Chapter Six #2
Carefully, trying not to touch him, I lowered myself onto the bench.
It was thinly cushioned and without a center armrest to separate the space, and despite trying to avoid it, the entire side of my body, from the peak of my shoulder to to the edge of my knee was pressed up against the corresponding parts of his body.
I scooted as far as I could in the opposite direction to no avail.
He was right there. His face inches from mine.
His breath mingling with mine. Right there.
“Cozy, isn’t it?”
I let out a dry sob that turned into a cackle, even though nothing about this was funny. Nothing. “Cozy is not the word I would choose.”
“Some might say that train travel is romantic.”
“I definitely wouldn’t use that word either.”
“Do I want to know what word you would choose?”
“I’m sure you can imagine.”
He laughed, and so I laughed again, harder this time. It was ridiculous. Everything about this day had been so ridiculous. Laughing about it at least eased some of the tension.
He sighed and shifted. “Are you uncomfortable?”
“Wildly so, yes. Is there any way you can take up less room?”
“I’m considerably bigger than you.”
“I realize that, but to be fair, the space should still be split in half.”
“Oh should it?” He scoffed playfully.
“Of course, it should.”
“I suppose you’re right. But I can’t shrink myself.”
“Maybe if you didn’t sit with your legs spread out like that, taking up as much space as possible.” I waved my hand in the general direction of his lap.
“What, like this?” He put his knees together, but it didn’t really free up any space. He was still bigger than me, and there just wasn’t space to free.
“Oh, never mind.”
The train rocked and jerked and left the station, slowly gaining speed as it chugged through the city.
The conductor came by to check our tickets.
When I asked if there happened to be any empty seats anywhere, he reiterated what the ticket clerk had explained about this being the busiest trip of the day and told us the café car would open in about an hour.
Through the window, the city’s behind-the-scenes views—the alleys and buildings’ backsides—passed.
After a short while, crammed in there next to him, my skin stopped crawling and my blood ceased boiling.
The air, somehow, was circulating and fresh instead of stuffy and unbearable.
At least for now. And I found that his body, which was an admittedly perfect male form, wasn’t so terrible to be pressed against. He didn’t smell unappealing; quite the opposite.
Definitely lavender soap. His clothes, up close, were worn but well-made and well-cared for.
He obviously took pride in his appearance.
I was uncomfortable with how comfortable it turned out to be next to him like that.
“Should we plan our strategy for when we arrive in Cabourg?” His voice was low and close enough to make my ear tingle.
“Our strategy? I prefer to keep our strategies separate.”
“We’re supposed to work together.”
I sighed and closed my eyes for a second. He was right, but I wasn’t ready to face that reality yet. “I know. But maybe we can just read quietly without talking to each other for a while.”
I shifted and reached for my bag, which I’d stuffed under my seat. All my reading material was in there, but there was nothing left to read. “I read all my papers at the station.”
“I did too. We could trade?”
“Okay.”
He reached for his bag now and produced his stack of papers.
Every time one of us moved, the other had to adjust position to accommodate it.
We exchanged, and I leafed through the papers, considering not only the material but also him.
Again. He’d chosen an interesting mix and dog-eared several pieces that he must have wanted to return to.
And they weren’t limited to the culture pages.
He read widely. News reports and serial stories and announcements.
It felt so inappropriately intimate, being that physically close to him and considering his mind.
It was repulsive and compelling at the same time.
The cabin was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and if I positioned my reading in just the right way I could block most of him from my vision.
The train swayed gently through the rolling hills and quaint little towns.
It had been so long since I’d been out of the city, I had almost forgotten what was all around it.
I read for a while, but then inadvertently drifted into a dreamless, welcoming sleep.
Some time later my eyes gently opened. There was no startle, not at first—just the peaceful, easy awakening after the most rejuvenating nap.
I could have been in my own bed. But in seconds I realized I was not.
I was curled up against Benoit’s broad chest. My face was pressed up against the smooth fabric of his shirt.
And his long arm was draped around my shoulders. This was what startled me.
I sat up fast, wiping my mouth because of course I had been drooling. There was a little wet spot on his shirt where I’d lain.
He smiled and gently retracted his arm. “Nice nap?”
“What happened?” The last thing I remembered was reading.
“You fell asleep.”
“Obviously. I mean about the cuddling.”
“Cuddling?” He smiled devilishly.
I was so hot with embarrassment that steam probably shot out of my mouth. “Please, just tell me how I ended up with your arm around me.”
“My darling, once you lost consciousness, you transformed into the sweetest kitten. You curled in like you didn’t belong anywhere else.
I’ve never seen anything so adorable.” His hat was off, and his hair was mussed.
His eyes danced while he told me all of this.
“And you have the most precious snore. I didn’t notice it the other times I found you sleeping. ”
I have never wanted to kill a man more than I wanted to kill him.
But it was different from the other times I imagined violence, of which there had admittedly been a few.
The simple mix of hatred and professional jealousy now was complicated with embarrassment and something else very unwelcome.
When I imagined putting my hands on his neck, I was as tempted to pull him closer as I was to wring it.
Something was very wrong. I had felt his heart beating on the side of my face.
And I had liked it. No sensation in my life that I could recall had ever felt so right.
I cleared my throat. “Why didn’t you wake me or move me over? ”
“I assume it takes a lot of energy being so feisty all the time.” He shrugged innocently. “You need your rest.”
“Did you remove my hat?” It was sitting on my lap, and I had no recollection of taking it off.
“I did. I hope you don’t mind. It was poking me in the face.”
“I apologize.” I fiddled with my hat. What was it about this man that made such a mess of me every single time?
He smiled—again!—with that smooth charm. “No need.”
“There is a need. It was terribly unprofessional of me. You could call the office and complain and probably get me fired.”
“For falling asleep on an extended work trip? That’s hardly fireable.”
“For inappropriately touching you. For revealing my underthings. For making you miss the train.”
His eyes narrowed, and he reconsidered me. Or reconsidered something.
“Let’s just forget about it.” He looked out the window, where green countryside seemed to go on forever. Then he turned back to me. “We still have an hour or so before we’re there. Should we find the café car?”
“Oui, absolutely. Anything to get out of this tiny cabin.”
The café car was crowded, like every other inch of the train. But Benoit managed to grab a little booth where we could sit and drink our coffee with a table between us. And the coffee was surprisingly hot and delicious. It soothed many of my difficult feelings, like humiliation and confusion.
Benoit blew across the surface of his black coffee and relaxed into his seat.
He seemed perfectly at peace in every situation, while I was continuously flustered.
Someone left a paper that neither of us had read yet, and he wordlessly separated it and passed me the culture section.
We read and sipped our coffee and watched the other people in the café car, sipping their drinks and reading their papers.
And it was almost like we’d come through something, like we’d been spit out on the other side, and it wasn’t so uncomfortable or infuriating to be in his presence anymore. His calm rubbed off on me.
His company wasn’t as awful as I’d expected it to be.
He wasn’t some spoiled rich boy, and maybe he wasn’t exactly a shallow womanizer.
And I found myself wanting to know more about him.
I was curious. I had questions. Inconveniently, the desire to curl back into his chest grew like a tightness in mine, a thirst.