Chapter Nine
Paige
Ben slides in beside me, the vinyl seat giving a little squeak under his weight. The space between us disappears in an instant, his hip warm against mine, and suddenly the oversized U-shaped booth feels like a shoebox.
I stir my coffee with more focus than it needs, watching the swirl of cream dissolve instead of looking at him. It’s ridiculous—he’s Jason’s best friend, I’ve known him for years, and yet my pulse is behaving like I’ve just been caught doing something scandalous.
Jason is still talking, cracking some joke about the “superior architecture of an omelet”—though he didn’t even order one—and Mom is laughing, but all I can think about is how close Ben’s arm is to brushing mine.
His shoulder’s broad enough that I can feel the heat radiating from it, even though he’s angled slightly toward the table.
I risk a glance. He’s concentrating very hard on the piece of toast in his hand, chewing slowly. His jaw clenches with each bite, and I can’t help the surge of lust in my belly.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I acting like this?
So, he’s attractive. It’s not like I’ve never met an attractive man before.
The smell of sizzling bacon and warm pancakes drifts over from the kitchen, and I’m grateful for the distraction. Lilly appears a moment later with two plates balanced on one arm and another in her free hand, moving with practiced ease.
Ben quickly hops up to grab the plates from her. Immediately, my thigh and side feel cool without him there.
I shift slightly, trying to ease the tension in my body at his closeness.
Ben sets the breakfast burger in front of Jason first, then the western omelet for Dad. Lilly is serving Mom’s French toast.
When she reaches me, the steam rising from the blueberry pancakes curls in the air between us, the berries glossy and sweet under a drizzle of syrup. My stomach growls loud enough that Jason smirks.
Ben’s plate comes last—something that looks like a skillet hash, golden potatoes mixed with peppers, onions, and bacon, topped with two over-easy eggs. Lilly goes to grab the coffee pot to refill for each of us.
“Lilly, why don’t you join us as well?” Mom says, picking up her fork.
“Oh, I can’t. Too much to do before the crowd starts filing in,” she says with a smile. The bell above the door rings just as she finishes. “See? Right on time.”
“Maybe next time, dear,” Mom says.
“Definitely,” Lilly says and turns back to the kitchen.
“Looks incredible,” Dad says before digging in enthusiastically.
Jason’s already halfway through his first bite, groaning dramatically around the mouthful. “God, I missed this place,” he says.
“You were here a few days ago,” Ben says dryly before digging into his own food.
I cut into my pancakes, the fork sliding through fluff and berries.
When I take a bite, the burst of sweetness and tang almost makes me close my eyes.
I keep them open, though, because Ben is right beside me, and I don’t want to give away the fact that I’m enjoying breakfast in a way that has nothing to do with the food.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him pushing his eggs to the side to get to the potatoes. His arm shifts, brushing mine lightly, and I feel it all the way to my toes.
“You’ve still got it, Benny,” Jason says through a mouthful of burger. “This is perfect.”
Ben just shrugs, but I can feel the way his body moves with the motion, the heat of him constant against my side.
“That’s all Lilly,” he says.
I spear another bite of pancake, focus on chewing, focus on anything but the awareness prickling over my skin.
“You’ll have to come by and taste-test once I’m open,” I hear myself saying, directing it at Mom and Dad, not at him.
Jason grins. “Oh, you know we will. But you’ll have to make cinnamon rolls just for me.”
“Not happening,” I say, and Mom laughs.
I glance at Ben before I can stop myself. He’s watching me, just for a second, before looking back down at his plate. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smile.
I take a long sip of coffee to cover the flush creeping up my neck. The rest of the table falls into easy conversation—Dad talking about a new sign design idea, Mom asking Jason about work—but I’m only half listening.
Every time Ben shifts to reach for his coffee or cut into his food, our thighs press together, and every time it sends a little jolt through me.
By the time the plates are empty and Jason is leaning back with a satisfied groan, I’m both full and restless. I’ve kept my voice even, my smile casual, but my pulse hasn’t calmed once.
Ben slides out of the booth first, giving me just enough space to follow, and as I do, his hand brushes mine—so light it could have been an accident. I don’t look at him. I don’t have to. I already know my face is giving me away.