21. Twenty-One
Twenty-One
LENA
I t’s the perfect day for a picnic, as if the Rileys placed a special order and paid extra for cloudless blue skies, low seventies, and zero humidity.
The Riley Trust Family Picnic sprawls across the campus’ main lawn, a scene from a Hallmark movie.
Food trucks and massive grills line the parking lot on the outskirts.
Multiple tiki bars spread strategically across the landscape serve beer and mixed drinks.
Occupying the left field, bounce houses, a petting zoo, small amusement park rides, and carnival games keep the kids entertained.
On the central lawn, a band plays pop hits on a stage, surrounded by dancing couples and a campground of lawn chairs and picnic blankets.
To the right, tented shelters overflow with families eating and enjoying the band.
It’s a perfect setting for fun and relaxation, a stark contrast to my unease.
Meeting the Rileys and Ben’s potential workmates en masse knots my stomach into an aching, anxious ball, like I’m pregnant and in labor with it. I’m seriously going to have an anxiety baby right here on the lawn.
The funny thing is, I’m not anxious about meeting new people.
Peopling is a part of my business where I excel.
I’m not even that worried about meeting these people.
I don’t particularly relish the idea of seeing Lauren again, but the rest were once Ben’s secondary family.
Getting to know them might reveal insights about him, and maybe I’ll get some fun Ben stories out of it.
For once, what bothers me is Ben. He returned home from his working interview more sullen than ever. He eventually revealed that it was a positive experience, and he leaned toward taking the position. Despite my best efforts, he didn’t go into detail.
Instead, he discussed Matt Kirby and the invasion of our privacy by the movie studio. Over the last week, he’s taken extra shifts at work, and when he is home, he thwarts my efforts to spend time with him. Instead, he’s overrun by the smallest frustrations.
Me getting Ruthie to preschool ten minutes late…
Me talking with Matt Kirby (we’ve had a few light conversations in passing)…
Me “letting” the movie people block the driveway once…
Me “letting” the movie people spook the horses…
Lately, Ben seems hellbent on finding fault with me. I don’t understand why.
Dot thinks Ben’s on a perpetual period—“man-menses,” she calls it.
Cherry suggests he’s having a mid-life crisis—the first stage toward utter destruction.
I believe he’s finding excuses to push me away. Whether away from him or the things he needs to say or both—I don’t know. But I don’t deserve it.
So, today, I feel the pressure. I’m finally spending time with my husband, and hopefully, being a gold-star wife will break him from his awful mood. I’m running out of viable ideas, even after reading every article from Cherry’s influencers and sporting Avery’s sexy lingerie.
We stand at the outskirts of the party, taking it all in.
Ruthie gushes at the attractions. “That first. No, the bouncy castle. No, wait! I wanna ride the ponies.”
“We’ll do it all. Don’t worry.” I turn to Ben, my good hand slipping automatically into his. “This looks fun. And this place is amazing—not like a bank at all. It’d be a cool place to work.”
“A definite upgrade from a patrol car.” With an almost imperceptible smirk, his eyes meet mine. “I want to show you around.”
“I’d love that.” My words get drowned out by his name sounding across the lawn.
My head turns toward the noise, and Ben’s eyes follow—I wonder if he heard it. A small horde moves through the crowd toward us, reminding me of the slow-mo scenes in Twilight . Ah, the cool vampires have arrived.
Ben drops my hand.
An elegant blond woman in her sixties leads the pack. She wears a flowing silk kaftan in Bermuda blues and a sweet smile identical to Lauren’s.
She ignores my extended hand and goes directly for a hug. She smells like roses and expensive spa treatments. Cherry, Dot, and I had a spa day once—nothing is funnier than watching Dot get a pedicure.
“You must be Lena,” she says, pressing her softness against me. “I’m Jillian Riley, and I adore you already. If you won Ben’s heart, you’ve won mine.”
“Oh, thanks.” If? “It’s a pleasure, and that’s a beautiful dress.”
“Ah, bless you, dear,” she returns, sounding almost humble. She pulls back, keeping my one good hand in hers. She holds it out and takes a long look at me. “You’re so sweet, and what a pretty, um…”
She looks a little baffled at my outfit.
“It’s a romper. Walmart couture.” My attempt at humor falls flat, though I guess it’s not funny—my romper is from Walmart.
We both glance at my sage green one-piece.
I try to stay confident—I got it approved.
Jaye helped me through my closet crisis and said its spaghetti straps and scooped neckline showed just enough skin without seeming desperate to impress.
She shared a pic with Dot and Cherry. Both gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
But now, under this scrutiny, my confidence dips, especially when Lauren edges in beside her. Her silky blue top and scalloped tan shorts give off a sexy girl-next-door vibe. I feel like Luigi standing beside Beachtime Barbie.
“It suits you.” Jillian’s eyes fall to Ruthie, and she beams. Her French manicure rises to her mouth, and tears speck in her eyes in joyful wonder, like love at first sight.
My daughter is adorable but what the fuck?
“Oh, Ben… She’s perfect,” she coos as if Ruthie’s the prized granddaughter she never had. “Ah, she has your eyes. Oh, and that serious look of yours. How lovely.”
Her hand goes to her heart as if she’s holding it in.
Ben and I exchange awkward glances before I say, “Ruthie, say hello to Mrs. Riley.”
“Hello,” Ruthie says. “Can I ride the ponies? They aren’t doing it right.”
