Beth sat back on the couch with that smug smile of a happy woman. “He’s okay. I’ll keep him for now.” She took another mini quiche and popped it in her mouth. “Let’s invite Ben in. His lights are on, his truck is right there and it feels rude, not having him here.”
“Isn’t it girls’ night?” I asked.
“What if he’s lonely?” Beth asked.
“It’s fine with me,” Hannah said. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Fine,” I said. “And then we kick him out so we can really talk.” I pulled out my phone and dictated a text. “？‘Hi comma Ben comma Hannah and Beth are here and there’s food period. Want to stop in question mark.’ How’s that?”
A minute later, there was a knock on the door, and there he was, all jeans and flannel and rugged face and disheveled hair. “Hey.”
“You hungry?” I asked.
“I ate.”
“Okay.” Such rapier-sharp dialogue with the two of us. “Come on in anyway.”
“Ben!” Beth cried, launching herself up for a hug, which, to my surprise, he returned. Then he turned to my sister. “Hannah. Gorgeous as always.”
She laughed, got up and hugged him. “Nice to see you, Ben. Have a seat. Red wine, or white?” Nice of her to play hostess. I supposed it was an occupational hazard.
“Red is good, thanks. Hey, Zeus, old buddy.”
“So you’re my sister’s bodyguard now?” Hannah asked.
“More like the dog sitter for when she’s stuck at the hospital.” That had happened once so far. But yes, it was convenient.
“How’s life in the shed?” asked Beth, who remembered the little building from when it housed my father’s tools. “Lillie, you need to call it something cooler than the studio. Rename it, and you can rent it for five hundred dollars more per week in the summer. The Studio at Herring Pond. Pitch Pine Cottage. Make that seven hundred.”
“I hate houses with names on principle,” I said. “Stella Maris, for example.”
“Star of the Sea?” Ben asked, and I was a little surprised he knew Latin. “Should be a boat’s name.”
“That’s where my ex-husband and his child bride now live, Benjamin,” I said.
“Very pretentious.”
“See? I knew we liked you,” Beth said. “Ben, did you see the video of them at my restaurant the other day?”
“I’m not on social media.”
“Saving your soul?” Hannah asked.
“I’m trying to stay pure,” he returned, winking at her. Were they flirting? My sister? And Ben? It was kind of cute.
Beth grabbed my laptop from a side table. “I want you to get the full effect, Ben,” she said, tapping away. “I’ve watched it a thousand times. Oh, Lillie, we’re up to seventy-five million views! So glad my sweet Tanner hashtagged us. The restaurant’s booked through the middle of January. I think everyone wants to see another . . . um . . . event, shall we say?”
She turned up the volume.
“Bradley. Sweetheart. I have something very exciting to tell you.” Then the sound of my husband’s voice. Melissa again, and then . . . then the beautiful and unmistakable sound of puking.
“Oh, God,” Ben said, smiling against his will.
The yelling. The clattering of silverware. Another puke. Brad puking （my favorite part）。 And then, Beth and I said it in unison . . . “I’m pregnant, you idiot! You and your stupid oysters made me barf!” We dissolved into near hysterical laughter.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Hannah said. “It gets better with every viewing.”
Ben looked at me. “How do you feel about that?”
Shit. A serious question. “Captain Hallowell, I’m not prepared to talk about feelings with you, sir.”
“Fair enough.”
“Okay,” I said. “It’s time for Cards Against Humanity, and then we’re kicking you out, Ben, so we can talk about periods, boobs and menopause.”
“My three favorite subjects,” he said. “But message received.”
My sister was right. Ben Hallowell was a good guy.
* * *
An hour later, Ben left as promised after Hannah creamed us all in the bawdy game. Beth left, too, moments later when she got a text from her husband saying both their boys seemed to have fevers, courtesy of a virus that was making the rounds.
The rain was steadier now, a comforting thrum against the roof. I cleared up our snack and wine detritus, returned from the kitchen with a tray of oatmeal raisin cookies, which were perfect for the rainy night. I put another log on the fire, and sparks flew up the chimney, the pleasant smell of wood smoke mingling with the scent of rain and cookies. Love for my home wrapped me like a warm blanket.