by Grace Palmer
Eventually, the press of trees began to lift so Liza could see a break up ahead. When they reached it, she realized they were standing just above a sheer drop. Below was the road they’d driven up and, beyond that, the ocean. The sky had changed to a washed-out navy color, stars beginning to make their appearance. Liza was so busy looking up at the sky and out at the ocean that she didn’t notice the table and chairs sitting to her right until Ben walked over to them and pulled out a chair.
“Your seat, Ms. Hall.”
Liza was too stunned to ask questions. Logically, she knew the table and chairs weren’t a permanent feature of the cliff, but she also couldn’t imagine Ben would go to this kind of trouble for her.
He ducked away from the table and reached behind a nearby tree, where Liza realized a battery-powered space heater was hiding. He brought it close to the table and kicked it on. Almost immediately, Liza felt the warmth.
Then, he went behind the tree again and pulled out a large wicker basket.
“We’re having a picnic?” Liza asked, sounding more than a little dubious.
“In a sense.” Ben opened the basket and pulled out a series of to-go containers, paper bags, and plastic containers. “I asked a few locals where all the best date spots are, and I knew there was a chance I’d only get one crack at this, so I decided to get all of their suggestions.”
He continued pulling out containers, and Liza gaped at the growing mountain of food. “You brought a meal from every place they recommended?”
“And dessert.” He pulled out a bag with Romano’s printed on the side of a paper pastry bag that looked like the one Liza had gotten at The Roast for her biscotti the other morning, and a square box with a Good Stuff Cupcakes sticker holding it closed.
“How many people did you ask? This is enough food for ten people. Maybe more.”
“How many people are in your book club?” he asked. “That’s how many people I asked. Though, three of the women gave the same answer: Barb, Cheri, and Pam, I think.”
That checks out, Liza thought, laughing to herself.
Ben went through each food item, letting Liza knew who had selected it. “Alma said her saloon, obviously, so I got a blooming onion from her for the appetizer, and she threw in a bottle of wine on the house. Georgia made me swear not to tell Alma, but she said she’s never met a more talented chef than you, so she sent along some leftovers from a chicken and rice dish you made at the inn a couple nights ago. Stella said almond croissants from The Roast, and everyone said cannolis from Romano’s were a must. Just for fun, I threw in a few slices of pizza from the gas station on the edge of town. I know what you’re thinking, but it is truly incredible pizza. Shockingly good.”
Liza studied the mass of food in front of her warily, trying to beat down the rush of emotions that threatened to rise up in her.
“Oh, and Georgia’s son, Drew, said this is the best view in town. He lent me the table and chairs.”
This was romantic—probably the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for Liza—and she did not know how to respond.
She’d thought being physically close to Ben would be difficult, but this? Liza did not know how to deal with the way he managed to climb inside of her rib cage and find direct access to her heart.
In her many years of marriage to Cliff, he’d never managed to understand that intentionality meant everything to her. Liza would rather have a piece of macaroni art that took him thirty hours to make than have him buy her the most expensive piece of jewelry.
Liza appreciated effort and thoughtfulness, and the fact that Ben had taken the time to ask people for recommendations, order all of the food, and set up the table, chairs, and heater beforehand was beyond anything she’d imagined for their date.
Liza didn’t know how to not be affected by this.
“And don’t worry about the food waste,” he said, grabbing two plastic wineglasses out of the basket and filling them with the white wine Alma had sent. “Georgia assured me anything you and I didn’t want would be inhaled by Drew.”
“Did Georgia help you plan this?” Liza hoped she had. That would make it easier to dispel the stars that had begun to form around Ben’s head in her vision like a halo.
“She gave me the chicken and rice, like I said, and lent me the space heater from the inn.” Ben held a hand to the side of his mouth even though no one else was around. “And between you and me, I think she likes you a lot. If this goes poorly, I might not have a room to return to at the end of the night.”
Liza laughed, the first genuine one all night, and Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. He hid it quickly and began unwrapping the food, his lips pressed together in his own hidden smile.
Thanks to the insulated liner Ben had wrapped around the hot items, the blooming onion was still warm when they cracked into it. The Khao Tom Gai was cold, but considering she’d made it herself, Liza didn’t have much interest in eating it. Really, she wanted the gas station pizza.
“You’re serious?” Ben asked, hand perched on the cardboard box like it was Pandora’s Box, and he was afraid to open it. “I did not imagine you’d actually eat this. You’re sure?”
“Should I not be? I thought you said it was good.”
“It is!”
“Then, give me a slice.” Liza held out her hand, and Ben opened the box and carefully pulled out a slice of meat lovers pizza.
The crust was hand tossed and golden, and long strings of cheese stretched between the slice and the rest of the pizza in the box. If she’d had no idea it came from a gas station, Liza would have thought the pizza came from a proper pizzeria.
Ben watched her with wide, impatient eyes as she bit off the end of the pizza slice.
Part of Liza wanted to hate it, but she couldn’t.
“Oh my gosh.” She covered her mouth with her hand and chewed, shaking her head. “How is this so good?”
