Friendzoned (The Busy Bean) Read online

  Giving Ben a small smile, I said, “I wanted to ask about you, but I didn’t want to bother the kid. He seemed like he didn’t want to get personal. I should’ve, though. I’m sorry about that.”

  I couldn’t stop the words pouring from my mouth to save my life. A bad habit my mom had desperately tried to cure me of with her endless Little Miss Manners sessions.

  Ben nodded. “My nephew, Branson. He’s a good kid. No worries on not making it personal; it’s been a while. A lifetime, practically.” Ben kept his answers brief, obviously not having the same rambling issue as me.

  “A lifetime, right?” I repeated his words, not wanting the conversation to end. “Branson . . . I forgot you have an older sister. I guess she’s married and has kids?”

  “Well, thanks for the support of the family business,” he said, ignoring my hopeful conversation starter. This was a different Ben, confidently directing the conversation where he wanted it to go. “Listen, I really do have to go. Guess I’ll see you sooner than later.”

  And like that, Ben Rooney walked out of my life again, but this time on his own terms. Sue me, but I risked a glance at his ass in scrubs, and I’d say the years had been good to him.

  Wish they’d been as good to me. Yeah, I still looked young and good and all that, but to be honest, I was lost. And it looked like Ben had found . . . everything.

  “Murphy, try to speed it up, sweetie, we have a tiny mid-afternoon rush. Everyone wants a coffee with their fresh baked scone, and I need to get home shortly. Audrey is running late to relieve me, and Dave’s waiting for me.” Zara winked at me, trying to lighten the moment, and then turned to see Ben leave. “Date night, you know?”

  No, I didn’t know the first thing about date night.

  Zara gave me a meaningful smirk, obviously mentally pairing Ben and me together. The old me would try to set her straight, but not this version. I wasn’t controlling everything around me anymore.

  At least, I was trying not to. Instead, I moved on to the lineup of cups and settled back into my job, doing my best not to obsess about what I’d wear when Ben came in next.

  Whenever that would be?

  2

  Murphy

  The next day, hump day, I was on the early morning shift with Roderick.

  I wished I could say my barista skills were going as well as my scone eating was, but that would be a lie. Honestly, I was a mess. My hands were already dry and cracked from washing them so often, and now they were permanently coffee stained. My hair was an absolute mess—frizzy and dry—and I didn’t think there was anyone in Colebury who could fix it.

  As I cleaned the counter at the end of my shift, I cursed the jackass crunchy granola guy who didn’t think I was qualified enough for a marketing position at his kayak company. I’d been sitting right over there . . . I looked toward the corner of the Bean where the leather chairs sat.

  That’s where I’d been that day a few weeks ago, gripping my almost empty low-fat latte as I had a brief interview with Ricky the Kayak Guru, who said he’d think about my résumé. Then he deserted me, leaving me alone with a set of mismatched chairs and my thoughts.

  Why did I even bother? Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I’d never amount to much without their backing me up. When I’d set up the interview, I’d thought a kayak company in Montpelier would be my ticket out of the well I’d figuratively thrown myself down.

  To escape my own negative thoughts, I’d wandered over to say hi to my favorite barista, Kirk. Nothing would cheer me up like hearing about his upcoming journey to Costa Rica where he planned to experience the world. Instead, I whined about how I desperately needed to get out of the Kwikshop and find a beefier job to pay the bills. I’d thought the combination of the marketing gig with the kayak company plus a few shifts at the grocery store would set me up nicely.

  Kirk stopped short behind the gigantic espresso machine, looking at me wide eyed as he blurted out the solution. “With tips, a barista job would be perfect for you.”

  To be honest, Kirk made this gig look easy, and we’d become fast friends during my morning visits to the Bean for a hit of caffeine, despite us being total opposites. I was fancy like a vanilla bean crème latte, and Kirk was simple like a plain cup of joe.

