I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 7 HOPE

Chapter 7

H OPE

“Where to?” Ben asks, starting the car.

Joy’s words are echoing in my ears and bouncing around in my head as I try to make sense of them. There are people rooting for me to leave Roy? I expected a few jealous types to want him for themselves, considering he’s always had girls chasing him, but I never thought people would want something different for me .

Something better for me than Roy?

“Rosemary’s Diner.” It was the first recommendation I had for him, and I’m sticking with it. I need to know if Joy’s telling the truth, and Rosemary doesn’t have an ounce of fakeness in her. She’ll give it to me straight.

“She on Team Hope?”

It’s a valid question, considering I’m volunteering Ben to go out in public with me, the bride on the lam, after telling him I can’t be seen without there being dire consequences. He might’ve offered to play tourist to my tourist guide gig, but this is way more than a sightseeing excursion looking at town from the safety of his car with all arms and legs in the vehicle, please . “If anyone is, she for sure will be. I helped refit her new dentures a while back. You wouldn’t think it’d be a big deal, but to Rosemary, it was. I trust her to not snitch.”

I’m 96 percent certain of that decision when we walk in the front door of the diner. Still, a nervously held breath escapes out of me when Rosemary looks up from her spot behind the grill and waves her spatula in my direction with a perfect white smile. “Whoo-wee, Miss Thang. You know how to rile ’em up something fierce, don’tcha? Want your usual?”

She doesn’t ask me why. She doesn’t give me a hard time. Rosemary just wants to feed me the way she feeds everyone. Like today is any other day.

She’s also setting the tone for what’s acceptable in her restaurant, because once she acts like everything’s normal, everyone else does, too, going back to their lunches. Nobody says a word, but I can still feel eyes on me from every direction—judging, measuring, wondering.

I nod. “Yes, ma’am, please. Can you make it two?”

Her eyes cut to Ben standing at my side, and her lips purse slightly, but she doesn’t say a word about the stranger’s appearance. We’re accustomed to tourists, but Ben being here with me is a different matter entirely, and we all know it. “Yep, two Barlowe specials coming up. Why don’t you take the back booth?” She jerks her chin toward the corner, where there’s a two-seater table with no window view, which means I won’t be spotted. Rosemary’s a smart lady.

Ben slides in after I do, sitting opposite me but able to keep his eyes on the rest of the restaurant. He scans the diner slowly, challenging someone to say one negative word to me and give him a reason to set them straight. He feels dangerous—to everyone else, but somehow, safe to me.

I didn’t expect to have people on my side. I didn’t know I had a side. I thought Roy and I were the same team and people were cheering us both on, happy for us. But maybe not.

“Glad to see you came to your senses,” a man whispers as he walks by, presumably to get a refill on his drink even though it’s more than half-full already. “Give it a few days till you come back officially, m’kay? I’ve got the fifteenth in the pool. And when you do, you tell that Laurier kid to leave you alone.”

Is he serious? I don’t even know who he is, but he’s obviously a townie, or close enough to one to know the gossip and be included in the betting. Actually ... I look at the woman sitting at the table he goes back to. Is that Mrs. Suman? That’d probably make the man Mr. Suman.

But his approach breaks the seal, and before our food arrives, people all over the diner are calling out their dates and encouraging me to make Roy apologize for whatever he did. Or telling me he doesn’t deserve a sweet girl like me. Or both.

“Never did like that boy. Too slick for his own good, like snail snot on a wet sidewalk after a good rain.”

“If he doesn’t chase you now, he never will, and the fun’s in the chase, you know? But wait till the twelfth, for an old man’s sake, will ya?”

“You deserve better.”

That’s the most common theme of everyone’s thoughts, surprising me every time because I’ve always felt like Roy was the one settling with me, not the other way around. And now more than ever, I’m a total clusterfuck of chaos inside, new confusing realizations dawning with every word spoken to me.

It’s uplifting, empowering, and stunning all at the same time. I don’t know what to say about it and am just starting to figure out an answer when there’s a sharp whistle that grabs everyone’s attention.

“Incoming,” Rosemary warns, and silence descends over the diner.

“Shit.”

Ben’s hissed curse catches my attention, and I turn to follow his line of sight, finding Sheriff Laurier walking toward the diner’s door. “Guessing that’s not a friend of yours, given the uniform,” he says under his breath.

Spinning back around, I duck down in my seat, shaking my head wildly. Damn it. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. We should’ve gone back to Ben’s and hidden out, not risked coming out in public. But I needed to know if Joy was right.

Now I know she is, but the knowledge is gonna cost me. Dearly.

Suddenly, someone throws a ballcap my way, and I yank it onto my head—like a mere hat is enough of a disguise to keep my almost-father-in-law from recognizing me.

