Idiot, idiot, idiot.
He’s trying to get away from women who only want him for what he can give them.
And I’m trying to get away from men who see me as nothing more than a live-in maid with benefits.
“I’ll finish chopping the vegetables,” I offer to Giovanna. Maybe I’ll have an onion malfunction and need to disappear to douse my head in the ocean a few times to rinse the onion juice out too. That’ll put my brains back in straight. Especially since the water’s not more than fifty-five degrees. “You can go put your feet up and enjoy your coffee.”
“Nonsense. We’ll chop vegetables together.”
“Where’s Charlotte?” Hayes asks.
“Sleeping in. She’s earned a day or two off after all the wedding excitement. Shoo. Go on. We know you can’t wait to get back to work. Begonia will come find you when brunch is ready. But let me get you a cup of coffee. It’s delicious.”
He’s giving her the same look he gave me in the closet yesterday when I was trying to explain that I had every right to be in this house, and the same look he gave me ten minutes ago when I proposed he be the first to lubricate my lady-bits post-divorce.
“You’re going home today,” he says.
And that means shopping for a dress with his mother’s assistant is out—thank god—so this farce is hopefully about over. I overheard someone in the market mention that one of the local B&Bs had a sudden opening. If I act quickly, Marshmallow and I might be able to talk our way in, just long enough for me to figure out what else my budget can afford for vacation for the rest of my two weeks.
I could try something on the Gulf of Mexico. Or further south along the Atlantic. No need to stay in Maine.
“No, I think we’ll stay another few days,” Giovanna replies. “Amelia hasn’t been out here since you were teenagers, and I promised her we’d explore town together. There’s a lovely new art gallery I haven’t seen yet. And then I get to know Begonia better, and we all make sure you’re not working too hard. Goodness knows that takes a village.”
The undercurrents in the kitchen are strong enough to drown even the bravest social swimmers, so I duck it all and slip over to the coffee pot, grab a fresh mug—have I mentioned I adore the homemade pottery here? It’s gorgeous, and I have so much respect for the talent it takes to make it—and I pour a cup, then realize I have no idea if Hayes takes his coffee black, or if he prefers it doctored.
“You’re going home today,” Hayes repeats while I decide when in doubt, fix it like I’d fix mine. That’s what I did with Chad when we were dating, and it was enough to prompt him to propose.
I suspect Hayes takes his black, like his soul, and doctored fancy might be enough to make him throw me out too.
That would be a little bit of a relief right now.
Giovanna clucks her tongue. “Hayes, the house is plenty big enough for all of us—”
“Which doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t invited.”
“I don’t care if you’re ten or sixty, I’m your mother, and I know when you’re in a mood and need to be checked on. This lone wolf routine—”
“Yes, I’m clearly alone and suffering for being here for a private getaway with my girlfriend.”
Silence settles behind me.
All except Marshmallow making a whimper that suggests he’s caught in the crossfire of a glaring contest.
Don’t turn around, Begonia. Do not turn around and do not drop the sugar and do not move if you want to live.
Hayes breaks the silence while I stand frozen, a tablespoon of sugar hovering over his coffee. “Begonia and I will join you in New York early next week.”
Paris and New York? I’m so startled, I drop the full heaping tablespoon into his coffee. The metal clatters against the ceramic, making me cringe.
No way to hide when you’re clanging spoons in coffee mugs.
“Next week?” Giovanna says.
“I’m fully equipped to telework from here while I learn my new role this week,” he says over my muffled squeak of surprise. “And then I get to spend the weekend with Begonia without you.”
“Hayes—”
“I want time alone with my girlfriend. Go away.”
I’m tipping the creamer into his coffee when he slips behind me, puts an arm around my waist, and kisses my neck.
My nipples leap fully erect and my vagina asks if it’s playtime and I spill cream on the counter.
I could pretend this is popping my post-divorce cherry if I hadn’t actually asked him that out loud.