“I’m starting to see why Ruth was so nonplussed when Trevor left. So just like in the movie, he’s sort of too good to work?”
“？‘Hamiltons don’t work for other people.’ That’s sort of their thing. His great-grandfather actually worked hard and made a fortune in cattle. Ben grew up with that wealth but didn’t really internalize the ‘work hard’ part of the story. It’s like he missed the part where his great-grandfather shoveled cow shit for years before he made it. So he dabbles. He tries lots of stuff that doesn’t work out, mainly because other people are incompetent.” I hold his gaze to show him that I really am okay with it. Which I am. Not the part that he’s made no effort to see or contact the kids in nearly a year, that part lives in my chest in the form of an easily triggered rage. But the part where Ben is who he is and it’s not my problem anymore, that’s fine with me.
Leo studies the tree line again and then looks back at me. “What happened to the see-through nightgown?”
“I learned my lesson,” I say with a sisterly nudge.
CHAPTER 7
Leo walks into town to get another baguette from the grocery, so it’s my chance to have the tea house to myself. It’s mostly how I left it, with the exception of the much nicer sheets. His suitcase is open at the foot of the daybed, and I resist the urge to inspect its contents. The bed is unmade, and I imagine I can see the outline of him sleeping there. He’d be on his side with the line of his bare back mimicking the curve of the headboard. Oh my God, Nora, stop it.
I write from ten to two, and Leo mostly leaves me alone. I hear a car pull into the driveway and assume it’s his lunch coming from some five-star restaurant in the city. At around one o’clock he knocks on the open tea house door. “Can I just come in for a nap?”
“Sure. No talking.”
I hear him get under the covers and find a comfortable position. I stop typing because I can feel him watching me.
“What?” I ask without looking up.
“What’s the gender, city, and profession this time?”
I smile at my laptop. “I’m pretty much working with what you gave me. A male real estate developer in Minneapolis goes out to buy a struggling pumpkin farm.”
“Pumpkin farm? Is that even a thing?”
“Oh, you’re going to have to come back here in October.”
“Okay,” he says, and I start typing again.
* * *
? ? ?
Since Leo’s in my napping spot, I go back into the house around two o’clock. There’s a case of French wine on the counter and a box of cupcakes from Cupcake Castle in SoHo. I get the chills just thinking about how excited my kids are going to be.
When I get back from picking up the kids, Leo is up and unpacking the case of wine. “We can’t keep drinking that awful chardonnay. I hear this pairs perfectly with . . . What do we eat on Tuesdays?”
“Tacos,” my kids say together.
“Ah, of course.” He’s laid out the cupcakes on a platter I didn’t know I had and watches them disappear with satisfaction.
I am aware that this sparkly scene is a fantasy, but I let myself enjoy it. Smiling children and the promise of fine wine with a terrifyingly attractive man. Thursday’s going to be brutal.
“Okay, so Bernadette has dance at four-thirty. Arthur, if you want to bring your script we can run some lines while we wait.”
“Forbidden,” says Leo. “You’re not getting anywhere near that script.”
“Duh,” says Arthur. “I’ll just stay here and work with Leo.” He remembers himself and turns to Leo. “I mean, if you’re not busy.”
“Dude, if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s busy. There isn’t even Wi-Fi back there.” He leans over and messes Arthur’s hair, and the late afternoon sun shines through the back windows as time pauses on their smiles, and I really need to get the hell out of here.
When Bernadette runs into the dance studio, I sit on the bench outside hoping I’ll have a second to collect my thoughts. I’m horrified by how I lie in bed at night and wait for the sound of his feet walking up the stairs to the bathroom. I’m ashamed of how my whole system is on overdrive the second I wake up, how I’ve taken to washing my hair every day. My self-recrimination is interrupted by Sandra Wells and Kiki Lee, who usher their girls inside and take over the rest of the bench.
“Hey, Nora. How’s it going?” starts Sandra.
“Oh, cut the crap,” Kiki says. “Spill it.”