Chapter 5
The next several weeks are blissfully quiet.
Well, except for the morning after I ran into Ben outside of The Coffee Shop and woke up to find that he had liked a picture of me on social media.
And not a recent one either. A picture from when I first got Ernest, my three-legged rescue dog.
Five years ago.
It’s not like I post on Instagram often, but it would have taken him approximately seven scrolls to even get down that far on my feed. Seven! Give or take the size of his thumb.
Which I would imagine is large, given the size of… well, him.
So maybe it was closer to five Ben-sized scrolls, but still! He was looking.
Strange.
My theory, if I had taken long enough to form one—which I obviously did not because he does not take up that much space in my brain—would be that after running into me earlier that day, he had to figure out all of the ways he was still better than me.
I’m sure if he adopted a dog, he would pick one with all four legs.
Seems like the easy way out, but what do I know?
Said dog chooses that moment to hop onto my lap.
I give Ernest a few scratches behind his ears as he burrows deep into the blankets next to me.
Ernest accidentally became mine when one of my engineering colleagues had a girlfriend, Cheryl, that ran a pet rescue.
Management had allowed her to bring dogs in one day for all of us to cuddle, which really made no sense, but apparently it’s a stress reducing technique employed at high-stress jobs nationwide.
They were always trying to do things to “boost morale,” and I started to wonder why morale was so low to begin with.
Why weren’t they addressing the fact that maybe we were just overworked and underpaid?
Anyway, at our dog-cuddling-morale-boosting event, Cheryl brought eight puppies and Ernest. One guess on who everyone chose to cuddle with—it wasn’t Ernest.
They also posted up right by the coffee station, so every time I walked past to get another cup of coffee, that damn dog just stared at me.
He is quite possibly the ugliest dog to ever exist. Truly, I’ve debated entering him in that World’s Ugliest Dog competition.
His hair is wiry, his eyes are squinty, and his front right leg had to be amputated due to a bike accident.
Both of his ears stick out at odd angles and he has a bald patch near his tail.
Like I said, he’s ugly.
The third time I walked by, Cheryl stopped me.
“Want to take a break and play with the puppies?” she asked, gesturing toward the hyper fluff balls circling her feet. “They are all up for adoption!”
And it really pissed me off that she didn’t include Ernest in that. “What about the ugly one?” I had asked, pointing right at his lolling tongue.
Cheryl had seemed taken aback by my assessment of Ernest, but she recovered quickly. “Oh! Yes, he’s available too. This is Sparkles, we think he’s about three years old.”
The name would have to change but, “I’ll take him,” came out of my mouth without a second thought.
Ernest came home with me that night, even though my apartment definitely did not allow pets. He cuddled up on the pillow next to me and looked at the covers expectantly until I pulled them up over his little body.
He is and always has been exactly who he wanted to be, and I really admire him for that. Like right now, he’s buried himself so far into the blankets that I can only see his tail and his back left paw. It’s really fucking cute, and I swear Ernest is the only man I’ll ever love.
I’ve finally found peace: my ugly dog cuddled next to me, Dateline streaming on my laptop, and a cup of peppermint tea helping to sooth my sinuses and my nerves.
That’s when my phone buzzes.
Ben
Red. I need your help.
How did you get this number?
Ben
……
You’ve had the same number since high school.
At least, I’m assuming since you answered the text.
Dammit. He’s not wrong.
What do you need?
Ben
Can you bring a pregnancy test over for a friend? And maybe some mac and cheese for her kid?
What the actual fuck. A pregnancy test for a “friend”?
Did this asshole get some girl pregnant and now he wants me to help?
! I rub my chest, at the weird ache that has formed right there in the center.
I decided a long time ago that I don’t want kids, but for some reason the thought of Benoit Bardot procreating with someone else has me feeling…
things. I let those feelings take over as I reply.
Are you seriously asking me to help you with some girl you knocked up? This is a new low for you, Benjamin.
Ben
Dear God, Colette. You really think I would do that?
Do I really think he would do that? My anger wants to say yes, but in reality… No, probably not. Anger wins.
… Yes.
Ben
It’s for Jules.
Will you help now?
There’s going to be rumors that spread like wildfire around Sassafras, but…
Fine.
The next text I get is an address to an apartment above Louie’s. Twenty minutes later, I’m knocking on the door of my biggest rival. My sworn enemy. With a fucking pregnancy test in my hand. And several other things because I wasn’t sure what you get someone who might be pregnant, but still.
When the door swings open, I’m struck by just how large he is.
I’ve tried really hard not to look too closely at Ben whenever we’ve run into each other over the years, but right now I can’t help but notice the way he’s filled out since we were teenagers.
His light wash jeans hug all of the right spots, including thighs that look like they know their way around a squat.
A trim waist leads up to an old Hawthorne T-shirt—one that fits snuggly around toned biceps.
