Friendzoned (The Busy Bean)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Double shit. I needed to call Hunnie. If she hired me, I could tell my mom it was an actual job. She didn’t have to know it was an internship.

  Finding my phone tucked into the side of the couch where I’d been planted since Ben left, I looked up where I noted Hunnie’s number and dialed.

  “Hello?”

  “Um, Hunnie, hi. It’s Murphy Landon. We met at the farmers’ market.”

  “Oh, Murph, whatcha up to? You lonely on a Sunday night? What are you calling me for? Some company?”

  “Uh, no. Shoot, I forgot it was Sunday night and you’re probably relaxing. I worked at the Bean today.”

  “Ha. Well, this is Vermont. Things aren’t as fancy here. It’s fine to call me on a Sunday night. How’s the Bean?”

  “I don’t mind it. Actually, I’m liking it quite a bit, and thanks for the tip on the white shorts.” One thing my mom had taught me that stuck and was worthwhile—always lead with a genuine compliment.

  “It’s nothing. So, are you up for the internship?”

  “Yes, that’s why I was calling. I wasn’t sure if you’d made up your mind.”

  “I’m not an idiot. If I can have some big-city chick help me, I’m taking it. That’s what I need to get some of those fancy pants in Manhattan and Boston to buy my honey.”

  Butterflies swarmed my belly. “I can’t make any guarantees—”

  “Look, Murphy. You know Ben, and that’s good enough for me. If he likes someone, and I can tell he likes you, they’re good people.”

  “Oh.” Good thing I was on the phone. My cheeks were burning like crazy.

  “Listen,” Hunnie said, “I gotta run. I’m heading out. Call me tomorrow around two? Does that work? I’m usually at my desk then, and we can set up a time to meet and go over a few projects.”

  “Sure. Wait—is it okay that I keep my job at the Bean? I know you advertised this as a paid internship, and I don’t want to break any rules.”

  “Definitely stay at the Bean. Zara pays better than I do—unless I can get the Rooneys to jump on board with my petting-zoo idea. Ha. Talk to you Monday. Now, go find that surgeon hottie, hear me?”

  Hunnie hung up before I could respond to what she just said, and Ben was knocking on my door.

  My head swam with what this all meant in sleepy, small-town Vermont.

  10

  Ben

  “Wait,” I said, empty containers of Thai—not Chinese—food spread across the weathered table in front of us.

  “It’s true,” Murphy said, trying to scowl. “So what? I’m learning.”

  “Murph, you work in a coffee shop, a fancy-pants craft-coffee joint, and all you have is a Keurig at home. How is this possible?”

  “It makes fine coffee,” she said defensively. “I used to go out for coffee a few times a day in New York because I didn’t have a coffeemaker back then. And then I moved here, and it was a while before I found the Bean. Even so, I still use the Keurig sometimes in the morning. I can’t spend ten bucks every time I want a cup of coffee.” She pulled her feet underneath her, her back against the armrest, her gaze pinging around the room as she desperately avoided my eyes.

  I couldn’t help the laugh rolling out of me.

  We’d had a great dinner, devouring everything in front of us, and finished a cheap bottle of wine. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was now. Should I leave? Could I stay?

  Then Murphy asked if I wanted coffee and pie. Apparently, she had a pie in the freezer from one of her earlier jaunts to the farmers’ market. Cherry. Then she’d said, “I think I have decaf pods for the Keurig,” and I lost it.

  “This Keurig thing, it’s new for you? Like breaking and entering into your own car?” I was joking, but sadness washed across Murphy’s face. “No, I didn’t mean anything by that. Seriously. I was just kidding.”

  “It’s cool. I know I was pampered. Believe me, the first person to admit that is me. Being here, struggling to make it all happen isn’t easy. But I’m doing it.”

  Murphy’s makeup had worn off some, and her hair fell loosely over her shoulder. She looked stunning to me . . . and I was desperate to reach out and touch her.

  “You’re definitely doing it, but you need a fancy espresso maker or something for home. So you can practice your art.”

