The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(28)

"That might be your objective but I'm focused on hunting down that douchebag from your lunch date and telling him to keep his spiffy-ass suits away from you. Come on, now. You'd break him over your knee, wouldn't you? You can tell me the truth."

"We are not talking about Rob or his suits right now," I said, trying—failing—to stifle a shocked laugh. I hadn't thought about Rob over my knee. Didn't want to think about it. "And you have no reason to quote-unquote hunt him down. He's a nice guy and I like him and that should be all you need to know about the situation."

Ben pretended to gag. "First the fizzy water and now this. Why the hell are you hanging out with him, honey?"

I shifted to face him fully. "Why did you buy this house if you hate remodeling?"

He bit into another sandwich. I wasn't counting but it seemed like his third. "Is this one of those situations where I have to answer your question before you'll answer mine?"

"No," I cried, laughing. "This is one of those situations where we're not talking about Rob because my relationship with him is none of your business."

"Oh, but me buying this house is your business?" he countered.

I grabbed my work gloves off the grass and smacked his shoulder with them. "Yes! I'm here working on this damn house. I deserve to know why you're doing this."

Ben shrugged but didn't respond, turning his attention back to the sandwich in hand. After several quiet minutes, he said, "My fucking grandmother."

I almost choked on a chunk of apple. "Excuse me?"

He didn't look at me when he said, "My fucking grandmother. I bought this little place because I thought I could fix it up and she'd like it better than the shitbox retirement community she was living in. I had a bunch of guys from the firehouse who were helping me out at first and things were going good."

They must've been the ones who'd handled the plumbing because it was the only element of this project that wasn't a disaster.

"But she died," Ben continued. "My grandmother fucking died and now I have this money pit of a house on my hands and I hate everything about it."

His words were an ice bath and I felt tears prickling my eyes. Oh, hell. Here I was, yelling at this poor guy about subfloors and tile and permits, and he was grieving a fresh loss.

"Oh my god. Ben," I said, touching my hand to his forearm. "I'm so sorr—"

"Don't say it," he snapped, wagging a finger at me. "Don't tell me you're sorry. I don't want to hear it." He looked over his shoulder, staring off toward the gardens as he knuckled a tear from his eye. "Your turn. What's the deal with the suit who may or may not be a douchebag?"

"He's not a douchebag," I said softly. "Rob is—" I stopped myself, not certain how I wanted to describe my relationship with Rob. "He's a nice guy who is going through a rough patch right now."

Ben glanced toward me but kept his gaze low, not meeting my eyes. "Does that mean you're friends? That's it? That's all that's going on?"

"It means we're hanging out." I shrugged. "I like it. He's funny and interesting and—"

"And he's got a lotta cash," Ben interrupted.

"That's not part of my mental calculus," I replied. "Nor has it ever come up in conversation."

"Still don't like him," Ben said under his breath.

"That's good," I replied. "You're not the one hanging out with him."

"Not for nothing but we basically had a three-way lunch date," Ben replied. "We should do that again. It was entertaining."

"You know," I said, pointing at him with my apple core, "you make that sound like a threat."

Ben gathered up the empty cans and tinfoil, still avoiding my stare. "Nah. I don't make threats. Just promises."





Chapter Fourteen





My date was edgy.

He'd read the wine list cover to cover, set it aside. Straightened his tie, the tablecloth, his water goblet. Then he reread the wine list, scowling and shaking his head like the pages insulted his origin and ethnicity. When he was finished with that exercise, he glanced around the restaurant. This wasn't the type of place I frequented so I didn't know what he was looking for.

If anything, I was busy dying by degrees because we were at a new swanky-fancy restaurant in the Back Bay and I was wearing a jersey knit dress. Probably hadn't spent more than ten dollars on it. It still qualified as a simple black dress thing but that wasn't the point. I hadn't realized we were going somewhere swanky-fancy, but I was delighted I'd changed out of my knee-high yellow rainboots beforehand.

"Would you like to share a bottle of red?" Rob asked, his pointer finger pressed against the wine menu. "Do you…do you like red?"

As far as conversation went, this was a major improvement. Since meeting him at this restaurant, he'd only managed to ask how I was doing, how my day went, and now, if I wanted to go halfsies on some Bordeaux. That, and all the scowling, straightening, and side-eye glances he'd been shooting my way.

"Is everything all right, Rob?" I folded my hands in my lap. I hadn't seen him since that afternoon at the bakery café and he'd been traveling for work the past week so his texts had been few and far between. When he'd arrived back in Boston last night, he'd insisted we meet for dinner. I'd agreed right away because I'd wanted to see him too. "You're not yourself tonight."