  My mid-morning pop-ins usually came at a slower time at the Bean, so we would usually chat over my first few sips of coffee or bites of what I considered a well-deserved treat, although it was mostly me chatting and Kirk nodding. In those days, I still got up wicked early to fit in some exercise. My mom would never accept anything less from me, except she didn’t accept me at all lately.

  Kirk didn’t even wait for me to answer that day—instead, he’d walked over to Zara and told her he’d found his replacement. The training that followed was sort of easy, mostly because Kirk did all the heavy lifting. Now, here I was, exhausted, dirty, and daydreaming about Ben Rooney and why I hadn’t run into him before, which was probably because he was successful these days and didn’t hang with people like me anymore.

  “See you tomorrow afternoon,” Zara said, knocking me out of my self-pity when she called out to me.

  I was untying my apron, a cute blue-and-pink seersucker-patterned number. It was way too fancy for the Bean, but it was a little gift to myself when I got the job. I ordered it from Nordstrom’s, and yes, I was likely the first barista at the Busy Bean to wear an apron from an upscale department store.

  Nodding absently to Zara, I wondered if Ben came in every afternoon, and maybe that’s why I’d never seen him in here. Mid-morning had been my regular time to come in, after my workout at home—you know, because I couldn’t afford a membership at a gym, even if there was a decent one—and on my way to work at the local grocery store.

  Oh, the irony. Back in the day, I’d been too lazy to make my own coffee at home, and now I made lattes and Americanos for all of New England. Not all, but close enough.

  Zara said something more, but I missed it.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that, Zar.”

  “Roddy’s making blueberry-lemon scones. Come a little early so you can try them for me.”

  “Definitely.” I made a mental note to do some extra crunches before coming into work and indulging in buttery baked goods. You can take the girl out of the Upper West Side, but you can’t take the UWS out of the girl.

  As she leaned her hip against the counter, I glanced at Zara’s perfect curves and wondered when she did crunches.

  “Anyway,” she said, “Gigi is still away, so we need to add something until we get more of her Arnie Palmer cupcakes back in. Oh, For Heaven’s Cakes can’t keep up. It’s the most popular bakery around, and I hear Gigi wants to get into shipping nationwide with Goldbelly. Can you believe it? Someone from our little sleepy town working with Goldbelly? It’s some big-time New York food-shipping thingie.”

  I knew what it was, but Zara didn’t give me a chance to answer.

  “Speaking of which,” she said, “about here and all that, I hope it’s going okay for you. We get slammed early morning and late afternoon, but each shift has the midday reprieve. Don’t think I’m going national any time soon. I like my snoozy coffee shop.” Her glossy hair bounced as she spoke, her eyes bright and her smile wide, reaching her eyes.

  I wished I could channel that type of perpetual positive energy. It was probably because she was in love, and I wasn’t. Zara kept wanting to introduce me to this Gigi, but she was apparently in love too. Did everyone have to be so happy and great? While I was at it, did she really think this level of busyness was “slammed?”

  “It’s fine,” I told her. “Thank you for all of this. I hope I’m keeping up. Roddy’s been a godsend when it comes to the grinder. I’m getting the hang of it and hope I’m not disappointing you.”

  Grateful is exactly what I was. Being caught up in a scandal was one thing, but being cast out by my family, left to fend for myself after a lifetime of luxury, was something entirely different. Shouldn’t my parents love me no matter
what? So what if I made a mistake? It shouldn’t mean that I had to give up designer shoes and my trust fund.

  “This gig sure beats working the register at the Kwikshop, with everyone harping about reusable bags and ‘where is this,’ and ‘where is that?’” I said, using air quotes while mocking my former customers.

  Zara chuckled. “Hey, small talk and simplicity is important to most people around here. They’ve spent a lifetime trying to preserve the beauty of the area and promote its resources, while still keeping it small and cozy.”

