While that's true," I conceded, "we're focused on fixing up this house so I don't have to listen to tile saws all night."