“Right? It’s insane. Sam told me it was the best pizza around, and I thought for sure I’d get food poisoning, but it’s genuinely amazing.”
“The crust is perfect. Somehow crunchy and chewy.”
He shrugged. “It makes no sense. It tastes as good as the pizza I had in Italy that came out of thousand-degree brick ovens. I don’t know, maybe there’s a brick oven behind the gas station.”
The delight Liza felt at how amazing the unconventional pizza was dampened at the mention of Ben’s travels. If Ben noticed, he didn’t say anything. Neither of them did. They both went back to eating quietly, occasionally pointing out ships far out on the water or remarking on the lovely evening.
The cannolis from Romano’s were as amazing as everyone had said. Crunchy and creamy and sweet and balanced.
“I’ve got to add cannolis to my catering menu. These are incredible.”
“Not in Willow Beach, though,” Ben said. “If you stepped on Romano’s cannoli game, you might end up sleeping with the fishes.”
Liza barked out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think the Italian mob has very strong ties to Willow Beach.”
He shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. Stay in your own lane.”
A sugar rush was creeping up on her, threatening a severe crash later, but Liza couldn’t pass up the almond croissants Ben had brought. Apparently, Vivienne had broken into her frozen stash of croissants and baked these special for their date, which explained why they were still warm and fluffy on the inside. Croissants usually didn’t keep long beyond twenty-four hours.
“This croissant is as big as my head, but I will eat the entire thing, and I’d like you not to judge me.”
Ben held up his hands in surrender. “No judgment from me. Believe me, I know better than to get between a woman and her croissant.”
Liza’s face must have revealed the questions spinning in her mind because Ben leaned forward slightly, his mouth tipped in a smile. “I meant my daughter. She is a croissant fanatic. The number one fan, I think. I took her to Portland, Oregon, for her sixteenth birthday, and she stopped at
every coffee shop we passed to get a croissant. Do you know how many coffee shops there are in that city?”
Ben kept talking, but Liza was stuck on one point.
Daughter.
“You have a daughter.” A statement, not a question. Liza was using too much of her brain power processing to think of anything more profound to say.
“I do. She’s twenty-six.”
Liza did some quick math in her head. Three years after they broke up, Ben had gotten a woman pregnant. Was she his wife? His girlfriend? Neither? Liza wanted to ask, but it wasn’t polite. Besides, it wasn’t her business. Unless he was still married.
The possibility sank inside of her like a stone, weighing her down. Again, Ben seemed to be able to read her like her emotions were being projected on a jumbotron above her head.
“Her mom and I dated for a while, and we tried to make it work once our daughter was born, but it was better for Heather that we split up and focus on coparenting versus being a couple.”
“Her name is Heather?”
“Heather Boyd.” He smiled, like the mere sound of his daughter’s name was his favorite song.
Liza let out a long string of curse words in her mind. Attractive, charming, romantic, and now, paternal? Ben was playing dirty. What kind of woman could resist that?
He pulled out his phone and showed Liza a picture. Ben was standing with a dark-haired girl who was the younger, feminine version of him—gorgeous, in other words—in front of a tall brick building that looked like a college dorm. They both had on UMass Boston shirts.
“She’s beautiful,” Liza said. “My niece goes to UMass Boston, too. She’s getting a business degree so she can become my full-time partner and at least one of us will have an education.”
“They might know each other, then. That’s what Heather is studying, too.”
“Does she know what she wants to do with it yet?”
“She wants to be settled, unlike her old man.” He smiled, but Liza sensed a bit of self-doubt there. Perhaps hurt, even. “I’ve bounced around from job to job for most of my life. Now, I’m four books into a mystery series that pays enough in royalties for me to feed myself, and I use my experience as a draftsman to find freelance work to cover everything else. I’m happy with it, but Heather wants something more conventional.”
Liza blinked. “You wrote a book?”
“Four of them,” he said, holding up four fingers. “I published with an indie press you’ve never heard of, I’m sure.”
“Still,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re a published writer. I had no idea.”
And a father, she thought, mentally adding to the list. She’d avoided looking up where Ben was for fear she’d find something she didn’t want to see. Really, it felt like a lose-lose situation. If she found out he was married and happy and successful, she’d resent him, and if he was miserable, she’d feel guilty. Or, she’d feel smug and like he’d received his just desserts, and then she’d feel guilty for feeling that way. There was no way to win, so Liza avoided all news of him.
Again, that same expression of hurt or…something crossed his face, but he hid it well. “Most people don’t. I don’t exactly advertise it—that’s the publisher’s job. Let’s talk about something other than me.”
“I think that would be me,” Liza said, playfully raising her hand. “That’s usually how conversations on a date go.”
It was growing dark and the battery-operated candle in the middle of the table didn’t let off much light, but Liza thought she saw a flush rise in Ben’s cheeks. “Apparently, I was the only one of us who utilized the power of the internet.”
Liza frowned. “What?”
“I looked you up.”