  I swallowed my pride and a lump of regret slid down my throat as I mentally berated myself for speaking before thinking. My life was like a bad episode of Sex and the City where Charlotte was forced into small-town life, bagging canned goods at the corner grocery store, but they never wrote story lines like that because they knew they would be awful.

  “Yes, I know. It’s growing on me, you know? All this nature and natural beauty,” I said, only half lying.

  Vermont was a pretty nice place, and I was becoming a better person, which reminded me of Ben’s reusable mug. He’d always been a stickler for the environment, even in prep school. Of course, I’d teased him for it but he took it in stride, trying to explain the importance to me.

  “In fact,” I told her, “that’s why I’m here. In Vermont. I had a friend in high school who bragged about the area. It felt like somewhere I could find peace, and allow my mind some freedom.”

  Zara took a step closer into my personal space, something I wasn’t used to after growing up in New York. Taking my hand in hers, she said, “Look, sweetie, I’m here for you. We’ve all made mistakes in our past. I know that better than anyone because I’ve made a few of my own. So, when you’re ready and want to chat, let me know. I have years of experience of listening to other people’s problems. Ya know?”

  “I’m good. I swear.”

  “I know, honey. Seriously, though, think about it. You should get to know Gigi. That girl went through hell, and I’ll bet you two have more in common than you think. Now, go take a shower and put your feet up after a busy shift, and take care of you.”

  Well, when I went home, I skipped the shower, but I did prop my feet up while doing some online window shopping. I needed a new car, so there were no new shoes in my future, but a girl could browse while she ate her ramen noodles.

  If my friends from Pressman could see me now.

  That’s why when I arrived at the Bean the next day, I was dressed to impress. It was the afternoon shift, and Rita, one of our regulars, eyed me from the peach sofa she called hers. I learned this the hard way when I first started coming in and dared to sit there one day. Rita not so politely kicked me out of “her seat,” and I never attempted to sit there again.

  All the attention on my little-more-done-up look made me uncomfortable, but I kind of hoped Ben would come back in, so I’d gone for the kill. I’d lightly curled my hair in soft waves and wore my plaid apron (another splurge purchase during one of my online binges). Even if he didn’t come in, maybe my improved look would help fill the tip jar. After all, I had my eye on a used Hyundai.

  As I picked at the new blueberry-lemon scone before my shift started, Zara side-eyed me. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You going somewhere later?”

  Shaking my head, I muttered, “Taking pride in my work,” then plastered a smile on my face and took my place behind the bar.

  While I struggled with the correct number of pumps for each beverage, my bar was backed up as usual. Closing my eyes for a second, I took a deep breath and reminded myself this was Vermont, not New York. Despite the one uppity customer earlier in the week, I was doing this. On my own. Period.

  “Hey, Murph. I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep on the job.”

  Ben’s gravelly tone, laced with welcome humor, knocked me out of my stupor. Slowly opening my eyes, I shrugged. “I was meditating for a minute.”

  “Maybe you can do that after you make my drink,” he said, pointing to his reusable mug in the middle of the lineup.

  “I can’t move your drink up. If I do, I’ll have half of Vermont after me. They’re vicious here. Vermonters make New Yorkers look easygoing.”

  Smiling big, I grabbed the next mug in line, this one a reusable ceramic Bean-issued mug for a regular customer. A café au lait, thankfully. That drink I could make easily. As I worked, I felt Ben’s eyes on me.

  “Seemed like your customer the other day was quite the disgruntled iced-coffee drinker,” Ben said.

  I glanced at him to see a twinkle in his eye, but I couldn’t tell if it was snarky or genuine. Willing myself to stay focused, I made the café au lait and moved on to a damn iced latte.

  I prayed to any and every god who was listening that the aforementioned customer from hell wasn’t back again. Hopefully, she was passing through, staying in one of the expensive inns in a neighboring town. When I called out the latte, I was relieved when someone else came up to claim it. A sweet teenage girl here with her mom. Whew.

