Chapter Nine
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Jason
"Oh, it was…an experience," Ben chuckles, leaning back in the booth across from me, starting to look more relaxed.
"Caleb is a sweetheart. A whirlwind, but a sweetheart nonetheless.
We were working on some mockups for wedding bouquets," he pauses to take a sip of his water, "and somehow he managed to get a petal stuck to his forehead.
I mean, seriously, how did he not feel it?
" He tells me while pointing to his forehead.
I grin at his animated motions. "I swear he walked around the workroom for about twenty minutes until Barrett came in and plucked it off like it wasn't the first time it had happened. "
When I first moved to Rockport Ridge, I met Caleb while he was still working at Steamed.
He was so quiet and shy. Over the years, he has really found himself.
Barrett has played a significant role in helping Caleb blossom into the young man he is today.
Always there to be his guide but never an anchor to hold him back.
"Sounds like you had a good first day." I let out a breathy laugh before setting my wine glass on the table. There's a softness in his eyes.
"I really did." Ben looks down at his water glass, running his fingers through the condensation on the side.
"But that wasn't even the best part. Later, he was trying to demonstrate how to wire a lily–mine seemed to droop a little–and the whole stem snapped.
The lily sort of launched itself and landed in the middle of a container filled with delicate baby's breath.
Imagine a tiny, white explosion. Caleb looked like he was going to cry, but then he just started trying to scoop up the tiny flowers with his bare hands. It was tragically…beautiful."
I hide my smile behind my glass.
"It was never boring with Caleb around. I think I might actually enjoy this job. It's like a constant, floral-scented improv show. Just gotta keep an eye out for flying lilies and rogue petals, apparently." He laughs as the waiter drops off our food.
After a few moments of silence, Ben moans around a mouthful of lasagna, and my thoughts go somewhere they shouldn't.
I clear my throat.
"So…how is working with Barrett?" I try to keep my voice light, nonchalant, as if merely curious about his new boss.
The question itself feels like a loose petal, threatening to detach and land somewhere it shouldn't.
I know, logically, that Barrett is Caleb's husband and daddy.
Yet, a tiny knot of something––envy?––still tightens in my chest.
Ben, oblivious to my internal drama, nods.
"Barrett's great. He treated us to lunch.
He ordered sandwiches from the cafe with fries.
He's totally professional, too. Never prying into my personal life, unlike Caleb.
" He takes another bite of food and starts fidgeting with his fork.
"Caleb could be waltzing around the workroom with a plant, and Barrett wouldn't be phased one bit. They balance each other."
I can picture it. And Ben's right, they do balance each other.
I realize that this feeling I have isn't jealousy—it's admiration.
Ben has gone quiet, and I notice a shift in his demeanor. Did something happen?
"What's wrong, little one?" I whisper, reaching my hand across the table to offer some support.
Ben looks up at me, sadness in his eyes. The typical lightness I have seen all night has dimmed.
"Yeah, Barrett's…he's great. Really. He's just, you know, he's got a lot on his plate too.
" He pauses, a hesitant sigh escaping him.
"Actually, speaking of plates…or rather, papers…
I was hoping you could help me with something.
There are some forms for the shop that I need to feel out, and they're a bit… fiddly."
Ben looks up and finally meets my eyes. There is a flicker of something akin to vulnerability there. I recognize that look. It's the same one I see sometimes in my kindergartners when they are struggling with a new skill. A quiet battle with something that feels impossibly difficult.
"Fiddly forms?" I echo. My tone softens. "What kind of fiddly?"
I push my plate aside, a sudden clarity washing over me. I understand that Ben isn't forgetful or disorganized. He needs a different kind of support.
Ben swallows, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It…it's hard for me to read some of it. The small print, the way the letters blur together sometimes. I’m…I’m dyslexic.
And Barrett needs me to get everything filled out so I can get paid, along with insurance stuff.
He wants everything turned back into him by the end of the week, and I'm just…
I feel like…I feel…I'm drowning." He looks down again, a blush creeping up his neck.
