Chapter 48
Melody
Melody savored the companionable silence that stretched between her and Ben as she swirled the last few ounces of Syrah around her wineglass and waited for Ben to finish his meal.
She couldn’t help but grin when he gave a periodic moan of enjoyment or looked at his food as though he was trying to figure out what made it taste so good.
If someone had asked her a few months ago what a perfect evening might look like to her, she imagined she might have said something along the lines of a low-key night out with friends, a family dinner with her parents, a night out at the theater, or maybe even just a quiet night curled up on her couch with a good book.
As she sat, not wanting to be anywhere other than where she was, she realized she’d forgotten a choice scenario.
Namely, spending an intimate evening with a man for whom she was coming to care for deeply.
She’d spent so much time worrying about not being experienced enough for Ben, but maybe it didn’t matter that she hadn’t dated a lot.
Maybe she was one of the lucky ones who met her Prince Charming early on.
After all, who said the only way to find one’s prince was by kissing a whole bunch of frogs first? Someone had to get lucky. Why not her?
“Dare I hope I have something to do with that pretty smile lighting up your face?” Ben asked as he placed his knife and fork side by side on his plate, tines up and blade in, in the standard “I’m finished” position.
Melody didn’t even try to deny it. “You certainly do.”
Ben’s eyes smiled into hers. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too,” she returned, content to just spend a few moments smiling at each other and holding eye contact.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, indicating his empty plate. “There’s more of everything other than the steak if you’re still hungry.”
Ben groaned theatrically. “As much as I’d love to keep eating, I think I might have already edged close enough to the ‘pushing my luck’ line.” He laid his hands over top of his stomach. “This food baby should last me for a good long while.”
Melody arched a dubious eyebrow. She didn’t doubt that he was full, but his stomach looked as flat as ever.
He would have to pack away far more than one large dinner plate before he risked losing those incredible washboard abs that had starred in more than a few of her fantasies since she’d first seen them.
Ben shrugged good-naturedly. “Okay, so maybe I won’t have to spend extra time in the gym if I want to keep fitting into my pants.”
“No, I don’t imagine so,” she agreed good-naturedly. “Would you like to move into the living room?” she asked, inclining her head in that direction. “The couches are more comfortable than these chairs are.”
Ben looked at her as though she’d just granted him an unspoken wish. “Is the wine okay to come into the living room?”
“Absolutely,” she answered as she picked up her own nearly empty glass, as well as the rest of the bottle, and carried both into the living room.
Melody placed her glass on the table, holding it at the stem, and poured herself another half glass. “Can I offer you a top-up?” she asked as he sat down on the sofa. It looked like he still had a half glass left, but one never knew.
“I’m good for now. Thanks,” he stated, angling his body to fully face her. “My stomach only has so much real estate and mine is presently full to the gills with steak.”
Gratified by his answer, Melody picked up her wineglass and made herself comfortable on the couch.
“Are you going to sit all the way over there?” Ben asked in a way that was both flirtatious and tremendously masculine.
“I don’t have to,” Melody said, sidling closer. “I just didn’t want to lie against you and press upon what sounds like a very full belly.”
Ben grimaced ever so subtly. “That is an unfortunately good point,” he conceded with a frown.
“How about I get close enough to hold your hand, but not so close as to use you as my personal pillow?” she offered by way of compromise.
“That sounds perfect,” he said, his smile further lighting his already warm eyes. When she was close enough, he reached for her hand and threaded their fingers together. “Perfect,” he repeated as he lifted their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to the underside of her wrist.
Her pulse jumped beneath his lips.
Melody leaned forward to put down her wineglass, liberating her hand to pick up the television remote. “I think the Flyers are playing the Penguins tonight. Would you like to watch?”
Ben dropped her hand so he could lift his arm around her shoulders and pull her close. Her eyebrows lifted a little. Perhaps he wasn’t too full to cuddle after all. “How many times can I ask you to marry me before it starts to get weird?” he asked as he gave her an affectionate squeeze.
Melody laughed happily, flicking her gaze up to meet his before turning the game on. “I think you’ve reached your quota,” she teased, snuggling into his side.
It felt surprisingly nice to know Ben felt comfortable joking about her growing tired of his expressing an interest in wanting to marry her.
So many men—and women, for that matter—were scared to death of commitment.
It was nice to know Ben felt so comfortable about the idea of a life-long relationship that he could tease her about it.
Seemingly unaware of her semi-deep thoughts, Ben gave her one more affectionate squeeze before kissing her temple and settling in to watch the game.