“Hey, Sheriff!” Rosemary calls as he comes in. I’ve got my back to the door, but I can feel the hairs on my neck standing up as though he’s looking right at me. “Usual?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I swear time is frozen as I stare at Ben, who’s gone deadly still, though his eyes are watching the diner like a hawk. Does he know his hands are clenched into fists on the tabletop? Surely he wouldn’t fight the sheriff, because that’d be stupid as hell—but I don’t actually know Ben well enough to know if he’d do something that reckless, and he did say he was a hellion. I must make a sound, because he shoots me a look like he’s checking on me, and I can see the look on his face telling me to be still, be quiet, and wait.

I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I’m ready for it. Whatever it is. It’s actually a little exciting not to know, I realize.

“You see any Barlowes today?” the sheriff asks. That’s almost a relief. Somehow, this stupid baseball cap is working.

Rosemary hums loudly. “Nope, can’t say I have.”

She’s outright lying to the law for me, a move I wouldn’t have expected but greatly appreciate. In fact, it makes tears spring to my eyes, and Ben extends his clenched fist, like a calming hand. Steady, that hand says.

“Huh. No telling where that girl got to. Might have to call out the K-9 unit to search the woods if she doesn’t turn up.” A long pause later, he adds, “In a day or two.” Then he chuckles at his own joke. No one else does, though, especially not me.

How is a missing woman funny? I’m okay, but he doesn’t know that, and he’s supposed to be in charge of keeping the town safe. Serve and protect, and all that jazz.

I wonder what Roy would think of his dad joking about me being lost in the woods, possibly dead. I know Ben’s not impressed, because his jaw’s gone hard, and I swear I can see him imagining ten different ways to beat the shit out of Sheriff Laurier.

“Well, if anyone sees her, give me a shout. That boy of mine is fit to be tied over the whole situation,” he tells the restaurant.

“Will do,” Rosemary answers amid the clanging of her cooking on the grill top.

It sounds like the sheriff is chatting with folks as he wanders around the diner, and I worry he’s coming my way, but Ben doesn’t move. Until he suddenly stands, pulling me up as he does. “Let’s go,” he orders in a clipped voice, allowing for zero questions.

I let him move me, trusting Ben even if I’m not sure where the sheriff disappeared to. At the counter, Rosemary’s putting two Styrofoam boxes into a bag. “Here ya go, honey. He’ll be in the bathroom for ten minutes getting his gear off so he can take a shit. Same as always.”

I wrinkle my nose in distaste but am thankful for the chance to make an escape, even if it comes with some too-personal information. “Thanks,” I tell her, and she smiles, shooing me away.

“The fifteenth, remember,” Mr. Suman tells me as we rush out.

Ben doesn’t ask where to go this time. He drives us straight back to the cottage, parking as close to the front door as possible. He looks around and, seeing nobody, says, “Inside.”

I follow him this time, holding his hand as we run for the door. Panting as we get on the other side of it, I clutch the food to my chest.

“That went well,” he says with a wry twist of his lips.

“Could’ve gone worse,” I counter. But my heart racing doesn’t feel so scary this time. It feels exhilarating, and I can’t stop the smile that stretches across my face.

I’m not crazy. I have lots of people rooting for me. One very important one by my side right now.

Curled up on one end of the couch, Rosemary’s delicious burger in my belly, I stare at my phone while Ben plucks random strings on his guitar. I don’t think he’s actually playing anything specific, more like he needs to keep his hands busy.

My voicemail is full, and there are dozens of texts—some from Roy but others from family and friends. I start with the safer ones: Joy, Shepherd, Mom, and Dad. And then I see their conversation in our family chat, typed when they were searching for me, where they’re openly—albeit theoretically, mostly—talking about killing Roy to defend my honor. Surprisingly, I wasn’t hiding under my bed according to Shep, which makes me snort-laugh.

“What?” Ben asks, his hands instantly freezing on the guitar. He’s been quietly watchful, giving me space to process while keeping a close eye on me from his perch on the other end of the couch. His attention makes me feel grounded, like the entire world as I’ve known it isn’t shifting beneath my feet.

“My brother. He searched under my bed to see if I was hiding there—‘like last time,’ he said. But last time was when I was a kid and got spooked after watching the remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street . I thought Freddy couldn’t find me if I was under the bed instead of in it,” I explain, laughing again at the memory. “But Shepherd did. He grabbed my ankle, and I basically went feral fighting back. I scratched my nails down his face, which served him right. But it was hockey season, and he had to wear a see-through patch over his eye for the next three games, earning him the nickname Uno.” I can’t help but smile at how irritated Shep was about that. Joy and I called him Uno long after his teammates had moved on from it. Come to think of it, I’m not sure what they call him now. Joy would know since she reports on the local team.

“So if I meet him, I should call him Uno?” Ben asks with a straight face.