"I know you work with little kids, and you're good at explaining things, so I thought… maybe…"
My heart aches for him. He's so open and vulnerable that I wish I could pull him into my lap and hold him, protecting him from the world.
"Oh, little one." My voice is warm and reassuring.
"That was very brave of you, Ben. I'm proud of you for being open with me.
" He blushes harder at my praise. "Of course I'll help you.
Dyslexic? That just means your brain is wired a little differently, not that you're any less capable.
In fact, it often means you're incredibly creative.
And yes, I do work with kids, and I'm rather good at breaking things down.
How about meeting tomorrow after work? We can go over to Steamed, grab a snack, and tackle those forms together. No drowning allowed."
A palpable wave of relief washes over Ben's face. The tension in his shoulders eased, and the vulnerability in his eyes softened into a look of gratitude.
"Really, Jason? You'd do that? I didn't want Barrett to think I was incompetent after only a day, and that's why I asked to take the forms home."
"You're not incompetent, Ben," I tell him firmly, reaching across the table to briefly cover Ben's hand with my own. "Everyone needs a little help sometimes. Think of it as another flower arrangement. We'll just arrange these papers into something that makes sense."
The car cruises through the darkening streets, with soft jazz music coming from the speakers. I kept the stereo's volume low enough that we could talk without having to speak over the music.
I point out a few landmarks with the ease of a local guide.
"See that old theater? They do live music on Fridays." I gesture towards a brightly lit bakery. "And that's where you can get the most ridiculously decadent sweets that your heart desires." I look over and see a soft smile on Ben’s face, absorbing the new geography of his life.
I am more than happy to be his compass.
As the night deepens, a craving for something sweet settles in, and I know just the place.
We pull up to a brightly lit drive-thru, the scent of roasted beans and sugar wafting into the car.
"The best hot chocolate in town," I announce, rolling down my window. "Extra marshmallows, right?"
Ben nods eagerly, a hint of that earlier vulnerability returning, but this time it's tinged with a gentle anticipation.
The steaming cups, piled high with fluffy white marshmallows, are passed through the window. I set mine in the cup holder and then handed one to Ben. Our fingers brush against each other in the low light. The warmth of the cup seeps into my hands, mirroring the warmth spreading through my chest.
I pull out of the drive-thru before looking at Ben, who is taking a slow, deep sip. His eyes are closed, and I watch his throat swallow the sweet liquid.
I mirror his action; except I keep my eyes open so I can keep an eye on the road.
For a moment, the only sounds are the gentle hum of the engine and the soft slurping of hot chocolate, a shared, quiet comfort as we continue the drive under the canopy of snow flurries.
"I would hate to cut the night short, but I have school tomorrow," I tease.
"And I have work."
"Can I give you a ride home?" I ask. Hopeful.
"Actually," Ben begins, his gaze flicking towards the shops across the street, "I need to pick up my van from the shop. Maybe you could just…drop me off there? I have to grab it before tomorrow."
I feel my brow furrow slightly, a fleeting shadow of disappointment crossing my features, but I try to quickly mask it. "The shop? Sure, no problem."
I turn the car around and head in the direction of Peonies and Petals.
Pulling up to the familiar facade of the flower shop, the dim glow of the street lamp serves as a beacon in the night. Ben opens the car door, a gust of cold air carrying the faint, sweet scent of lilies and roses.
"Thanks again, Jason," he says, turning back. The streetlight casts a warm glow on his face. My heart gives another surprising little lurch. I want to say something, anything, that would extend this night a little longer. But I know we both have work tomorrow.
Ben leans in, his gaze softening. I see the question in his eyes, the unspoken curiosity. I catch his intention and meet him halfway.
Our lips brush, a tentative, feather-light touch that sends a surprising jolt straight through me. It is a whisper of a kiss, barely there, yet it holds all the promise of a future bloom.
"Tomorrow," Ben murmurs, his voice a soft promise.
I nod, a hopeful smile spreading across my face. "Tomorrow."
With a final, lingering glance, Ben steps out of the car and heads towards his van. I watch him climb inside, the gentle kiss still a warm ember on my lips.