His clean-shaven face is sporting a smirk and—
“Since when do you wear glasses?” I ask at the same time Ben says, “Finished checking me out, Red?”
I fake a gag. “Blegh, I would never check you out.”
I was definitely checking him out.
“You were definitely checking me out.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stare him down. It’s been less than two minutes back in each other’s presence and he’s already inside my head. Which is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
Shoving the bags into his chest, I tell him, “I’ll be going now. No reason for me to continue cleaning up after Bardot messes today.”
“Wait!” Ben’s hand—another large part of him—clamps over mine, holding me hostage against his chest. “Will you… can you take it across the hall?”
He looks behind him and I follow his gaze to a sulking Jules, who keeps sitting down on the couch, jumping to his feet, and pacing back and forth, before repeating the whole thing over again.
Lowering his voice, Ben actually looks sincere when he speaks next.
“Look, Jules is freaking out. Thea, her daughter, Chloe, and her dad, Hank, all live across the hall. Thea is… also freaking out. She’s new in town and needs a friend. Can you—will you take this to her?”
I might be a loner freak who would rather work on jigsaw puzzles while listening to a true crime podcast than go to a cocktail bar to gossip about who wore it better, but I’m not a heartless bitch.
“Lose my number,” I seethe as I turn and knock on the door across the hall. In response, I get a chuckle from Ben and the soft click of his apartment door closing. I roll my eyes hard enough that I hope he can feel it, even though he can’t see it.
Fifteen seconds later, a gorgeous blonde woman opens the door. Get it, Jules! is my first thought because this woman looks like she was created from every man’s fantasy. But my arms are falling asleep so my second thought wins out.
“Scoot over, these are heavy.”
She moves enough to let me in, so I make my way over to the counter, unceremoniously dumping the paper sacks.
After rifling for a minute, I find the smaller paper sack nestled against the Pop-Tarts and the mac and cheese.
When I turn around to give it to who I’m assuming is Thea, she’s still standing at the front door.
She looks a bit like a deer in headlights. I approach slowly before handing her the bag. “Here.”
Thea looks down and then back up at me. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Did Benjamin not tell you I was coming over?” I do my very best attempt at the cartoons who are able to shoot lasers out of their eyes as I stare straight into the peephole of Ben’s apartment. There’s no way he’s not watching this go down.
“H-he did! He did not tell me who you were, though. Just that you were ‘good people.’” She uses air quotes on that last part.
Skeptically, I ask, “He said that?” Thea just stares at me, and I remember why I’m not very good at making friends. “Whatever. I’m Cole. Colette, but people call me Cole. Do you want to…” I glance down at the package she currently has a death grip on.
She takes one look inside before shoving it back toward me. “Nope.”
Alright. I did my part, I can’t force her to pee on the thing. “Okay.” I shrug.
At that exact moment, a miniature version of Thea runs in. I like kids—they are usually much more straightforward than adults—and this one seems like fun.
“I’m Chloe!” she shrieks. “I already have a best friend, but I like your hair so maybe you can replace him.”
“Is it Jules? He’s a pretty cool best friend.”
“I like Jules…” Chloe concedes. “But Ben is my best friend.”
Ew. We’ll need to fix that. I get down on her level before saying, “Oh, love bug, not for long if I have anything to say about it.”
“Any mac and cheese in that bag? Chloe is pretty easily bought,” Thea chimes in, stopping me from going on a tirade about Benjamin.
The great news is that I definitely brought all of the good food.
I’ve always wanted to be the cool aunt, but I don’t have any siblings so I was out of luck on that front.
I rub my hands together, beginning to unpack the grocery sacks.
“Not only do I have mac and cheese… I have the best kind of mac and cheese—shapes!”
Chloe’s jaw drops. “Mama never lets us get the shapes!” She drags a chair over to the counter to help me unpack. I rummage around until I find a pot to start boiling the water, not stopping when I hear Thea clear her throat.
“Cole, um… Sorry this has just been a very overwhelming day. You really don’t have to do this.”
“Listen, Sassafras is a weird-ass place—”
“Language!” Chloe interrupts. Guess I’ll need to be careful about that.
“Right… a weird—” I cannot think of another word to replace ass.
“‘Bleep’ place, and the Bardots tend to be fairly persistent, but they are also some of the best people in the world. Benjamin excluded, of course. Chloe and I are going to make our Frozen-shaped, cheesy-pasta deliciousness. You go… do whatever you need to do.”
I look meaningfully at the test still lying on the counter. Thea contemplates it for a moment, finally giving in. “Fine,” she growls before walking out of the room.
Satisfied, Chloe and I continue making dinner. When Thea comes back out, her face is ashen. I don’t ask, but I don’t need to. We eat, I distract Chloe long enough for Thea to pull herself together, and by the time I leave, I think I’ve successfully made two new friends.