“Definitely. He’d love that,” I answer, fighting to feign seriousness. “He probably wouldn’t beat you up or anything.” I grin, not able to hide it. As a hockey player, he fights for a living, throwing fists on a pretty regular basis. Still, I think he’d like Ben, and vice versa. There’s something rough and tough about them both, and I can imagine them tussling and then having a mutual respect for each other.

On the other hand, Shepherd has always hated Roy. He called him prissy, which I thought was more about Roy not being a puckhead. But maybe Shep was right and trying to warn me in a subtle way.

“What about Roy? Did he text or call?” Ben plucks a string, then another, but his eyes are fastened on me, reading every inch of my face and body language in a way that feels intimate.

Sighing heavily, I admit, “Yeah, but I haven’t clicked into them yet.”

“Play the first voicemail and the last. That’ll tell you everything you need to know,” he advises sagely. “Do it on speaker. I wanna hear the shitstain’s voice.” A tiny smirk lifts one side of his lips, daring me to hit play.

“Hope? Answer the phone. Look, sorry about the vows or whatever. I got nervous. Where are you?”

That’s the first voicemail. I watch Ben as it plays—seeing his eyes narrow when Roy mentions the vows, the way his head tilts as he listens closely, and the single brow lift at the end.

“First impression? The vows must’ve really sucked, because Joy mentioned them too. However bad they were, it’s not the kick-starter that made you run. You feeling trapped is. Your words, not mine.”

Well, hell’s bells and big tales, he’s 100 percent right on that. But having it thrown back in my face doesn’t feel good. Especially when I’d rather hide from that little truth.

“And he sounds like a brat. ‘Where are you?’” He throws his voice up an octave, sounding much more like a whiny toddler than Roy did, but the similarity isn’t lost on me. “Last one.”

“What the fuck, Hope? You embarrassed me in front of the whole town. Getchur ass back here. Now.”

The difference between the two messages is marked. Roy doesn’t sound at all whiny in the second one. No, he sounds furious, every word spat out through clenched teeth. I’ve seen Roy angry. I know he has a temper, but I’ve never been scared of him. Not a single time in all the years we’ve been together. But now? I’m not scared, exactly, but a tingle runs up my spine. A bad one.

“Where’d you say he hangs out at?” Ben asks, with the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. He looks mad enough to smash the guitar in his hands over Roy’s head.

I shove his knee with my toe. “You’re not going after him any more than my dad or brother are. I don’t need that.”

“What do you need?” Ben plucks a few chords, giving me a moment to think of a real answer, not a flippant, superficial one.

I told Joy I needed time. I told myself that too. But the truth is, I think what I need more than anything is to spread my wings in a way I never have before. I’ve been living inside a cage—a beautiful, comfortable one I willingly went into and that most people would be proud to live in. But before it’s too late, I want to see what I’m capable of. Crash or fly, I want to experience it all. And if I ever choose a cage—ahem, I mean marriage—it’ll be with someone who doesn’t make me feel trapped.

Putting this off and distracting myself isn’t going to do me or Roy any good. I need to grow some metaphorical balls and handle things. Because I may not know what I’m doing, but I know what I’m not doing—marrying Roy.

“I need to call Roy,” I admit. I don’t miss the flash of disappointment in Ben’s eyes, but he starts to leave, presumably to give me privacy to make the call. “Wait. Will you sit with me while I do?”

He presses his lips together but sets his guitar aside and sits back down. Once he’s next to me on the couch, a pillar of strength even though he doesn’t agree with what I’m about to do, I pick up my phone and dial Roy’s number. I have him saved as Hubby To Be , which seems ridiculous now.

“Hope? What the fuck, babe?”

Great greeting there, Roy, I think as I close my eyes against his anger.

“I’m sorry,” I say, hot tears falling down my cheeks. I’m not crying for Roy or even for myself, but for the me I was a few short days ago. That girl’s gone.

“You should be sorry. You left me standing up there like a fucking idiot.”

I swear I hear a rumble in Ben’s chest, and I glance over at him, holding up one finger. I don’t need him to be mad on my behalf. I’ve got this. I think.

“Roy, I’m sorry I left like that. But I can’t marry you. Not now. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.” The words come out in one long, rushed sentence with no breath until the end, when I finally inhale again. It feels like my lungs are expanding for the first time in a long time.

“What?” Roy laughs like he doesn’t believe me, like what I’m saying is a joke, even though I’m dead serious. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” The irony of those two little words isn’t lost on me, and I rush to tack on, “I do mean it.”

“But it’s always been me and you.” Roy sounds off-balance, which I guess I can understand. But that isn’t going to change my mind.

“I know. That’s the problem. I need to just be me for a little while. Figure out who Hope Barlowe is beyond Roy Laurier’s girl.”

