Chapter Ten
“Next up is a little activity I like to call “appreciation circles,” Coral announced. “One by one, you’re going to turn to the person next to you and say something you value about them.”
Ben gave an internal sigh. And of course I’m sitting next to Franco. Thankfully, Coral got Raj to set the ball rolling, and Ben smiled when he turned to Lexie and told her he valued her enthusiasm for his new culinary experiments.
Inside, he was a mess, his stomach churning. When the circle got to him, he’d have to say something about Raj.
But what do I say?
And why was contemplating this a source of so much anxiety?
Then it was Franco’s turn.
He turned to Ben, his head tilted, his eyes sparkling with mischief and something Ben couldn’t read.
“I value your unexpected softness,” Franco said, his voice lower than usual.
“Under all those ironed shirts and spreadsheets, you’re warmer than you let on.
” He gestured to the group gathered in front of the fireplace.
“And while you keep pretending you’re above all this, you’re actually soaking it up like sunlight on your skin. ”
Then, with deliberate slowness, Franco reached out and brushed a stray hair off Ben’s forehead, letting his fingers trail down the side of his face, pausing briefly at his jaw before pulling away.
Ben’s heart pounded so hard he thought everyone in the room heard it.
The group howled and cheered, teasing Franco mercilessly, but Ben could barely focus. His skin felt as though it was humming, every nerve alive and alert, chasing the echo of Franco’s touch. He opened his mouth to reply but found he had no words at all.
The rest of them hooted and applauded, and Mina declared she was going to embroider unexpected softness onto a tea towel.
Raj coughed. “Not that I’m trying to hurry you or anything, but I am sort of anxious to know what you value in me.
” He grinned. “Although I’m not sure you can top ‘unexpected softness.” He clasped his hands, holding them against his heart, his head slightly tilted.
That earned him a ripple of laughter from the others.
Ben chuckled. “Me neither. But I’m going to go with…” He paused. “I value your natural leadership skills.”
Raj frowned. “Is that a euphemism for bossy?”
Ben smiled. “It means you’re like the superglue that holds this wacky, unpredictable, insane group of people together.”
There was a momentary pause before everyone clapped, and Raj flushed.
Lunch was an indoor picnic of sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. Everyone lounged on the rugs in a lazy sprawl, sharing leftovers and trading stories.
Ben stared into the fire, feeling something unspool inside him, a cautious loosening he didn’t quite understand.
He glanced sideways at Franco, who was stretched out on the rug, reacting to something Ollie had said, his face lit up and utterly unguarded, his laughter gentle, a low, rolling cadence that curled around Ben like warm hands.
Throughout lunch, he’d sat cross-legged beside Ben on the rug, so close their knees touched.
Franco kept finding excuses to lean in, such as to wipe a crumb off Ben’s lip with his thumb, the contact quick but loaded, leaving Ben speechless and his cheeks hot.
There was a tightness in Ben’s chest, part terror, part exhilaration.
I uprooted my life to find something real. And here it was—here he was—messy, loud, alive, slipping past Ben’s defences one laugh, one flirtation, one chaotic day at a time.
Ben closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the burning pine logs and the last notes of Franco’s laughter. For the first time in years, Ben didn’t feel like he was running away from something.
I’m running toward a new destination.
It was terrifying, beautiful, and entirely unknown.
Then he realised how quiet the room had become. He glanced around to discover he and Franco were alone.
“Where did they all go?”
Franco pointed to a door off the main room. “Coral said something about cake, and they were out of here.”
Ben smirked. “And you alone were able to resist the lure of cake?”
He smiled. “I’m sweet enough.”
Ben waited for the flirtatious comments he felt certain were on the tip of Franco’s tongue, but the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire.
Franco sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his weight on his hands, the firelight catching the lines of his face in ways Ben wished he hadn’t noticed.
It was too good an opportunity to miss.
“So,” Ben said, his tone level but dry, “just to clarify… are you flirting with me, or do you flirt like this with everyone?”
Franco looked at him, clearly unfazed. “Define ‘like this.’”
Ben blinked. “You know what I mean.”
He smirked. “Do I?”
This is getting us nowhere.
Ben bit back a sigh, staring into the flames. “You’ve got this whole routine. The eye contact. The leaning in. The smirking. The ‘ accidental’ touches. Honestly, I’m amazed you haven’t burst into a spontaneous tango yet.”
Franco chuckled. “That’s on next week’s schedule.”
Ben glanced at him again. “So?”
There was a beat, and then Franco shifted, sitting forward slightly, the humour fading from his features but not entirely gone. “You annoyed?”
Ben hesitated. “No.”
“Flattered?”
A longer hesitation this time. “Also no.” Franco arched a brow, and Ben exhaled, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Okay. Maybe. A bit.”