  “If I could afford one, I’d get one. Now I rely on a little extra time at Zara’s. Plus, she feeds me sweets when I come in early.”

  “The attack of the sweet tooth . . .”

  “What is it tonight with you pointing out all my shortcomings?” She leaned over and pinched my thigh, and a zing of attraction flew between us.

  “Never. I have a lot of them too. We already know I don’t want to leave my family, and I work too much.”

  “Hold that thought,” Murphy said, jumping up from the ratty couch. “I’m going to put the pie in the oven.”

  My mind wandered when she crossed the room, wondering what she would think of my house. It was bigger than I ever dreamed of having, spacious, and way more modern than the farmhouse I grew up in. A pretty palatial buy for a guy like me, it was a split-level craftsman with space to grow. Brenna, my sister, convinced me I deserved it. Plus, Branson used to spend a lot of time at my place. Without a father in the picture, he needed me, and I was hell-bent on being there for him.

  “Tell me, why do you work so much? Clearly, you could lighten up a bit,” Murphy said as she plopped down on the couch.

  Her question made me think of the ski house I’d put an offer on near Mad River, another luxury buy with Branson in mind. But even with all this thinking of him, I wasn’t ready to tell Murphy everything. I wanted Branson to know some of the finer things. I’d learned to ski on an unmarked hill, dangerous as fuck but fun as hell . . . but he deserved better. I didn’t want him to be the kid who was pitied.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Murphy reached out to tap my thigh. “You were in la-la land for a minute.”

  Running my hand through my hair, I decided to come clean, not wanting to let my pride get in the way. “Honestly, it’s a bad habit. Sometimes I feel guilty for doing well and having nice things. I was thinking about the things I’ve acquired over the past several years, and things I’ve wanted. I can’t seem to let go of always wanting to do better, get ahead, prepare for some unknown disaster. My parents don’t have much of a safety net. I don’t want to be that way, but I also want to live a nice life. I just can’t seem to balance the two.”

  She nodded, but I didn’t know how or why she would get that. She’d never really wanted for anything, except for now.

  “My parents were in a bad place when I went to Pressman. Technology was improving in terms of getting sap, and they had to borrow and scrimp to be able to afford the newest equipment. Thank God, it started to pay off, and they’ve been able to get ahead these last few years.”

  Murphy’s head tilted to the side, and for a moment, I thought she was trying to read me better, to gauge if I was being truthful. Sadly, I wasn’t. I’d helped my parents pay off some of the loans, but protecting their pride kept me from saying anything about it.

  “I get the wanting to do better,” Murphy said. “It was—is—how I am. Just switching gears. I’m sure it doesn’t make sense, but it had to be done. Look, I’m not going to be a barista forever. I’ll get back into some marketing. On my terms,” she said, focusing on herself. It was a welcome reprieve.

  “That’s good, Murph. But whatever you are—barista, marketer, whatever—as long as it makes you happy and proud, that’s all that matters.”

  “Okay, Doc Rooney,” she said, waving off my advice.

  How could I argue when she threw my title back at me?

  “I hear you, but listen,” I said. “What you do, what you have, none of that matters. It doesn’t make you who you are.”

  Her head dropped forward as she said softly, “But that’s just it. I don’t really know who I am. For all my life, I was told to be one way. A little too proud, way too rich, the perfect ente
rtainer, a politician’s daughter, an heiress, and then I find out it’s a shitty way to live. Pardon my French.”

  She looked up as she said the last part, a small smile on her face.

  “Also, I’m not supposed to swear. The media could pick up on it. That’s why I needed to be with the in crowd at school. Actually, I didn’t have to, but part of me needed to be. Why? Because they understood. They got it. I guess what I really misunderstood is that they liked being that way.”

  I leaned a little closer. “Hey, you need to let go of all of this.”

  Sweeping her hair back, she said, “It’s not only that. I made mistakes. Some that are unforgivable. Like with you . . . and others.”

  “You can tell me,” I said, but left it at that. I wasn’t going to press.

