Page 63 of Just a Plot Twist
Before kids, though, there’s the little matter of falling in love with someone first. Predictably, an image of Benson flashes through my consciousmind. The way he looked on the beach, his white shirt unbuttoned so casually, his broad shoulders. The steady warmth of him as he gathered me in his arms while we sat in the sand and looked at the stars.
But.
There is no time for daydreams.
Inez side shuffles to my door, hanging onto her belly for dear life. But instead of leaving, she gives me a leveled stare. “So? Saturday night was fun, eh?”
This again? I try to cover my smile, but it doesn’t work. “Most of it wasn’t fun, considering. But it was surprising. Benson had Sebastian Tate set up a burger delivery for us and we sat on the beach and talked.”
“Burgers on the beach? Okay. That’s hot.”
I snicker. “Not as hot as Benson was with his tux tie all undone and everything.”
Inez sobers. “Shut. Up.” She returns to the chair and sinks down into it again.
“I’m serious. It was like a scene from a movie.”
“You go, girl.”
I refuse to meet her gaze. “Well, it was fun, but nothing more.”
“Why not?”
“Technically, he’s a Tate and my grandparents hate the Tates.”
“He’s not, though. He’s a Kilpack. And they like Oliver fine.”
I finally dare to look at her. “They tolerate him. But their tolerance doesn’t spill over to the rest of the family.”
“Do you think he likes you?”
“We sort of…snuggled? Is that what you’d call it? So what does that mean? He was hanging out with me at the extravaganza at first out of chivalry, with my bum ankle and all. He’s duty bound.” I snort. “Which of course makes him that much more attractive.” I send out a blip of a groan, then slam my hands down on my desk.
“But no!” I have to focus on getting the city manager job.” I finish that last part in a low voice. No use Rich McClain or anyone else hearing my deepest desires for my career.
“You can date and be a city manager. This isn’t the 1950s, Claire. You don’t have to choose.”
“Youkind of did have to choose though,” I point out. She’s giving up her job for her family, which I totally respect. It’s not as easy to juggle everything as people pretend it to be.
What Inez doesn’t understand is that I secretly love the 1950s. Not the oppression of women part or the no-internet or lack of choices or resources parts.
But the celebration of domestic life was kind of a glorious thing. The pretty aprons. The perfect hair. The glorification of motherhood and housecoats and cooking three square meals a day for your family.
It’s what Grandma did for us. Despite her strong personality, she was totally the whole “the kids need cookies and a glass of milk after school” type of person. Complete with fabric napkins, which I actually loved.
And okay, I don’t want to go all in on the 1950s thing. Please don’t make me wear a girdle! Give me my leggings and swingy belly shirts, thank you very much.
And…could I cook just maybe one square meal a day and the rest we can eat from a box or get takeout or something?
Honestly, I want a family so dang much. A chance to create something that I never got to have as a kid.
But Benson and his family, as adorable as they are, aren’t what I pictured in my head. Having to share the kids with their mom and stepdad would be hard. It’s not what I’ve imagined for myself.
I stand and rest a hand on Inez’s elbow. “Hey, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Is there anything I can do? Anything I can take off your plate?”
“You’re already doing like three-fourths of my job right now. And like you mentioned, I am having to choose one or the other. I go back and forth on if I’m ready to leave permanently, though.”
“You do?” Maybe she’ll decide to come back after maternity leave.
