The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(60)

"Mmhmm." She waved her hand. "Come on. Let's have it. I can't keep my opinions to myself if you don't give me the whole story."

I frowned. What more did she want? "If you think I'm giving you any naked details, you're wrong."

She looked me over the same way she did when I came home after curfew and she was figuring out whether I'd been drinking and fooling around with boys. But instead of asking me a dozen questions meant to trip me up, she only nodded and said, "Good for you."

"That's it?" I yelped. "You're not going to ask about their families or when you can meet them or generally pick apart everything I've said?"

"I promised I'd keep my opinions to myself," she replied with a nod toward the wall-mounted televisions streaming Property Brothers. "Now it's your turn to make me a promise."

"Oh, Jesus," I muttered.

"When the time is right, promise me you'll bring him to dinner," she said.

"Which one?"

She turned an indulgent smile on me. "You already told me which one, Magnolia."





Chapter Twenty-Six





My date was in a bad mood. A terrible, no-good, throwing bags of cement mix like they were softballs mood.

I pushed my safety glasses up, dropped my hands to my hips. "What's the deal?" I asked, nodding toward the haphazard pile of cement mix. "What did they ever do to you?"

But Ben didn't answer. He stalked off, going around the side of his house and coming back with another bag over his shoulder. He threw that one on the pile with more force than the last few.

"Seriously. What's the deal, Ben?" I yelled. "If you're still mad about me not allowing you near saws of any kind then that's too fucking bad but—I mean, just tell me what's going on."

He stomped toward the side yard again but stopped, pivoted. "It's nothing," he called, the length of the backyard between us. "I'm just not feeling very friendly today."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "What? Why?"

He looked up, his gaze arcing from the bright summer sky and trees to the roof. We'd made good progress on this place but it was slow going. Any renovation that received only a day or two of attention each week would be.

"I'm sorry, Magnolia," he replied, his tone thick and syrupy. "I forgot the part where I'm supposed to spend every minute fawning over you."

I peered at him. "You're not."

"Really? Are you sure about that?" he asked. "Because last I checked, the only objective here is kneeling at your feet and shooting sunbeams up your ass and reminding you that you have all the power here."

I yanked my gloves off, shoved them in my back pocket. "Yeah? Where are you checking? Because that seems fucking ridiculous to me."

He advanced on me in long strides, quickly closing the gap between us. "Does it? Or are you too busy enjoying all the kneeling and sunbeams to realize this whole thing is fucking ridiculous?"

I stared at him, not sure I understood which "whole thing" we were discussing. It could've been the work on this house. With just the two of us doing this on the weekends, it was tedious. I wanted to call in a crew to assist but Ben was dead set on doing this himself. He was proving some kind of point but I wasn't clear who was on the receiving end of that point.

It could've been the house but it was most likely us. Me and Ben…and Rob. With each passing day, the rope around us seemed to tighten, cinch us in closer. Make it harder to imagine walking away from one of them.

And yeah, I did have the power here. For once in my life, I wasn't being jerked around by a fuckboy or dealing with an asshole guy who set the shady terms. I held the cards; I was in control.

But unlike those jerks and those assholes who'd never cared a bit for me, Ben and Rob mattered to me.

"I know," I conceded, holding my hand out to him. He stayed rooted where he was, didn't reach for me in return. "It will be over soon."

"Yeah?" he snapped. "Is that supposed to be comforting? Or is it a threat? Like, I better get my shit together because judgment day is on the horizon? If I don't keep quiet, I'm gonna get cut. Is that it?"

I moved closer to him, curled my hand around his forearm. "No, not like that," I replied. "It's just—"

"I don't want to hear it," he said, looking away from me. "Not today."

I stared at him as he stared at the trees behind the house. His jaw was locked, his feet planted, his arms crossed. He was angry but that anger served as the shell. Inside, where he was tender and vulnerable, he wasn't angry. He was aching.

But I couldn't take full responsibility for that pain. Part of it, yes, but his grandmother owned the rest. He didn't say it but I knew he was struggling through that loss. I saw it every time he swept a bitter gaze over the house and mumbled to himself, "What was I thinking?" or "What a fucking disaster I've made out of this."

And he was allowed to struggle. There was no timeframe for grief. It took up residence in the dusky corners of our hearts, it grew, it swelled, and it stayed.

Then it occurred to me that he knew I was going to the engagement party with Rob tonight. I wasn't sure how—hell, I could've mentioned it—but he knew, and he wasn't happy about that.