  Murphy shook her head. “I feel bad we never really went there with our friendship. We were close in private, and not until prom did we really step out into public. There were a few times, I guess, but always under the guise of you tutoring me.”

  I took her hand and ran my thumb over hers. “It’s okay. I wasn’t easy to be close to with that big chip on my shoulder.”

  She dropped her gaze, focusing on our joined hands. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “That’s fine, but it’s not good to keep everything inside, Murph. You’ll explode. Trust me.”

  She didn’t know how I walked around pretending to be an average doctor, living a quiet life in Vermont, when my bank account said otherwise. I was the one on the verge of exploding. Honestly, all the money I’d earned didn’t mean much because I had no one to share it with.

  “You seem to be the master of keeping stuff hidden.” She looked up at me, and it felt like she was trying to see into my soul.

  “Well, I learned how to keep my feelings to myself at Pressman. I was the odd man out, and it’s not easy to get over that. So, you know what? When you feel up to it . . . let them out. Maybe you can chat with Zara. I know her a little. Her daughter, Nicole, broke her arm, swinging on the trees behind the Bean, and the Shipleys are good friends of my family. Anyway, Audrey called me to take a look at it. With Dave’s hockey experience, he’s brought some business my way.”

  “She’s my boss, so I’ll see. In fact, it’s better I don’t. Plus, I don’t know Dave well. When he comes in, Zara dotes on him, and then he leaves. I wish I could see myself like that one day with someone, but . . .”

  “But what? You’ll have that if you want it,” I said without thinking, then caught myself. Who in the ever-loving fuck was I to give dating advice? “Either way, Zara doesn’t care if she’s your boss. She’s a good person and will shoot straight with whatever you tell her. Used to be a bartender, so she knows how to listen and give it to you straight.”

  The timer on her old microwave beeped, pulling us out of the serious moment, and in some sort of Pavlovian response, Murphy popped up to get the pie.

  “What’s all this serving me about?” I said, jumping up too. “I can get it.”

  “No, no, let me,” she said, shooing me away so she could pull the pie from the oven. “The need to entertain well dies hard. Except my mom would be barking orders at the staff to get the pie.”

  She waved her hand in a bossy way as she said in a haughty voice, “Maurice, get this. Eleanor, bring me a hot tea.” Smirking at me, Murphy stood on tiptoe to grab supplies from the cabinet. “Oh well, time to make those delicious K-cups.”

  “Here, let me.” I shot up behind her, using my height to easily pull down the box of decaf K-cups, savoring the heat of her back to my front.

  We bantered back and forth as we enjoyed the pie and coffee, and it felt good. Really good.

  I wasn’t sure if this version of Murphy was here for good, but I knew I wanted to enjoy her as much as possible. I’d been infatuated with her at Pressman, then fantasized about her for years, and now here she was.

  On that thought, my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket to see it was my real estate agent calling, probably about the property I was interested in.

  Not wanting to share this side of me, I answered the call and said, “One sec,” into the phone, and to Murphy, I whispered, “I have to take this. Be right back.”

  Murphy probably thought the call was patient related. I couldn’t deny my being a doctor, but I would keep how deep my pockets were to myself. I didn’t want my wealth to be a deciding factor when it came to whether Murphy gave me a chance or not.

  When I came back inside, she was curled up on the couch, reading on a Kindle.

  “You look comfy,” I said, taking in her smooth legs and her long red hair falling over her shoulder.

  She looked up with a smile. “Sorry. I didn’t know how long you would be, and I only have a few chapters left in this book.”

  “No worries.” I slid in next to her, noticing the pie plates and coffee cups were gone. Despite it not being much, it was clear Murphy took a lot of pride in her place.

  Running my palm over Murphy’s bare thigh, I asked what she was reading.

  “Oh, this is a great book, but not for you,” she said with a devilish smile.

  “Why is that? Is it a sappy romance?”

