Chapter 33
Remi
The sun lights Benson’s hair brightly auburn as he stretches atop his yoga mat inside the petting farm. His look of concentration is tempered somewhat by Buttercup, who’s perched atop his hip.
I’m fairly certain if someone had told me at the end of last summer when Benson reappeared in town that I’d be intimate with that expression, as well as any other that crosses his face, I’d have wondered if I were in a fever dream.
Turns out less than a year can change everything.
Ash and Virginia are atop their own mats, the young Silkies wandering the grounds, some brave enough to approach the attendees who are enjoying their morning yoga session on the ranch. My eyes return to Benson, his earplugs letting me know what kind of day it is for him.
Snickerdoodle nudges my hand, the two of us just inside the barn door.
I give her a scratch. “Yes, I’m snooping. I’m allowed.”
She kicks up her head, either in agreement or scorn, I can’t tell.
“You’re one to talk,” I mutter. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger, too. Don’t try to claim otherwise.”
She huffs lightly.
Seeing the class start to pack up their mats, I slip outside, leaving Snickerdoodle to the weekend employee cleaning up the pens.
Ash is the first to notice me, waving happily before he signs a quick, ‘Hello.’ He bounces his eyebrows a couple times before notching his head in Benson’s direction, which I take to mean have you seen your hot boyfriend?
I chuckle, the sound turning into a sigh as Benson helps Buttercup up onto his shoulder. The light yellow Silkie is a fan of that particular perch, not that I can blame her.
Benson, spotting me, smiles, the joy in his eyes so damn bright my heart aches.
“So?” I ask, stopping in front of him as some of the class heads out the exit. “How was it?”
“Fine,” he lies.
I snort. “You loved it.”
He shrugs, but there’s still a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “It was no morning jog.”
“Thank God for that. Show me something?”
“Something?” Benson repeats slowly.
“A yoga pose. Teach me, oh wise one.”
Virginia, who’s well aware I’m familiar with yoga myself, is looking between us, amused. But she begins rolling up her mat, giving us the semblance of privacy.
Benson carefully sets Buttercup down before standing, one leg bent in front of him and his arms in the air as he does a warrior pose. He lifts an eyebrow in question, only just seeming to clock the fact that I’m happily checking him out.
I grin and sign a cheeky, ‘Good boy.’
Ash barks a laugh as Benson straightens, coming my way far faster than I anticipate. I yip and run off, dodging chicks who scatter with a disgruntled flap of wings. Benson’s arms come around me before I can escape, hefting me into the air.
I laugh loudly as I’m caught, my heart beating double-time. Benson sets me down, spinning me and walking me backward until we’re edging around the side of the barn. My back hits the rough wood in the shaded spot, Benson’s hands blocking me in.
“You did that on purpose,” he accuses.
I’m as breathless as him as I reply. “Guilty.”
Shaking his head and trying his best not to smile, Benson kisses me.
It’s not a short thing, and it’s not small.
It’s his happiness seeping from him to me, given in swipes of his lips against mine, in kisses pressed to my cheeks and neck and nose.
He’s everywhere, just as I want him to be. His love isn’t the loud kind.
It’s as steady as the beat of his heart, as big as the mountains to the west, as colorful as the rain clouds after an early morning storm.
I feel it every single day.
Benson makes sure of that.
“I think I should remind you,” I manage as Benson spends a particularly long time mapping the curve of my neck, “that there’s still no saddle butter out here.”
He huffs, his breath fanning over me. Very slowly, his thumb runs along the column of my throat.
I groan, the sound mixed with a laugh. “No, I’m not deep-throating you in the middle of the workday, either. And no,” I go on, before he can correct me. “It doesn’t matter that it’s not our workday. You know we get no privacy around here.”
He sighs, but he does lean back, not that I want him to. The swipe of his hand is hopeful as he signs, ‘Later?’
Chuckling, I nod. “Later. I was thinking I’d paint a bit before lunch. Want to join me?”
His lips pull up at the corner. “Always.”
Ash and Virginia are gone from the petting farm by the time we emerge from our hiding spot, but Zoey has arrived for her shift. She notices Benson’s yoga mat and frowns. “Oh man, I missed it?”
Benson, assuming she’s talking about the class, nods. “Yeah, but Annabelle will be back on Wednesday.”
Zoey pouts. I decide not to point out to my boyfriend that it’s him the young employee is so eager to catch in action, not Annabelle’s yoga class. It would only make him all the more self-conscious about participating.
