Merrily Yours (The Bardot Siblings)

Chapter 4

“What I like about Christmas is that you can make people forget the past with the present.” — Don Marquis

“Ben-o-it?”

“Ethel, you’ve known me since I was in diapers. You know that’s not how you say my name,” I admonish the ancient barista behind the counter.

She winks at me, the flirt, and then hands me a coffee that I know will be subpar at best. Because that’s what you get at The Coffee Shop in Sassafras, Massachusetts. Subpar coffee.

“Are the rumors true?” I prod.

Ethel’s hands busy themselves tidying up behind the counter. A sugar shaker tips over and I round the counter to help clean it up. She pats me lightly on the cheek and then says, “Rumors?” Like she has no idea what I’m talking about.

Narrowing my eyes, I pin her with a gaze. “Mhmm,” I draw out. My fingers drum on the countertop as I evaluate what move I’ll make next in our battle of… not wits, exactly. Battle of stubbornness, maybe?

I decide to play the unaffected card, shrugging my shoulders. I grab my coffee and feel as it warms my fingers through the flimsy paper cup. I turn to walk away but feel a papery hand grip mine. Our eyes meet and Ethel nods toward the supply closet.

“You know we can’t keep up these trysts, Ethel. Albert is bound to find out eventually,” I tease as she tugs me along behind her.

“Oh hush, you!” She closes the door and leans in conspiratorially. “The rumors…”

“What rumors, Ethel?” I ask, feigning innocence.

She looks around as though she’ll find someone else in the supply closet with us. “The rumors,” she continues. “They’re true.”

I gasp, mostly for dramatic effect, though this is actually pretty shocking. I can feel a headache forming from how hard the wheels are turning. If Ethel and Albert are really selling the shop this time…

“I just want to clarify, Ethel, my darling”—she blushes furiously at the endearment—“that you are referring to the sale of The Coffee Shop and not the rumor about Smelly Jim changing his cologne, right?”

Her eyes almost roll right out of her head. “For heaven’s sake, Benoit. Yes, I’m referring to the sale of the shop.”

We both stare at each other for a beat.

“Are you interested?” she asks at the same time I say, “I want it.”

She taps her chin gingerly with one wrinkled finger. “Interesting…”

“Is it really, Ethel? You know how much the shop means to us.”

Ethel considers me. “I don’t think I can sell to an out of towner,” she concludes.

I huff, running a hand through my hair. “Darling, you know I’m a Sassifrasian through and through.”

A subtle nod toward the Red Sox logo on my shirt is her only reply. I narrow my eyes in return. “You’re a Red Sox fan too, Ethel,” I remind her.

“Yes, but I don’t live in Boston unlike some people in this closet.”

It’s only us in the closet.

I make what might be a rash decision when I say, “I’m moving back.”

Her eyebrow quirks as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is that so?”

“It is.” I’m reassuring myself as much as I am her. “I’ll be back by the summer. Let me make some arrangements—promise you won’t entertain other offers,” I plead.

“If you make it back by summer, I promise I won’t entertain other offers,” she replies, her hand shaking mine with a surprisingly firm grip.

Ethel, having apparently gotten what she wanted, then turns and walks out of the supply closet and straight into her .

Dammit.

I make fun of Bex’s obsession with Anders’ hair, but what no one else knows is how her long, thick auburn hair haunts me.

Colette Russell. Or Cole, as her friends called her.

I was not her friend.

She was my high school nemesis and always one step ahead of me—it was infuriating .

Valedictorian by a tenth of a point.

First place at the state debate competition by a tenth of a point.

Cross country record holder by—okay that one she actually has me beat by more than a second.

Like I said, infuriating.

“Colette,” I grit out and relish watching her head whip around so fast, her ponytail hits her in the face.

I’d really like to wrap that ponytail around my fist.

“Benoit,” she replies, a cool mask sliding into place. “I didn’t realize you were home.”

“It’s Christmas,” I state matter-of-factly.

“You don’t always come home for holidays,” she replies and then flinches so subtly, I might have missed it if I hadn’t spent four years studying her tells.

“Keeping tabs on me, sweets?”

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses. It’s too easy to rile her up.

I step closer, crowding her space. “Hmm, what should I call you instead?” I ask.

Her lips part to answer and I’m mesmerized, magnetized, ready to?—

“Cole?” a deep voice cuts in. We both turn toward the sound but don’t move away from each other.

We stare at him for a moment before realizing where we are, as if we are both coming out of a hate-induced trance. The man waiting for her is objectively good looking. Tall. Blond. Not her type.

She clears her throat, pulling my attention back to those parted lips. “I’m on a date,” she says, watching me. Calculating her next move depending on what mine will be.

I take a step away and shove my hands in my pockets. “Of course you are,” I reply. “You are almost thirty, aren’t you?” A reminder that I haven’t forgotten about our pact.