  “Not sappy. Super fun,” she said, and I glanced at her Kindle to see she was reading something titled Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen. “It’s steamy in the best way, and I love the attraction between the hero and the heroine. It does make me kind of sad with all the New York parts, because I can’t go back there. Ever.”

  My heart sank when she said this. The city she’d been raised in was no longer hers, for a variety of reasons that twisted my gut.

  “I’m sure you can. Whatever happened, happened. It’s in the past,” I said, not wanting to push, but feeling the need to give comfort. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to know, but on your terms. We all have our reasons for keeping stuff to ourselves,” I said before stopping abruptly. Selfishly, I was enjoying this close time with her, and I didn’t want to ruin it with serious talk.

  Murphy shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “Anyway, Bowen is a great writer, and I almost finished the book in one night. I love the way she writes a love story, especially since who knows if I’ll ever have my own to tell,” she said, changing the subject but then veering into awkward waters. That was Murphy.

  “Oh, come on.” I was joking, but did she really not believe she would fall in love with someone incredible? Someone like me, maybe?

  The thought floated in one side of my mind and out the other, especially after all her declarations about where she would live and what she would do.

  “Yeah, never mind,” she said quickly. “That was silly for me to say.”

  Letting it slide because this felt so comfortable, I said, “Come here.” I took her Kindle and set it aside before pulling her onto my lap. “I don’t know what to make of all this. Is it serendipitous? Is it a curse?”

  The last part earned me a giggle.

  “I mean it, Murph, you tortured my thoughts for years. That doesn’t mean I’ve been a monk since high school,” I said, and she let out another giggle just for me. “It means you’re here, and you’re way better than I could have ever dreamed.”

  Murphy swallowed and licked her lips, presumably thinking of what to say. Not wanting to wait, I swooped in to kiss her.

  Pressing my lips to hers, I took my time. Slow and patient, I explored her lips, so much softer than mine. When she moaned, my tongue found its way inside her mouth. Another moan brought me the touch of her tongue against mine.

  Murphy shifted, moving to straddle my lap, never breaking the kiss.

  I pulled her in tight, and she ground down on my hardness. It was better than I’d imagined and torturous at the same time. My hands wanted to rip her shirt off, and my body told me to toss her onto the couch and climb on top of her. My mind, the spoilsport, said to slow down. Running my hand through her hair, I continued to make love to her mouth, catching her soft whimpers, committing them to memory.

  “Murph,”
I whispered, and she stroked her tongue along mine before pulling back to see me. “This feels so good. You feel so good.”

  “I want more, but it’s been a while . . . and I’ve never been very good at all this.” Burrowing her forehead in my shoulder, she said, “I don’t mean the actual act. I meant getting involved.”

  “You don’t have to worry with me. I’m patient. Cautious. I want to be careful with your heart because I need you to be careful with mine. You’ve only been back in my life for a few days, and I want you so much.”

  “Then have me,” she said, leaning in for another kiss.

  I devoured her, drinking in this new Murphy, one kiss at a time. Pulling back again, I nibbled on her ear. “I will have you, but not now. I’m in this for the long haul. There’s no rush, trust me,” I said low, filling her head with promises.

  She nodded, but with a far-off look in her eyes that I couldn’t read. Didn’t she believe me? Or was it something else?

  Weaving my fingers through hers, I kissed her one more time, a closed-mouthed kiss full of promise and wishful thinking, before standing and tugging her up with me. I gathered her close, running my lips along her forehead.

  “Go back to your book, Murph, and don’t think so hard. I’ll see you soon.” With that, I let myself out, only realizing when I got to my car that I’d made promises to Murphy without even getting her cell phone number.

  This was what she did to me. You’d think she’d have less of an effect after all these years, but nope.

  11

  Murphy

  I will have you, but not now. I’m in this for the long haul. There’s no rush.

  That’s what Ben had said, leaving me breathless with those simple words. Of course, part of me couldn’t believe it because he didn’t even have my phone number, but I still hoped.

  “Earth to Murphy,” Zara sang into my ear on Monday.

  “Oh, sorry. I was spaced out. But we aren’t busy.”