Chapter 11 #2
Kate thought about it. “Ice fishing in the early morning when no one else is on the pond. Hot, steaming coffee. The way Pop's face lights up when he remembers all our names. The quiet before guests wake up.” She paused. “Working on Mom's chairs in your workshop.”
“That made you happy?”
“It made me feel... useful in a different way. Creating something instead of just maintaining.” She looked at him. “What makes you happy?”
“Right now? This. Dinner with you when you're not running away or looking for exits.” He held up a hand before she could protest. “You've checked the door three times since we sat down.”
Kate hadn't realized she'd been doing it. “Habit.”
“Or escape planning.”
“Maybe both.”
“That’s why I included food. I figure, even if you want to run, you wouldn’t leave behind a perfectly delicious dinner.”
Kate laughed in spite of herself.
They talked more over dinner, safe topics like the renovation plans, the best spots for fishing, whether the Bruins had a chance this year.
Kate found herself relaxing despite her determination to stay guarded.
Ben had a way of making conversation easy, not pushing when she deflected, offering bits of himself without demanding reciprocation.
It was over dessert, blueberry pie they shared, that he brought up her family.
“Your brothers are protective of you, and I assume, Dani. I think that’s nice.”
“They weren't always. They discovered brotherly concern about five minutes ago.”
“Maybe they realized what they've been missing.”
“Maybe they realized Lillian's money made visiting worthwhile.”
“That's harsh.”
“That's honest.” Kate set down her fork. “Everyone's suddenly interested now that we're not failing. Where were they when I was trying to hold everything together with duct tape and prayer?”
“Building their own lives. Like you were before your father got sick. You can’t be angry at them for that.”
“That's different.”
“How?”
“Someone had to stay.”
“Did it have to be you?”
The question hung between them. Kate had asked herself the same thing a thousand times at three a.m., when Pop was wandering and the bills were mounting and she felt like she was drowning.
“Yes,” she said finally. “It had to be me. I was the only one who loved the inn like Mom did. The only one who understood what it meant.”
“And what does it mean?”
“Home. Not just a house or a business, but the place where we became a family. Where Mom chose love over money. Where she was happy despite everything she gave up.”
“Was she happy?”
Kate thought about the photos she'd been finding, her mother's genuine smile, the way she'd thrown herself into inn life with enthusiasm. “I think so. I hope so.”
“Are you?”
“I don't know what happiness looks like for me anymore.”
Ben reached across the table, covered her hand with his. Kate's instinct was to pull away, but she forced herself to stay still.
“Maybe you could figure it out,” he said. “If you stopped running long enough.”
“I'm not running. I'm sitting right here.”
“Your body is. But Katie, you're already halfway out the door in your mind.”
He was right, and that irritated her more than his presumptions. She pulled her hand away then.
“We should go. It's getting late.”
Ben didn't push. He paid the check despite her protests, helped her into her coat, and didn’t say another word as he drove her home in silence. But when they pulled up to the inn, he turned to her before she could escape.
“I know you think I'm presumptuous,” he said. “Thinking I know you after three weeks. Even though I used to smile every time you walked into the cafeteria at school. You're right, I don't know you, not really. But I'd like to. If you'd let me.”
“Why?”
“Because something about you feels like home to me. And I think, maybe something about me feels safe to you, even if you won't admit it.”
Kate wanted to deny it, but there was truth in his words. She did feel safe with him, which was exactly why she needed to keep her distance. Safe was dangerous. Safe made you vulnerable.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said instead of responding.
“Kate…”
“Goodnight, Ben.”
She got out before he could say more, walked into the inn without looking back. Inside, she found Tom in the office, still working despite the late hour.
“How was it?” he asked without looking up from his laptop.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Tom, I'm not discussing my date with you.”
He looked up then. “You called it a date.”
She tried to ignore him.
“You okay? You look...”
“What?”
“Sad. Or scared. Maybe both.”
Kate laughed, but it came out brittle. “Everyone keeps telling me how I look, what I feel. Maybe you're all projecting.”
“Or maybe we see what you're trying to hide.”
“There's nothing to see.”
“Katie.” Tom's voice was gentle. “It's okay to want something for yourself.”
“Is it? Because every time I've wanted something for myself, someone else needed me more. And now I don't even know what I want versus what everyone expects me to want.”
“No one expects…”
“Everyone expects. Dani expects me to embrace change. Lillian expects cooperation. Pop expects me to keep everything the same. The town expects me to fail. And Ben...” She paused. “Ben expects me to be someone I don't know how to be.”
“Which is?”
“Open. Vulnerable. Available.”
Tom closed his laptop, giving her his full attention. “You know what I think?”
“I'm sure you're going to tell me.”
“I think you're terrified that if you let yourself need someone, they'll leave. Like we did. Like Mom did, even though she couldn't help it. And Pop is leaving too, not like everyone else, but he’s still leaving. Isn’t he?”
Kate's throat tightened. “I'm going to bed.”
“Katie…”
“Goodnight, Tom.”
She climbed the stairs to her room, still smelling Ben's aftershave on her coat, still feeling the warmth of his hand on hers. Outside her window, she could see the harbor, dark except for a few boat lights bobbing on the water.
Ben had asked what happiness looked like for her.
The truth was, she'd caught glimpses of it, in his workshop with the chairs, at dinner when he made her laugh, in moments when she forgot to be the responsible one.
But glimpses weren't enough to build on.
They were just reminders of what she couldn't afford to want.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Ben: Thank you for tonight. For letting your guard down, even if just a little.
She deleted it without responding, but the words stayed with her.
Letting your guard down.
As if that was something she could afford to do. As if the moment she relaxed, everything wouldn't fall apart. As if she could trust someone she'd known for three weeks to catch her if she fell.
Through the wall, she could hear Pop moving around in his room, probably confused about the time. She should go check on him, but she could hear Amy talking to him now. Someone else was responsible for his care.
The thought should have been freeing. Instead, it left her feeling untethered, floating without purpose, a boat whose anchor had been cut.
Maybe that's what Ben represented, not safety, but drift. The terrifying possibility of letting go, of trusting the current to take her somewhere new.
But Kate had been anchored too long to start drifting now. Tomorrow she'd rebuild her walls, reinforce her boundaries, make it clear to Ben that one dinner didn't mean anything.
Tomorrow she'd go back to being the Kate everyone expected: steady, responsible, unavailable.
Tonight, though, she lay in bed and let herself remember the feeling of his hand on hers, the way he'd said beautiful like it was just fact, the momentary glimpse of what it might be like to let someone see her, really see her, and not run away.
It was a dangerous thought, and she buried it deep. But like all buried things, it would eventually find a way to surface.