“Come in,” he says. “Have a drink.” He’s got that glint in his eye, the one that means he’s already debating whether to have sex in his bed or on the kitchen table. He loved having sex on the kitchen table. We picked out a very sturdy one specifically for that purpose. I wonder whether he still has it.
No. Shit. No. I am not doing this again.
I look out the front window. “You sure you want to be alone with me?”
“Lucy.” He sighs heavily. It’s his “Lucy is being ridiculous again” sigh.
“Lucy, just go to your parents’。 Please? Just for a few days. I need to think.” He stood near the front door as he said those words to me, nervously cracking his knuckles. I remember thinking he was poised to make a quick escape.
He’d looked terrified. Of me. I’d been home from the hospital for less than twenty-four hours. The police hadn’t started seriously questioning me. The media hadn’t even turned on me yet.
But Matt? Matt was sure I was guilty. My husband was too scared to be in the same house with me.
“Maybe some other time.” I put the car in drive, and he steps back onto the sidewalk.
I don’t look in the rearview mirror as I drive away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LUCY
I spot Ben as soon as I walk into the diner, sitting at the same table as last time, typing on a laptop.
He looks up and smiles at me. Grandma was right about one thing—he’s got the smile of a superhero. No need to panic, ma’am, this extremely handsome gentleman is here to help. That’s Ben’s energy.
The friendliness has to be an act, his way of trying to get me to do an interview, but it’s a good act. I’ll give him that. He actually looks pleased to see me.
I walk to the booth and slide in across from him. The sticky plastic squeaks against my bare legs.
“I didn’t actually think you’d reach out,” he says.
I shrug. I’d emailed him last night asking to meet this morning. “Is this our official meeting place now?”
“Well, I’m here most days, so it’s my official meeting place, yes.”
“You come here and work? Don’t you have a hotel room or something?”
“I do. But I like working in coffee shops or diners. And Vince said he didn’t care because I don’t come during busy times. Plus, I order lots of food.” He grabs his menu and holds it out to me. “Do you want something? The burger is good. The pesto chicken sandwich is really good. I don’t recommend the tuna melt.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? It’s on me. They also serve breakfast all day and the French toast is great.”
I hesitate. I haven’t actually eaten much today, except for a banana after my run. And it smells like grease and syrup in here. My stomach rumbles.
“You totally want that French toast, don’t you? Good choice.” He straightens, looking in the direction of the kitchen, where I can see the top of a head. “Hey, Vince! Add a French toast to my order!”
“Bacon?” a voice responds. Ben looks at me and I nod.
“Yeah!”
“You got it!”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” He closes his laptop. “How are things going with the birthday party?”
“My mom told you about that?”
“Your grandma did.”
“They’re fine, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Do you actually want to talk about my grandma’s birthday party?”
A piece of dark hair falls across his forehead, and he shakes it back. “No. I was being polite. Making small talk.”
“I’m not good at small talk.”
“I noticed.”
“Some people think that means I’m just an asshole.”
“Not being good at small talk makes you an asshole?”
“Apparently. That’s what some people say.” My mom is always subtle about it, though. “Polite people chat with each other, Lucy! They ask how your day is going.”
“Are you an asshole?” he asks.
“Kind of.”
“Well, that’s honest.”
“I try.”
He drums his fingers on the top of his computer, and I try not to watch. He’s amused. By me, I suppose.
“I see we’re moving to the ‘cheating whore’ section of the podcast,” I say.
He blinks, clearly taken aback. “I…”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Not exactly new information, though, and contrary to popular belief, I do actually want you to solve this, Ben.”