18. Chapter 18
Avery
I can’t say I’m surprised by today’s turn of events, though I wish I didn’t have to deal with everything all at once.
First a text from Grandma Sue, cordially inviting the whole family to a party to celebrate my youngest, most annoying male cousin, Kaden, graduating from Harvard.
Then Eric telling me he’s going to the Books and Bows conference without me even though I’ve brought that conference up for the last three years, telling him I want to go. And then Benson…
As I get to the front counter of my favorite restaurant, ready to order takeout, I pause before giving my order.
I meant it when I told Benson I don’t want to be alone right now.
Especially not at my apartment, where there are still books everywhere.
I haven’t been able to move the bookshelves on my own, so I’m stuck in an overwhelming limbo.
I’d hoped one of my cousins would be able to help, but Sadie will be busy for the next few days, and Poppy is always working.
I don’t have any non-family friends because my life has been Rose & Quill for the last few years.
So it looks like I’ll be in limbo for a while. Being at my apartment is kind of depressing until I can get it all sorted, and I’m already in a bad mood.
Instead of ordering my food to go, I ask for a table. I can wallow with strangers instead of wallowing by myself.
Once I’m settled at one of the only open tables, close to the lobby, I grab my phone and pull up the cousin chat so I can try to set the story straight about Benson before Sadie makes any conjectures.
I haven’t told my cousins that he’s here, and by some miracle Dani hasn’t blabbed.
Yet. I need to make sure they don’t think he and I are going to be a thing, and I start typing.
But movement at the door catches my eye, and my stomach does a little flip, as if I know who’s coming inside before he does.
Sure enough, Benson steps into the lobby, his eyes on his phone as he gets in line. My body reacts immediately, sparking to life at the sight of his sleeves rolled up and top two buttons undone. He’s more dressed down than he’s been all week, and those forearms…
Mentally slapping some sense into myself, I return my focus to my phone.
Benson doesn’t want anything to happen as far as a relationship goes.
He made that very clear in the stairwell, even if he also made it clear that he wasn’t entirely unaffected by our Italian fling.
This man may claim to be the king of casual, but he felt something for me, and it feels like the only things standing between us are his friendship with Eric and a strange sense of professionalism that wasn’t present in Florence.
Was that the real Benson? Or is it this stuffed up, no nonsense consultant who has no problem smiling and flirting unless it’s reciprocated?
Gah! When I’m trying not to think about him, I’m thinking about him. I hate this. I hate the hard line he’s drawn. I hate that Eric suddenly seems determined to stand between me and the things I want.
Or maybe he’s always done that and I was too blind to see it. That feels more likely, which means I have Benson to thank for this shift in my dynamic with my business partner.
“It’s probably a half-hour wait,” the hostess says, and I look up to see that it’s Benson she’s talking to.
Benson lets out a heavy sigh, like this is the worst news of his life.
Half an hour isn’t that long, and there are about a million other restaurants in the area he could try.
But instead he sits on one of the vinyl benches and pushes his hands into his hair, elbows on his knees.
He’s still holding his phone, and a dangerous idea sparks in my mind.
Why does he get to decide our relationship and where the boundaries lie?
Why does Eric get to choose whether I go to a conference I have been dying to go to?
Why do I never make choices for myself? Even in Italy, I did whatever Benson suggested I should do.
While it was fun, I wasn’t being true to myself.
I start a new text thread, adding in the number I stole from Benson’s email signature the other day.
Avery:
Are you going to sit there looking like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, or will you come share my table with me?
He slowly sits up again and looks at his phone, and his brow furrows as he reads the text I sent.
Then he looks up. The moment his eyes lock with mine, his face softens and leaves me feeling both excited and terrified.
Will he join me? Or is he going to keep his distance when there’s no good reason for him to?
He stares at me for a second, and then his eyes shift back to his phone as he starts typing.
Benson:
That’s a bad idea.
I roll my eyes.
Avery:
You said that already. And you’re wrong.
Benson:
What if I’m not?
Avery:
When did you start living so scared, Benson? It’s just sharing a table.
