Page 81 of Every Good Thing
“I liked him in Nightshift. What about you, Ben? Are you a Matt Kirby fan?” Larry asks.
A beat passes, making me think Ben didn’t hear him.
“Ben’s not into horror movies or crime shows—he gets enough of both at work,” I say, shifting their attention back to me.
“That’s funny,” Lauren says. “You used to love horror movies. Remember our Halloween and Friday the 13th marathons?”
“I only watched them because you liked them,” he says.
Lauren goes doe-eyed over his romantic admission while Jillian says, “Aw, how sweet.”
“Now, you’re watching one in your backyard,” Larry laughs. “What’s this one about? Demons? Ghosts?”
“Witches. Jim Hunter is saving a family from an ancient coven trying to steal their souls.” A coven not unlike the Rileys, I think, watching Lauren stare at my husband. Stop with the monster thoughts. “It’s a twist on your classic ghost story.”
“Well, hopefully, it won’t haunt your business,” John says. “It’s risky, closing for two months. Most businesses would find that difficult to recover from.”
I wonder for a moment if Ben has shared his concerns with them.
“I have a strong and loyal community base.” I hoist Ruthie more securely against me. She’s getting heavy, and my wrist twinges with pain under my cast from the effort. “After my accident, it makes sense. I want to do some restructuring anyway. Ben’s helping me make Saddletree run more efficiently.”
My voice upticks on the last part—a gold-star wife would obviously promote her husband’s skillset to the people interested in hiring him.
Ben sighs. “Lena’s a talented baker but a disorganized manager.”
Hello, bus. Didn’t think I’d get run over by you today.
John beams proudly. “A business can’t be successful on cupcakes alone…”
An internal cringe restarts my earlier tension like a stalled motor running again. What’s happening? How’d this turn around on me?
“I didn’t know you were business-minded, Ben.”
Ben’s long pause encourages me to answer for him. “He’s management-minded,” I say, just as Ben starts to speak. He closes his mouth and gives me a bothered look.
Still, I add, “A quality manager can manage any business, right? Cupcakes or not.”
Cold lemonade drizzles down the front of my romper. Ruthie startles awake. “Mom, potty.”
Ben leans in, easing the nearly empty cup from her hands and whispering sternly in my ear, “Stop answering for me.”
His soft, even admonishment comes out in a hot breath and makes me cringe. I don’t think anyone hears it, but I feel his irritation with me, and because my face is a human emoji board, others see it. A tiny smirk carries Jillian away from us while Jenny shoves napkins at me unsurely.
My forced smile emerges again, weaker this time. “Um, we better get cleaned up. Please, excuse us.”
Jenny points me toward the nearest bathroom, a mile away. I trek across the lawn, holding Ruthie tightly so the lemonade puddling in my bra won’t travel to my underwear.
Ruthie does her business in the family bathroom while I strip down to my boutique lingerie (I had high hopes for today) and use the hand dryer on my damp romper. She giggles at my ridiculous display of black lacy-covered butt and boobs—I suppose it is funny, but I don’t feel like laughing.
Have I been answering for him?
My anxiety bitches are quick to show me where I’ve gone wrong on replay. The Matt Kirby question. The business-minded remark. Wearing a romper. Damn it.
The wet spots dry, leaving stained rings on the top of my outfit. I redress with a huff.
“Buck up, buttercup,” Ruthie says suddenly.
I gasp. “Where’d you hear that?”