Why hadn’t that possibility occurred to her? Liza had made the choice not to look Ben up, but she’d never considered that he’d type her name into a search bar.
“When? I can’t imagine you found anything too interesting. My catering website, probably?”
He laughed nervously. “Now I really feel like we should talk about something else.”
“Why?”
His expression turned serious, and he met her eyes over the flickering candle. “Because yours was the first name I typed into every new form of social media over the years. Myspace, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. It took me a while to learn you’d gotten married because you didn’t change your maiden name and there wasn’t a spouse listed on your Facebook.”
“Cliff thought social media was a waste of time,” Liza said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ben nodded and lowered his head, unfolding and refolding the napkin in his lap. Finally, he looked up at her from under heavy brows. “I noticed a few years ago that your ring wasn’t in any of your photos. And since you’re here with me, I assume Cliff isn’t in the picture anymore?”
Was she here with him? The way he said it made Liza’s insides tingle. It filled her with equal parts giddiness and dread. What was she getting herself into?
“He filed for divorce a few years ago.”
“What an idiot.” Ben spoke so softly Liza wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to have heard him, so she didn’t say anything. He looked at the watch on his wrist and sighed. “It’s about time to pack up and head back if I’m going to get you home by curfew.”
Ben walked around the car and opened Liza’s door. He handed her a plastic bag filled with the other almond croissant, the rest of the cannolis, and the pizza.
“I’m keeping the chicken and rice,” he said. “I have a feeling Georgia’s right and it will be better than anything else we had tonight.”
Liza’s stomach was in such a knot she couldn’t imagine ever eating again.
How had she forgotten about the end of the date? Before he’d arrived, she’d been focused on sitting in the car with him and making small talk, but she hadn’t given any consideration to the end of the night.
Honestly, it was because she partly imagined they’d be so sick of each other after three hours that she’d jump out of his still-moving car the moment the cottage came into view and run inside.
But Ben was walking her to the front door, and Liza didn’t know what she was going to do. Worse, she didn’t know what she wanted to do.
Ben stood behind her quietly as she fumbled in her purse for her keys. Liza could feel the warmth of him like a physical touch.
When she finally got the door unlocked, she considered just walking inside and waving from the safety of the other side of the threshold, but instead, she turned around.
He was standing closer than she thought. Closer than they’d been in a long time.
Liza had to look up to see his face.
“So, was it horrible?” he asked, smirking. “As bad as you remember?”
“Dates with you were never bad.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Does that mean you’d be willing to do this again?”
Willing? Yes.
Liza was willing to do lots of things she shouldn’t, seeing Ben again being one of them.
A cold wind blew and Liza shivered. “I’d consider it,” she said quietly.
Ben bit the corner of his lip and took a microscopic step forward. “Is there anything I can do to make you certain?”
He’s going to kiss me, Liza thought.
She knew she shouldn’t. Kissing Ben would seal her fate. This date was supposed to be proof that she didn’t have any feelings for him, but things had not gone at all to plan. Despite every intention not to, Liza enjoyed herself. He was just as thoughtful and fun and charming as he had been thirty years ago. Plus, he’d kept up with her over the years.
Liza didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she knew it meant he’d thought about her.
Did he have regrets? Did he want to fix his mistake from all those years ago? Did he want a second chance?
With every passing second, the kiss Liza was expecting took on more and more meaning, but Liza also grew more and more impatien
t for it. She felt herself arch towards him, expectant.
But Ben didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even try.
“How about we discuss it over breakfast tomorrow?”
“What?” Liza asked, slightly dazed.
“It’s not a date, don’t worry. It will be like a post-game analysis, and then you can decide whether we should go on another real date.”
“An analysis?”
“Yes, exactly,” he said. “But analyzing on an empty stomach is impossible, so I’ll grab coffee for us in the morning and, if it suits you, you can make pancakes. We can reconvene at 8 a.m.?”
Liza knew what he was doing, but she couldn’t resist. She wanted to spend more time with him, but she also needed twelve hours to consider all of the implications. So, it seemed like the perfect plan.
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ben couldn’t hide his glee. He beamed and bounced on his toes. “Great. I’ll see you then.”
He waited to leave until she went inside, but Liza waited until he’d driven away to stop looking through the peephole.
What had she gotten herself into?
15
“What are you doing up so early?” Liza asked as soon as she answered her phone.
She’d been up for two hours, showering, primping, and making a giant stack of fluffy pancakes, but Angela didn’t usually wake up before nine on any day she didn’t have to. And even when she did, she didn’t seem to gain the full function of her mental faculties until ten in the morning or later, but it wasn’t even seven thirty yet.
“Calling to see how you’re doing,” she said. “You haven’t called or texted in days, and I was starting to get worried you actually did get murdered in that cottage.”
“I didn’t get murdered, but I did almost drown.”
“What?!”
Liza related the story of the burst pipe to Angela, telling her about going to the inn for a room and, instead, finding Ben.
“Ben?” Angela asked, no small amount of interest in her voice. “Pray tell, who is Ben?”