I see the moment he realizes I’ve turned his own words against him. His eyebrows dip low, his jaw clenches, and the hand not holding his phone curls into a fist on his knee. Maybe it was a bad idea, but I can’t let myself regret saying it.
“Benson,” I snap when he still doesn’t move. “Come sit with me.”
I’m so done with men not listening to me.
He sighs again and stands, slowly making his way over to my table like I’m asking him to give me everything he’s got.
“This seat taken?” he asks, a bit of growl in his voice.
“Yeah. By you.”
He settles in the chair, his eyes on the table. “Avery, this is a—”
“Bad idea. You and I are going to disagree on that.”
Chuckling, he lifts his gaze to meet mine and seems to choose his words carefully. “When did you get so bold?”
“When I met a guy in Italy who refused to let me hold myself back.”
Something lights up in his countenance, his frustration dissipating as he looks at me with a hint of a smile. “Sounds like a nightmare.”
“He was kind of the best thing to happen to me.” I hold eye contact with him, catching every bit of the surprise that enters his eyes.
Benson can deny our chemistry all he wants, but I’m tired of keeping up this charade of disinterest and pretending nothing happened between us.
It happened, and I’m not willing to let it go.
Then, to my complete and utter shock, Benson blushes. I didn’t know he was capable of blushing, and the crimson that rises up to his ears bolsters my confidence. “Avery.”
“You picked my favorite restaurant.”
He tilts his head to one side. “What?”
“Here.” I gesture to the crowded dining area. “This is my favorite place to eat, and you chose to come here.”
A small smile plays on his lips again, and he relaxes a bit as he picks up the menu in front of me and starts perusing. “I’ve eaten here before.”
“But you still chose to come tonight.”
“It doesn’t mean—”
“Do you believe in fate, Benson?”
He looks up, his eyebrows lifted. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I believe in coincidence, maybe, but not—”
“What are the odds you and I sat next to each other on the way to Italy? That you happened to see me in the line for a taxi? That we were staying at the same hotel? And then you show up here to help my company?”
He doesn’t have a response, which hopefully means he has no argument. I’m not sure I believe in fate either, but there has to be a reason we’ve been pushed together like this. I can’t let him brush me off anymore if I’m going to take control of my own life.
“You can lie to yourself that we don’t have a connection,” I tell him, “but I won’t. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
Taking a slow breath, he sets down the menu and leans forward, locking his gaze onto mine in a way that makes me shiver. “Do what you want,” he says coolly, “but it won’t change the boundaries I need to keep.”
“Need to?” I counter. “Or are choosing to?”
“Does it matter?”
Maybe not to him, but it matters to me. It will tell me if I have any chance with this man.
In all reality, I should cut my losses and accept that he isn’t willing to put in the work or make sacrifices, which is a pretty terrible start to a relationship.
If Dani were in my position, I would tell her to set the guy loose and move on to someone who won’t leave her heartbroken.
But I guess I’m not as careful with my own heart as I want her to be with hers.
Before I can say any more bold things, our server comes to take our orders, and her smile turns flirtatious when she looks at Benson.
To my delight, he barely gives her a passing glance as he tells her his order, his eyes fixed on me as if he’s worried about what I’m going to say or do during this dinner.
Good. He should be worried. He’s not getting off the hook so easily.
“So,” I say when we’re alone again. “What’s your favorite food?”
He narrows his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m trying to get to know you, Benson. Believe it or not, you didn’t tell me much about yourself when we were in Florence.”
He groans, sitting back in his seat. “I don’t want to do this, Avery.”
“But I do, and I just got majorly hurt by my business partner, so you should be nice to me.”
He mumbles something under his breath that sounds like a colorful insult directed toward Eric, and everything about his body language is uncomfortable right now.
Maybe I’m being too bold. He’s allowed to set boundaries, even if I don’t like them, so I change my question. “Actually, I want to hear how you and Eric became friends.”
“Why?” he asks again, though this time it carries more curiosity than irritation.
“Because the two of you are so different.”
“Hasn’t he told you all about me?”
“Yes, but I’m pretty sure your version of the story is going to be different from his.”