Franco smiled. “Ben.”
“It’s…” He frowned. “I’m trying to do a job here. And every time I turn around, someone’s giving me side-eyes like we’re already a thing. As if they know something I don’t.”
Franco didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicking to the fire, apparently deep in thought. Finally, he pushed out a long sigh.
“I don’t flirt because they expect me to,” he said at last. “And I don’t flirt with everyone.”
Ben gave him a sceptical look.
“I’m charming with everyone,” Franco corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Ben snorted.
Franco looked at him again, more serious now. “But with you? Yeah, I’ve been pushing a bit.” Ben stared at him, and he chuckled. “Okay, maybe a lot, but not because it’s a game or a joke.”
“Then why?” Ben asked.
Franco’s gaze met his. “Because I like you. Although I wasn’t sure what you’d do with that.”
Ben frowned once more. “You assumed I’d either kiss you or file an HR complaint?”
“Honestly?” Franco let out another sigh. “I was hoping for a combination of the two. ”
Ben looked away again, shaking his head but smiling despite himself. “You are so bloody annoying.”
Franco didn’t disagree.
The fire crackled between them. Somewhere in the next room, someone laughed, probably at something deeply inappropriate.
Ben leaned back, letting the silence settle. “I don’t know what this is, but I don’t hate it.”
Franco tilted his head. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me in that tone.”
Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “Just ease up a little? I’m not saying stop, but how about less ‘public spectacle,’ more… ‘subtle intrigue.’”
Franco grinned. “Subtle intrigue. Got it. Like Victorian yearning with a twist of modern smoulder.”
Ben gave him a dry look. “And now I’m starting to regret opening my mouth.”
He didn’t move away from the fire, however, and for once Franco didn’t push. He simply gazed into the flickering flames, letting the silence stretch long and warm between them.
Are we going to take things further?
Ben knew he wanted to. It was no longer a question of if , but when .
The trip back to Adelaide was as noisy as the outbound drive, but Ben let it roll over him.
Franco was seated next to him again, and Ben was even more aware of his presence than he’d been a few hours before.
Their thighs touched, and their eyes met and held, a long, heavy beat that seemed to gather up the whole day and condense it into a single, bright thread pulling between them.
Franco’s gaze softened, his mouth tipping into a half-shy, half- knowing smile. It was the same look he’d given Ben in the restaurant, the night he’d made Ben dinner, the rain lashing against the windows.
Then Franco raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t an aggressive stare but a coaxing invitation. Ben could hear the unspoken words.
You feel this too, don’t you?
God help him, he did.
Maybe it was this realisation that made him read more into Franco’s expression.
We could go further, it seemed to say. We’re already halfway across the threshold.
Ben swallowed hard. The air seemed to thicken around him, every sound blurring except the rush of blood in his ears and Franco’s gentle breathing.
He held Franco’s gaze longer than he meant to, the memory of Franco’s touch still burning hot in his mind.
Franco reached out, slow and deliberate, and brushed his fingers over Ben’s wrist, a careful touch as if he was testing the edge of a flame.
Ben didn’t flinch this time. He turned his hand over and let Franco’s palm slide against his, their fingers fitting together as though they’d been made to lock that way.
A tremor shivered through Ben’s chest, sharp and bright.
He felt raw and impossibly open, as if all his old armour had been stripped away.
Only this time, it didn’t feel like a threat.
It felt like a beginning.
Franco traced slow circles against Ben’s skin with his thumb, and Ben expelled a breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When he opened them again, Franco was leaning closer, his eyes shining with something quiet and fierce.
And fuck, the heat in his eyes was talking louder than words ever could.
Ben hoped to God he was reading this right, because that look said Let me know you. Let me touch you .
Then Franco’s breathing hitched, and he mouthed Come home with me.
Holy fucking God.
Ben’s throat worked. Every instinct screamed at him to pull back, to make some joke or move away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Instead, he squeezed Franco’s hand once and mouthed one word.
Yes.
Franco’s face broke into a slow, radiant grin, and he leaned in closer, pressing their shoulders together.
Around them, the others still talked and laughed, but it all blurred into an indistinct hum. Ben and Franco were locked into a small, secret space between them, where there was only heat and breath and the soft weight of Franco’s hand.
A sensation caught in Ben’s chest, a thread pulling tight and then releasing, flooding him with a reckless, electric relief.
For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a man stranded on the outside looking in, but instead he was tethered to something wild and real and devastatingly gentle.
He knew he was standing on dangerous ground, that he was already halfway gone.
But as he sat there, Franco’s touch burning into his pulse, he didn’t feel afraid.
He felt alive.
Tonight, I won’t pull away.
Tonight, he would follow Franco home.