13. Chapter 13 #2
Cheryl’s at the checkout. She pauses from ringing up Ford’s groceries to wave at us as we walk in. Benji waves back while I pull a second cart out.
It’s cool in the produce section. The mouth-watering scent of Anabelle’s apple Danishes floats through the air, like it does every Thursday, and I make a note to pick some up when we make it to the bakery.
Benji follows along behind me as I drop various items into my cart or his. Every local we come across stops to say hi, looking curiously at Benji. I introduce him, and the conversation drifts into small talk until we wrap it up and say goodbye. We repeat the process in the next aisle.
When we reach the checkouts, a group of locals is chatting a short distance away to make it look like they aren’t lying in wait. But I can see Diana’s friend Sue there. And Cheryl’s friend Jen. The biggest busybodies in the town have assembled for Benji.
Is it overkill for a second cousin? Maybe it’s because he’s gorgeous.
Or they’ve caught the scent of secrets and drama.
“Hi, everyone,” I say brightly, indicating to Benji that he should unload his cart first.
It’s all the permission they need to descend upon us like a swarm of gossip-sucking mosquitoes.
Introductions are made, and questions are asked.
Benji, who is unloading the cart, gets frequent reminders from Cheryl to keep putting the groceries on the belt, please.
But he’s not so distracted that he doesn’t notice when Jen pulls me aside and asks, not as quietly as I think she means to, if Benji is single.
“Our Autumn is visiting for the summer before she starts law school in the fall, and she’s about the same age as your second cousin. Do you think he’d mind an introduction?”
I meet Benji’s eyes. Shit, what do I say?
“I’m married,” Benji says apologetically, holding up his left hand.
“But that foolish woman left you,” Cheryl says. “You’re too young to mope around about it. Go out and meet some new people your age.” She leans over the belt. “Autumn is a lovely young lady. Very pretty.”
Jen claps her hands together. “Oh, I am so sorry. Forget my clumsy matchmaking. But you and Autumn should get together and hang out. There’s not a lot of young people around here.”
That she says to me, lumping me in with the older people who stay rather than the younger people who leave.
“I could always use more friends,” Benji says slowly to Jen. “I’d be happy to meet Autumn.”
The group breaks up soon after I start unloading my cart onto the belt, but I catch Sue whispering to Jen and Elyse. “Gina’s such a good girl and pretty, too—why on earth would she waste her breath on a guy like Milo?”
Elyse turns her back, but I still hear her say, “Dawn never could resist a bad boy either. She’s got a little of her mother in her after all.”
Havenwood might have banded together to ostracize the bigots, but that small-town exclusionary energy has existed for a long time. Dawn Carlson, who got pregnant as a high schooler thirty-five years ago and then mostly left me to be raised by my grandmother, has copped a lot of it.
When my grandmother died, and I had to grow up fast, I did everything in my power to make sure we weren’t a constant target of gossip.
I paid the bills and bought the groceries with the money my grandmother left us.
I ensured we had something for every potluck and that everything my grandmother did for us and Havenwood continued.
When I needed a break, I found my escape in the trails around Happy Lake, not hanging out with people my age.
Benji doesn’t argue as I pay for the groceries. He’ll pay me back when he gets paid. And anyway, a third of the groceries aren’t for us. We say our goodbyes and push our respective carts out into the sun.
“So what’s the deal with the two carts?” he asks, stepping onto the bottom part of his cart to ride it down the gentle incline toward my truck.
“My mom got back in town late last night.” She sent me a message—the pair of eyes emoji and nothing else, which means she’s heard about my second cousin.
I need to tell her the truth if I don’t want her to blow up my lie.
“She’ll be living off canned beans and saltines.
The groceries in your cart are for her.”
He hops off the cart and looks at me with a grin. “I get to meet your mom?”
“Shh,” I hiss, glancing around, because he met her back in Vegas, according to our lie. “And yes.”
We load the refrigerator-bound items into the large cooler in the back of the truck and the rest of the groceries alongside it, and Benji brings both carts back inside. He makes it out alive a couple of minutes later.
He waits until we’re out of Havenwood to say, “I’d like you to meet my parents someday.”
I take a deep breath. “Benji—”
He puts his hand over mine on the stick shift, just briefly. But it’s enough to ease some of the tension that’s crept into my shoulders.
“So, can we talk about what happened back there?” he asks.
My shoulders tighten again. “I panicked. Jen probably won’t bring Autumn around.”
“No, not about that,” he says, then adds, “I’m not interested in meeting Autumn.”
He might say that, but he hasn’t seen her.
Every decade or so, Havenwood turns out someone who is going somewhere in life, and Autumn is that person for her cohort.
Beautiful, smart, kind—in between all her studying for law school, I bet she knows how to have fun.
And Cheryl was right. Benji’s foolish wife left him.
He deserves to go out and have fun, too.
His hand returns to mine, his fingertips gently tracing down my fingers. “We need to talk about how every person in that store asked you for a favor, and you agreed.”
I frown. “No, they didn’t.”
“You’re meeting with a teacher next week to discuss the school’s environmental program for next year.”
“Oh.” I shrug but keep my hand still, not wanting to shake his off. “I do that every year. We use Happy Lake for several classes. Everything from orienteering to composting.”
“And the lady who twisted her ankle and needs help with her lawns?”
“I suggested she ask one of the local high school kids to do it—he’s saving up for college.”
“But you promised to do it if he couldn’t.” His fingertips reverse direction and travel up my fingers. “And you’re making your grandmother’s chicken casserole for a new mom, driving someone to an appointment in Pine Point, and bringing banana bread to a working bee.”
Hm. I did agree to do all that. “So?”
“So you’re working way more than forty hours at the lodge. How do you have time?”
I don’t count how many hours I work because I’m salaried, but he’s right that it’s more than forty. “I find time.”
His fingers slip between mine. “I’m going to need you to make time for yourself.”
“Oh, are you now?” I laugh a little, uncomfortable that he might be right.
“You wanted to have fun with me. I don’t want to give you quickies all the time.”
I tip my face a little toward the fresh air rushing through my window, feeling the relief of it against my hot skin. Because I could pull this truck down any of the county roads and onto a private road, climb onto his lap, and he could give me a quickie.
“I need time to do it right,” he says, his voice lower. Huskier.
“Okay, point taken,” I say with a deranged-sounding little laugh. I’m so flustered I nearly miss the turn.