She glares at me and then turns without another word. Her ponytail swishing as she walks to the counter with her date.

“What the fuck was that about?”

I jump, not realizing Bex and Jules have finally arrived, just in time to witness my run-in with Colette.

“Is that Cole Russell?” Jules asks. “She looks good.”

His remark is casual. And deliberate. As my twin, Jules always knows the right thing to say to bait me into a reaction.

So I just hum—something that could be an agreement, but it’s probably not. Probably.

“Okay, can you both stop the weird twinning? I’m ready to sit down.”

I already have my coffee, but Jules and Bex have yet to order. I find a table for the three of us while they get their drinks from Ethel.

When they sit down across from me, I know more questions are coming so I stop them by asking, “Are you even allowed to drink coffee?”

Bex groans. “Not you too! Yes, you ignorant man. I can take care of my own body, a healthy toddler, and the baby growing inside me, thank you very much.”

I lift my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I just know how much coffee Mom drank when she was pregnant with you and… well…” I let the insinuation hang in the air.

“There’s actually no way you remember how much coffee Mom drank. We were two.” Jules—the ever present logical mind.

“Way to ruin my fun, JuJu!” I say. “You’re right, I don’t remember. And you can have whatever you want,” I say to Bex, leaning back in my chair. “Have a glass of wine if it’ll help you unwind. Whatever you need, we can get it for you.”

Bex inhales, watching to see if I’m joking or not and then quickly picks up a napkin to dab under her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, why are you being nice to me?”

“Because you’re my sister and I love you and I love my niece and my unborn niece or nephew. As much as we tried to make your life miserable growing up, I feel like I need to atone for some of that now,” I reply.

“ We …” Jules mutters and then he sets his hand in the middle of the table, and Bex looks at him knowingly before setting her own down on top of it. Then they both turn their gazes toward me and wait.

“Oh! Uh—is this like a little league situation?” I ask, placing my hand on top. They both nod and then pile their other hands in, waiting for me to place mine last. Bex lays her head down on her forearm and mumbles incoherently.

Jules and I exchange a look before he asks, “What was that, BB?”

She lifts her head back up, crying again. “I just really want a cold cut sandwich,” she wails.

Jules nods as if he understands what that means. Trying to be helpful, I ask, “Do you… do you want me to go grab you one?” I look at my phone and see that it’s just past 9:00 A.M. “I’m not sure if the deli is open yet, but?—”

“I can’t fucking have one,” Bex cuts me off. “Coffee, fine. Wontons, fine. Cold cuts? Nope. Soft cheese? Unacceptable.” She scowls down at her stomach. “I wanted cheese so bad when I was pregnant with Elodie. She was almost named Brie.”

Jules and I suppress smiles. “It’s not funny!” Bex exclaims, pulling her hands out of our pile.

“You’re right, it’s—” Red hair catches my attention. That damn ponytail bouncing up and down as Colette listens intently to whatever her moron date is saying. They find a table and he pulls her chair out, waiting for her to sit down before pushing her in, like a child. She doesn’t need his help, she’s a grown woman. She’s probably incredibly irritated that he’s still standing there as she awkwardly scratches the chair legs across the floor.

A throat clears and I realize I’ve been caught.

“Oh my God, you’re obsessed with her.” Bex’s eyes gleam, like I’ve told her she actually is allowed to have a cold cut sandwich.

“I hate her.” I don’t hate her.

“You don’t hate her,” Jules says, reading my mind.

My eyes narrow. “Stop reading my mind.”

“Stop wearing your mind on your face.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” I scoff.

“Will both of you please shut up?” Bex hisses before turning her now scrutinizing gaze on me. “So… what are you going to do about it?”

Now I’m confused. “About what?”

Bex’s sigh is longsuffering. “About the fact that you’re in love with her and she’s on a date with another man.” She throws the phrase out as if it means nothing.

In love.

Ridiculous.

“There’s a fine line between love and hate,” Jules interjects.

“So they say.” Bex sips her coffee, considering me for a moment before coming to a decision. She opens her mouth, closes it. Does it again. And then finally shrugs her shoulders and leans back in the chair, seemingly giving up on her task.

“Giving up so quickly, Rebecca?” I ask.

“Listen, I’m too pregnant for this,” she replies, rubbing circles on her stomach. “I would love for one of you to give me a sister, but I stopped holding my breath waiting for that a long time ago.”

“You don’t need a sister, you have three brothers!” I reply.

“Do you hear yourself?” she asks. “That’s exactly why I want a sister!”

I wave her off, my attention returning to Colette and her date. She’s fiddling with the rim of the coffee cup—another one of her tells that her date is completely oblivious to.

I bet he’s a banker, he looks like a douchey finance bro.

“You’re a douchey finance bro, too,” Bex says.

I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.

“Yeah, but I’m not like that .” I wave toward them, catching Colette’s attention. She glowers at me before returning to her conversation. “He can’t even properly hold her attention!”

