The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(37)

"Did he invite you out and then ditch you?" Patrick asked.

Frowning, Sara studied Ben for a beat. "Oh, no. No. He asked if I wanted to meet his neighbor. I'm not sure which one of you that is but I wasn't sure about compounding the layers of newness here. I think that's why I bought all these donuts. Coping mechanism." She crouched down, close to Ben. "Here. Take the top box. I'm going to bring the other one to work."

Ben collected the box, saying, "You heard the lady."

"Yeah, so," Sara started, glancing around the table, "I should go."

"Get rid of that spaghetti squash," Rob said.

As Sara darted away, Andy called, "I'll text you about the farmers' market."

"What's the big deal about farmers' markets?" Ben asked.

Patrick pried open the new box. "Don't ask."

"Yes, ask," Andy argued. "Don't listen to him. I have thoughts on the best markets in and around the city."

As Andy launched into her dissertation on the region's agricultural output and corresponding farm-to-table retail model, I curled in on myself. It was easier that way, quieter. And I needed to step back from this reality to hear my thoughts. How else could I kick around the notion of dating both Rob and Ben?

It didn't seem real and I couldn't determine whether I wanted it to be real. Whether I wanted Rob to backtrack or soft-pedal his suggestion. It was less risky than to imagine myself as the woman in a relationship with two men.

But it wasn't the men making this risky. It was the illusion of abundance. I'd spent the entire winter wandering through the Death Valley of Dating and I knew that was my reality. This—Rob and Ben and all of it—was a mirage. An optical illusion. A set of atmospheric conditions refracting my greatest wants and needs through heated air.

I knew this was an illusion, but that didn't stop me.

"If we do this," I started, glancing at Ben and Rob, "we're going to be civil. This animosity was cute for a hot second and now I'm over it."

"I can be civil," Rob replied.

"I'll tattoo 'civil' anywhere you want it," Ben added.

"If we do this," I continued, "we're going to stop running into each other like this."

Rob folded his arms on the table, laughing. "I live in the new building around the corner," he said, pointing toward the street. "And I've told you I like this place."

"Best donuts in Boston, a million years running," Ben said. "Where the fuck else would I take the new chick in town?"

I wagged my iced coffee cup at them. "Whatever. I don't care how it happened, we're going to make sure it doesn't happen again. No more group dates."

Andy raised her hand. "Does that include me? Because I'd love to just observe this social experiment."

"Same," Patrick added.

I rolled my eyes, setting aside her question for a time when I didn't have Ben and Rob staring me down. "No gaming the system. Don't look for loopholes. Be legit or be gone." Ben started to speak but I stopped him, adding, "Unless it's civil, don't say it."

"Motherfucker," he murmured. "I'm gonna bite my fuckin' tongue off before noon."

Rob smiled at me and said, "My tongue is just fine."

He didn't check the boxes. He didn't want any emotional attachment or intimacy. But hell, he knew how to heat me up with the barest of touches, glances, words. "Thank you for that update."

Ben closed his eyes, pressed his fist to his mouth. "Time limit," he gritted out. "We need a fucking time limit on this experiment."

"Yes, please," Rob added.

I looked around the bakery, hoping to find an answer tucked in between the dough and yeast and sugar. I found none, only a gentle reminder in the form of chalkboard signs heralding the impending launch of the seasonal special strawberry-rhubarb glazed donut that summer was almost here. The strawberry season was obscenely short. Most of the local growers I knew managed only a two-or three-week harvest.

I could manage more than that. Right? Yeah. I needed more than that and…and I had this on lock.

"The summer," I said. "I'll give you two the summer."

I wasn't certain of many things but I knew this wasn't what my mother had in mind.





Chapter Seventeen





My dates—dates, plural, as there were now two of them—wasted no time. I'd barely shooed them out of the donut shop before the texts started hitting like rockets during The Blitz. I held my phone's screen up for Patrick and Andy's review but the two of them were too busy critiquing the flavor profiles of the remaining donuts to notice.

"Are you seeing this?" I prompted, my arm still suspended over the table.

"I love when you get all fired up about things," Andy mused. "It's almost as entertaining as when everyone BCCs me on emails to Patrick because they erroneously believe I don't know he's a tyrant. Better yet, they think I'm going to intervene on their behalf."

"It's more entertaining when I'm sitting there with you while those emails come in," Patrick said as he studied a raspberry-lime donut. "I love watching you smirk at your screen."