  Ben was still lurking, but I didn’t know if he wanted to say something more or be sure I wasn’t poisoning his coffee. Deciding not to speculate, I grabbed his stainless Yeti mug, poured in three shots of espresso, and added hot water.

  “Here you go.” I held Ben’s cup over the bar for him, breaking Bean rules.

  “Thanks,” he said in a hushed tone.

  “No prob.” I decided it was best not to beat myself up over the past when it came to him, nor to think about a future friendship with him. Both were a waste of energy.

  Surprising me, Ben asked, “Do you get a break at all?”

  “Um, I do. Usually once during a shift. They treat us very well, if you’re wondering.”

  Wishing I could let down my ponytail and tousle my hair, but then I’d have to wash my raw hands again, I busied myself with wiping down the bar before grabbing another cup.

  Score. Another café au lait, this one in a to-go cup.

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” Ben said as he moved closer. “I don’t doubt Zara is good to you.”

  I could smell his aftershave, something woodsy. Very Vermonty—duh. I took notice of his cargo-style khakis and somewhat pressed dress shirt today. He’d never been the type of guy who dressed to impress.

  “No hospital for you today, Doctor?” I asked, unsure why I was so prickly.

  He chuckled. “Ha, as if. I’m there every day, even the days I’m not supposed to be there. No surgery today, so no scrubs.”

  “Oh.” Stumped, I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I see patients in the office a few mornings a week, so I get to dress up. Notice the sexy outfit?” He laughed, doing a whole Vanna White thing as he gestured to the front of his body.

  As if I need any more excuses to notice his fit physique.

  I shook my head, pretty sure Ben’s rapid change in personality from the other day would lead to a bad case of whiplash. “Well, lucky you. I wear the same thing every day here,” I said, but my joke fell flat.

  Ben scowled. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, or lesser than. Lord knows I endured enough of that to last a lifetime. You look fine.”

  As I snatched up the next cup, Zara called to me.

  “Murph, it’s your break. Roddy will come and take over the bar. Hit it, girl. Leave that drink right there.”

  “Guess that’s my cue,” I said, sliding under the escape hatch at the end of the bar. “Nice seeing you,” I told Ben, wondering why he wasn’t rushing to leave.

  “Maybe we can sit and catch up during your break?” he asked, not moving from where he was standing.

  “Why?” I turned toward him. “You didn’t seem so excited to see me the other day.” I felt my cheeks warm at my forthrightness and my hair frizzing more by the second because of the sweat suddenly beading at the nape of my neck. Half from embarrassment, the other half from shame.

  Ben’s blue eyes locked on m
ine. “I’d like to apologize, hear what’s been going on with you. You know? Catch up. For old time’s sake.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Murph. We used to be sort-of friends, right? After all, you saw me during my worst night ever. You know I haven’t been able to drink liquor with a mixer since?”

  “Really? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” I tilted my head slightly so I could really take all of Ben in.

  “Maybe a bit much, but the memory lasted for quite a while. Kind of like the smell did back then. Remember how terrible I reeked? That’s what a few hours hanging over the toilet, marinating in your own puke, will do.” His eyes twinkled again, and this time his humor seemed genuine.

  “Oh, you think it’s funny now, do you?” I propped my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes on him. “I thought you were going to die on me that night. How was I going to call your parents and explain it to them? I’d never even met them. And as for my parents, they would have had a major conniption. Tarnishing the family name with consorting . . . and a death on my watch.”

  Oh my God. I had to go there, mentioning the family name. It was a bad move in so many ways.

  Scraping his fingers through his unruly hair, he said, “Yeah, the family name. Is it still all you thought it was cracked up to be?”

  “Not really, but it’s all I have now.” I cleared my throat, trying to fill the awkward pause hanging between us.

  “So, what do you say?” Ben said, giving me that smile that always melted me. “Take your break with me? Let’s talk about something else other than that night or your family name. Neither bring back good memories for me.”

  “Okay,” I heard myself say, and for the first time in a while, I really meant it when I agreed to do something.