Monica Murphy: Savor

The truth? That sounds ominous. But there’s no truth to be told, at least not yet. Ivy merely smiles at me, then changes the subject. We talk about everything and nothing while we wait for our food, Marina and Ivy chattering on while I interject when asked. Other than that, I remain silent, drinking in the cute yet hip atmosphere of the café.

Our lunches finally arrive and I dive right in, holding nothing back. I’m freaking starved and usually I eat at home, rarely going out, only because I know hardly anyone. And, since I don’t cook, I eat pitiful meals that consist of Lean Cuisine microwaved meals or premade salads I pick up at the local grocery store. After I finish, they always leave me feeling empty and unsatisfied.

Kind of like my life.

Halfway through my sandwich, I realize the other women aren’t eating. Glancing up from my plate, I catch both Ivy and Marina staring at me like I’m an alien who just landed on planet Earth.

I slowly chew what’s in my mouth then swallow, setting the sandwich carefully on my plate. “Um, do I have something on my face?”

Marina shakes her head. “Do you never eat? Because you’re acting like a starved woman.”

“I don’t get out much,” I admit, feeling infinitely stupid.

“Give her a break and take it as a compliment. Clearly she loves your sandwiches,” Ivy says, her smile kind.

“I’m not giving her a hard time. I just . . . we don’t normally see girls our age devour a sandwich like that,” Marina explains.

This makes me feel even worse. I’m an absolute pig. But I eat such crappy meals, and I really don’t think a soup and sandwich indulgence will do me any harm.

“Being pregnant is absolute freedom. I love eating without worry.” Ivy takes a huge bite out of her sandwich for emphasis.

“You’re not pregnant are you, Bryn? That’s not your excuse, right?” Marina asks.

I’m horrified at her question. Pregnant? Heaven forbid. “Absolutely not,” I say with conviction.

Ivy bursts out laughing, pressing a hand to her chest. “Well, thank goodness. That would’ve torn our plan to shreds.”

Okay. I’m done with the mystery. I feel like I’m their little project, and I don’t like it. “What exactly is going on here?”

“What do you mean?” Ivy asks.

“I feel like you’ve invited me here for lunch under false pretenses.” I hate that I’m skeptical of everyone, but I can’t help myself. My entire life I’ve always felt like someone wants something from me. It’s made me throw up walls and become ultradefensive.

I have no idea what they’re up to and it’s making me uncomfortable.

“Just tell her Ivy,” Marina mumbles, making me even more nervous.

These women in the Napa Valley are weird. And I thought Hollywood was full of strange people.

“Oh fine.” Ivy blows out an irritated sigh. “I wanted this to be a surprise, but you’re getting too twitchy. We want to try and pair you up with Matt.”

I gape at her. Wait. What? “Are you talking about Matt—as in my boss, Matt DeLuca?”

Now it’s Ivy’s turn to roll her eyes. “Do you know another Matt?”

Well, I went to school with Matt Short but he’s still back in Cactus, running his daddy’s welding business last I heard. “But he’s my boss,” I stress, thinking of another boss I had. The one with the kids and the wife and the wandering hands, the one who literally chased me so fast around his desk we probably wore a path in the carpet.

“So?” Ivy waves her hand, dismissing my concerns. “I think he has the hots for you.”

I refuse to let that bit of information spark hope in my chest. Forget it. “I doubt that. I’m his assistant.” Who wears drab clothing and tries to be efficient but forgettable.

“So? Attraction is attraction.” Ivy shrugs, taking a bite from her sandwich.

I watch her and Marina eat, the both of them completely unaffected while inside my nerves are in chaos. It’s one thing to be attracted to my boss and keep my feelings secret.

It’s quite another to have others notice that there might be something between us and actually want me to act on it.

“I’m not his type,” I finally say, unable to come right out and say what I really feel.

I dress like this and act like this on purpose. I don’t want Matt DeLuca’s attention. I don’t want him to notice me!

Lately though, I do. I have to fight it every day. It would be so easy, to throw on a short skirt and a revealing top, saunter into his office and lick my lips before flashing my sauciest smile. Wear my hair down and flip it over my shoulder, thrust my chest out and let him get a look at my breasts because even I can admit they’re pretty nice.

But I don’t do any of that. It’s not worth the trouble.

“I think you’re hiding beneath that exterior. I’ve never seen you look better than right now,” Ivy says matter-of-factly.

I’m wearing a red T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and my hair is in a high ponytail. Not a lick of makeup is on my face and the jeans fit my curvier self from a year ago so they’re kind of saggy. Not the most flattering thing I own.

“Gee thanks,” I mutter.

“I’m being serious. The way you dress, the way you present yourself to everyone, it doesn’t feel real. It’s like you’re doing your best to hide.” Ivy contemplates me, her gaze roving over my face, and I almost want to squirm, she’s making me so uncomfortable. “You have a beautiful face.”

Oh, no. “Thank you,” I say uncertainly.

Ivy narrows her eyes, nudges Marina with her elbow. “Like, really beautiful. You could pass for Angelina Jolie. Don’t you think, Marina?”

“Please.” I’ve been told that once or twice. Usually by some lecherous, so-called director I’m reading a script for who’s hoping to get in my panties before he’ll give me the part. I don’t miss Hollywood at all. “I look nothing like her.”

Now it’s Marina’s turn to scrutinize me. “Yeah, actually you kind of do look like her.”

My appetite evaporates, just like that. I stare at my half-eaten sandwich, sad that I can’t enjoy it any longer.

“Where are you from anyway, Bryn? I don’t think you’ve ever told me,” Ivy says.

“I came here from southern California.” I shrug, being deliberately vague.

“And where did you come from before that?” Marina asks. “You have a slight accent.”

Crap. I thought I’d banished that twang for good. “Fine. I grew up in Texas,” I say with a sigh. “A little town I’m sure you’ve never heard of.”

“Now I’m dying to know,” Marina says.

I’d come to California to forget my past and start fresh. I want a new chance, to be a new me. Not sit over lunch and reminisce. “Cactus, Texas, population three thousand-two hundred. Right at the tippy-top of the state,” I say.

Ivy grins. “You said tippy-top.”

My cheeks are hot. “I guess I’m still a bit of a hick.” I am such a hick. And in this town full of rich people, where everything is beautiful, and lush, and green, I’m nothing but a simple girl.

“You are not a hick. You’re adorable.” Ivy smiles and picks up her glass of ice water, sipping from the straw. “Let’s finish lunch and go shopping before my mid-afternoon exhaustion sets in.”

“We’re going to Ross, right?” I ask weakly, knowing there wasn’t a Ross Dress for Less anywhere near St. Helena.

“Absolutely not,” Ivy says firmly, Marina nodding in agreement.

“There are a few boutiques nearby where I think we’ll find something. Something amazing to knock Matt’s socks off,” Marina says.

“Why are you two so determined to hook me up with Matt?” I shouldn’t even consider messing around with my boss. And I don’t get why these two women are so willing to set their friend up with his assistant—as in me. It made no sense.