“Of course!” She holds out her hand to Ruthie. “May I escort you?”
Ruthie looks at me. I look to Ben. He nods hesitantly. She happily pulls Jillian along like a puppy on a leash.
“Sorry about that.” Lauren moves in. “You know how Mom is.”
Ben shrugs, watching Ruthie drift away from us.
“Lauren, it’s nice to see you again.” I offer my hand.
She shakes it tenderly, gives me a curt once over, and then remembers her vampire-esque entourage. Introductions follow—their names jumble in my head, but I smile wide and give vigorous handshakes.
Finally, she introduces her father, John, who steps between the others, like Moses parting the Red Sea.
He is a silver fox—fit, gray, and charming.
“Lena.” He says my name like it’s the title of an amazing rock ballad. “I’ve been dying to meet you. Saddletree is the kind of homegrown, family-friendly, local business we started Riley Trust Bank to support.”
They never would’ve given me a loan for Saddletree. They turned me down with my first bakery. “I love a bank that looks out for the little guys.”
He chuckles. “That’s us. I can’t wait until you reopen so I can see the magic for myself.”
“Saddletree is magic. Thanks. It’s a lot like this. A place to connect.”
“It’s more than that,” he gushes. “ NC Magazine calls your cinnamon rolls legendary.”
“Wow, you’ve done your homework. They’re very popular,” I say, now feeling pseudo-humble myself. In Dot’s language, my cinnamon rolls are da bomb .
“Being married to Lena means doubling my workouts,” Ben says.
Everyone laughs while I gape with pleasant surprise at my charming husband.
Someone seeks John’s attention nearby, but before he leaves us, he says, “Make yourself at home. Give Lena the grand tour, Ben.”
“And Lena, save me a dance, huh?” Dr. Rob Riley coos, following his brother.
“Not a chance, Rob,” Ben tacks on, making them laugh again.
I feel like I’ve been electrocuted. Ben’s being outgoing without being prodded? Who is this man?
I spot Ruthie through the crowd. She’s perched on a dark brown pony, attempting to get the poor animal to canter despite protests from the woman holding the lead.
Mrs. Riley sticks to her side, and Lauren soon joins her, as if a four-year-old is a fun novelty, like Spanx or BMWs.
I wonder if they know what they’ve gotten themselves into.
I take advantage of the free babysitting and lean into Ben. “Dance with me?”
His eyes narrow skeptically.
“Ah, come on. We used to do it all the time,” I remind him, smiling and edging closer. “On rainy days in the carport.”
“Sometimes, I wish we could go back to those days,” he says, his big hands slipping around my waist.
“Me, too.”
“Sorry for being a dick lately.”
“Good, you should be,” I say lightly. His blanket apology feels half-hearted, though he seems sincere. “You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
“That’s no excuse.” He takes a breath, his grip on me tightening. “Change is… difficult for me.”
I nod, though I’m unsure exactly which change he means. The movie people? The career switch? Something else?
“I don’t react well to it, and my history with the Rileys dredges that up.” The words emerge slowly and uneasily like he’s pushing a heavy cart up a flight of stairs one step at a time. “There’s a lot of uncertainty right now.”
“You helped me through the most uncertain time of my life,” I remind him, resting my cast on his shoulder. “It’s my turn to help you… but you have to let me.”
“It’s just—”
“Ben Wright—the man of the hour!”
A booming voice cuts through his words, leaving me hanging. Ben drops his hold on me and moves aside for a rotund man in his sixties and a petite brunette beside him—Larry and Jenny Tenor. We chat casually and easily for a suitable amount of time before Ben says, “I want to take Lena on a tour.”
Larry pulls a security badge from his shirt pocket with a magician’s flair. “I thought you might. I took the liberty of creating your access card.”
Ben nods, taking the badge. “Thank you, sir.”
Larry slaps his back proudly. “Eh, one less thing I’ll have to do later. It’ll get you anywhere you want to go. Be sure to check out your office.”
Your office , like it’s already decided.
Maybe it is, and I’m the last holdout. I can’t deny that Ben seems lighter and comfortable here.
Why doesn’t he feel this relaxed at Saddletree?
I think about what he said the night of my accident—that he loves Saddletree but doesn’t belong there, professionally .
Maybe he doesn’t feel like he belongs there at all.
It’s more of a burden for him, a source of frustration and stress.
Like me, it seems lately. And the movie people are a constant reminder.
Larry and Jenny leave us for dancing, and I automatically scan for Ruthie again.
Ben takes my hand. “Ruthie will be fine. Come with me?”
A familiar spark pings between us, like he’s taking me on an adventure. I’ve missed that spark. I nod automatically, and he leads me toward a glass-heavy building.
“They have their own restaurant, cafeterias, dry cleaner, and yoga studio—”
“Are you into yoga now?”
He scoffs. “No. But it’s here. You could do it if you wanted—families are welcome to use the amenities, too. There are many opportunities here.”
“There’s yoga every Thursday morning at Saddletree. I’m good.”
He swipes his badge at the door and holds it open. We enter a lobby with high ceilings, marble floors, bright chandeliers, and leather seating, very hotel-like. We lean against the back wall inside the elevator, watching the lighted numbers change over our heads.
“I like the romper.”
His eyes catch mine, and I break out laughing while he smirks. This is my Ben.
“Walmart couture… funny,” he adds as the elevator pings. He takes my hand, locking it surely in his, and leads me down the hallway.