For all Benson’s seemingly superhuman observational skills, the man still can’t fathom anyone being interested in him.
I give his arm a squeeze, his yoga mat rolled up now. “Ready, handsome?”
He nods, and we head off toward the main house, leaving Zoey and her harmless crush behind.
Ash is in the kitchen when we arrive, prepping lunch for the ranchers even though it’s technically his day off.
I grab a couple waters as we pass, Benson swinging by my room to bring Mouse along.
He settles with her on the floor of the attic, Antiques Roadshow playing on his phone as I make progress on my most recent canvas.
It’s a collection of bluebells, the trumpet-shaped flowers a variety of hues from blue to light purple. They fall like a cascade of water, the real-life bluebell I found the other day currently drying in my bedroom. Like all the flowers Benson has left for me, I have no plans of letting it fade.
When I realize it’s well into the lunch hour, I clean up my supplies and crouch down near Benson. He blinks up at me, having been lost in his own world.
“Hungry?” I ask. “I can bring plates up.”
In addition to the earplugs he’s still wearing, Benson has been more quiet than usual since he woke today. I don’t mind one bit, but I suspect he’d appreciate the solitude.
He thinks it over before nodding. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Be right back.”
Benson catches my hand before I can step away, pressing the softest of kisses to my skin. I’m fairly certain I can feel the string around my heart pulling taut as I walk away, ready to guide me back to the man who owns it.
Downstairs, I bump into my mom in the hallway. She’s carrying an empty platter to the kitchen, her eyes skipping past me as if she expects to see someone in my wake. “Did Benson already head home? I was hoping to give him a recipe Louise asked for.”
“You know phones exist, right? You can just text her a picture.”
My mom makes a psht sound as I follow her into the kitchen. “It’s not the same as having the real thing, dear.”
I shake my head, bemused. “He’s still upstairs. I can pass it along if you want?”
With a happy hum, my mom rummages through one of her recipe books. “Do you remember when your father and I got divorced for the second time?”
For a split second, I wonder if I heard her wrong, as unexpected as the question is. But she stops and raises her hands, repeating herself in sign and assuring me I got it right. “Um. Vaguely. I was…five?”
She nods. “Louise was already separated at that point. But that was when her divorce officially went through. We filed the paperwork for ours the same day.”
“I…didn’t realize that.”
My mom’s lips twitch into a smile, her gaze going distant. “Your father has the strangest way of showing his love. It’s not exactly conventional. He forgets my birthday sometimes, but he spent years raising a colony of bees and growing a field of lavender just to make me lavender honey.”
I huff quietly, and she goes on.
“Your dad could see how upset I was. How upset Louise was about her divorce. She’s the sister I never had, and she was hurting. So he asked me, without a hint of tease, if I wanted to get divorced, too. To make a day of it.”
Her laugh has my own smile growing.
“We threw a party. Your brothers were all teens or grown at that point, involved in their own things. But you were there. As was August. We had cake and lemonade, and I’d never been more in love.
” She blows out a quiet breath, her eyes refocusing on mine.
“Your father knew the same thing I did. Paper doesn’t make a commitment last. Intent does.
Choice. Despite all our faults and our bickering, your father and I have chosen this life. Together.”
The ache in my chest is the good kind. “I have a feeling you’re telling me this for a reason.”
My mom smirks as she turns back toward the recipe book, pulling a piece of cardstock free.
She passes it to me before her hands move gently and purposefully.
‘I see the same look in Benson’s eyes as I have in your father’s all these years.
When he looks at you? Oh, my dear boy. There’s no doubt in his mind.
He’ll be by your side until the end of your days if you let him. ’
I glance toward the wall, wiping below my eye.
My mom huffs gently, her palm warm as she pats my cheek. “It’s a gift, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I manage.
My mom hums to herself as she starts cleaning up, the sun through the window lighting the room in wispy gold.
I take a few beats before heading to the dining room to make Benson and myself plates.
My dad is sitting near one end of the table, talking to Jackson about something to do with milk jugs and compostable packaging.
Before leaving the room, I swing his way.
“Dad?”
He looks up, Jackson in conversation with Ash now. I nearly laugh when I spot my dad’s reading glasses and sunglasses perched on his head. “Afternoon, Remi. What can I do for ya?”
“I was wondering if I could get your help with a project. Not right now, but…soon.”
He looks intrigued. “Oh? Tell me more.”