Jules huffs. “You’re sulking. Go do something about it if it bothers you that much.”

I sink into my chair, thinking about what Jules is saying. Am I sulking? Do I actually care what Colette Russell thinks of me?

No.

Maybe.

Bleh, I don’t like this much introspection. “So, what’s new with you, Julesy?”

“Smooth transition,” Bex mutters.

I ignore her.

“Nothing really. Things are good,” Jules says, taking pity on me. “I did hear rumors about The Coffee Shop going up for sale. I need to ask Ethel about it.” He drums his fingers on the table nervously.

I know the shop means as much to him as it does to me. He can’t afford it on his teacher salary though, which is why I wanted to corner Ethel this morning. I can afford it on my douchey finance bro salary.

Leaning in, I whisper, “The rumors are true.”

Jules' head shoots up, his eyes meeting mine. They’re full of poorly concealed hope.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “How do you know?”

I shrug. “I got Ethel to admit it before you got here.”

“Is that why you were in the supply closet together?” Bex asks.

“Don’t tell Albert.”

She mimes zipping her lips.

“How much do you think they want for it?” Jules asks.

“Doesn’t matter. She said she won’t entertain other offers as long as I’m back by the summer.”

“You’re really moving back?” Bex’s shocked tone matches my twin’s shocked expression.

Boston has been fun. It’s got so much more to offer than Sassafras, but it’s not home . As much as Bex teases, I am ready to settle down. Find someone who will tolerate me for more than a night. And I miss my family. After growing up attached at the hip to my siblings, I was ready to be on my own. Where I wasn’t one of the Bardots, I was just Ben.

In doing that, though, I lost part of my identity.

Nodding in answer to Bex’s question, I let the idea of moving back really, truly sink in.

And it feels really damn good.

Forty five minutes later, Colette is still making eyes at me as she half-pays attention to blondie. Not the good kind of eyes, however. More like she’s one second away from switching seats so she doesn’t have to keep looking at me.

“Okay, I’m sick of sitting here watching you drool. I’m going home to my own redhead—see you suckers later,” Bex announces, sliding out from her seat and standing to leave.

“I’ll head out too,” Jules adds. He slides his black leather jacket on and readjusts his man bun.

I hop up too because I’m not going to stay here by myself. “I’ll see you back at the house, I’m just going to say goodbye to Ethel real quick.”

Bex and Jules walk away as I gather my empty cup and wave to Ethel. “Remember our deal,” I call out across the room.

Colette’s head whips toward me, and I relish the fact that she thought I was talking to her. I adopt a smug expression and walk toward her table, much to her chagrin.

I ignore blondie and lean down into Colette’s space. “I wasn’t talking about you, sweets, but I’m glad to see I’m top of mind.”

She glares at me, opening her mouth before being interrupted by Finance Bro Ken. “Uh, can we help you with something?”

I keep my eyes on Colette. “I don’t know… Colette, can he help us with something?”

“That’s not really what I…”

“What is wrong with you?” she hisses.

I reach out and stop her hands from fiddling with the rim of her mug. “I’m just sick of watching you practically falling asleep over here. You need to be stimulated, Cole.” I lean in even closer. “He’s not very stimulating is he?” I whisper.

“What the fuck? I can hear you.”

“And how would you know what I need?” Colette asks. “You might have known me in high school, but you don’t know me anymore, Benoit.” She smirks, thinking she has the upper hand.

“Oh but I do. And you hate that don’t you?”

“I hate you ,” she seethes.

Somewhere in the background, I hear blondie pushing his chair back. “Woah, maybe I should…”

That catches Colette’s attention. “No! Brody, don’t leave. Benoit is the one who is going to leave!”

I pull up a chair instead, turning it so I can rest my elbows on the chair back and prop my chin in my hands. “Nah, I think I’ll stay.” I grin.

“Yeah, I’m out of here,” Brody says.

“Bye, Ken!” I wave, still looking at Colette.

“Wait, Brody!” Colette gets up to follow him and then thinks better of it, instead turning her wrath on me.

“Get fucked, Bardot.”

“I’m trying, Red.”

She scoffs. “As if. I would never touch you with a ten foot pole.”

I pointedly look over to where she’s stabbing me in the shoulder with her finger. She immediately pulls back as though she’s been burned.

And maybe she has.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you are too good for that dickhead.”

“Complimenting me now, Benoit? You’ve lost your touch,” she snips.

Humming, I push to stand. I stare at her before doing something astronomically stupid. I take a piece of her ponytail between my fingers, wrapping it once and tugging just slightly. “Hmm…” I watch as her eyes darken. “I don’t think I have.”

Forcing myself to let go, I walk away.

I get all the way to the door before saying, “Seven months and two days, Colette.”

I look back over my shoulder and enjoy watching that pretty mouth pop into a perfect “O.”

It’s good to be home.