“What do you mean? You are my girl. You’ve always been my girl, Hope. Since that first day I saw you in the hallway and put my arm around your shoulders, it’s been us.”

My tears fall freely at the image he pulls up in my mind. I was thrilled when he sought me out in that busy hallway, shocked when he publicly laid claim to me with that possessive arm, and proud to be by his side. I’m not sure when that changed, and walking away from him now is terrifying, but it’s the only thing I’m sure of.

“I know. But all day—when I was getting prepared, when Joy buttoned up my dress, when Dad was walking with me—every moment I should’ve been ready to run down the aisle to you, I was panicking. I almost bolted a dozen times yesterday, and it shouldn’t be like that. You don’t deserve it. Neither do I.” Admitting that is like prying open my chest and showing him my deepest, darkest fears, but he deserves the truth. I owe him that after everything we’ve been through together.

“Where are you? I’ll come get you so we can talk about this face-to-face.” Roy doesn’t address what I said, or at least not head-on. Though I suspect if I were saying this to him directly, I would give in to him. I have so many times before.

Next to me, Ben shakes his head, his eyes stone and his jaw tight like he knows Roy only wants to talk to me “face-to-face” so he can use his presence to convince me to change my mind before I can process more.

I appreciate his strong advice, but I don’t need it. I already know that, too, and can feel it down to my bones that I’ve let Roy convince me of a lot of things over the years.

“No. I don’t want to see you,” I tell him after taking a deep breath. “But you deserve to know what happened yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I know I did. I still am. And I’m sorry.”

I drop the phone in my lap, needing my hands to scrub at the tears streaming down my face in rivers. I sniffle loudly, snot threatening to fall too.

“Hope? Hope?”

I feel Ben take the phone, and through my wet lashes, I see him end the call and set it on the table—surprisingly gently, as if by respecting my phone, he’s respecting me. He’s barely sat back in his seat when I throw myself into his arms, my face pressed to his chest as I fall apart. Again.

He must regret the day that dart landed on Maple Creek because all it’s brought him is drama-filled tears from a hot mess of a girl who doesn’t know herself well enough to have a clue what her next step should be.

“Damn, girl.”

It’s all he says as he rocks me tenderly, running a comforting hand over my hair and down my back. I don’t know how long we stay like that, with him soothing me as my broken heart settles in pieces in my chest.

Eventually, I’m all cried out but I’m too weak to move, and Ben seems to know that, keeping me tucked in against him, supporting me as I sniffle. I feel melted into him, like we’ve melded through our clothes into one blobby, boneless jumble of a being.

“Sorry,” I tell him, forgetting that I’m not supposed to say that.

He chuckles lowly, seeming to read my mind, his chest vibrating beneath my cheek. “Probably warranted this time since you got snot on my shirt.”

“Oh!” I try to pull away, but he keeps a tight hold on me with his long, strong arms, not letting me move.

“It’s fine, Hope. Just breathe.”

I try to, I swear. But me and oxygen aren’t friends right now, and I’m hiccuping as I try to get air into my lungs. This must be what drowning feels like. I’m suffocating in my panic.

“Tell me three things you hear.”

“What?” I ask, confused by the simple demand.

“Three things you hear. It’s a trick I use when I get nervous,” he shares.

I can’t imagine him ever being nervous. He’s taken everything in stride, steady and sure no matter what I keep throwing at him or getting him involved in.

“Um, the kids outside,” I say, listening carefully. “The refrigerator. And ... your heartbeat.” That last one is the loudest thing I hear but the hardest to say, feeling more intimate than it should be.

“Good,” he praises me. “Two things you smell.”

“French fries. Sandalwood.”

“Yes. Lunch and my cologne,” he says. “One thing you see. Focus on one thing.”

I have to pry my eyes open because they’re gritty and puffy from all the tears. I can’t lift my head to look at Ben, feeling gross and embarrassed from having another meltdown. “Black cotton.” It’s all I can see when my eyes are locked on his chest, which is rising and falling slowly. I want to press my cheek back there again, taking comfort in the thrum of his heartbeat and ignoring the bonfire I just lit on my life by calling Roy.

But it needed to happen. He deserves that. I do too.

“Good girl.” He lifts my chin with his finger, forcing my eyes up to his. I expect to see pity there, sorrow for the lost girl who doesn’t know what she wants or who she is, but what I find is approval. “You are so fucking strong. That was hard as hell, yet you did it. You should be proud of yourself.”

Stunned, I don’t know what to say. But I think the warm spot blooming in my chest might be a bit of pride. I won’t discuss the heat that’s lower in my belly from Ben calling me a good girl and looking at me like that, because I’m not one of those girls who jumps from one guy to another, too scared to be alone. Nope, alone is exactly what I want to be.