Chapter 3 #2
They worked in uneasy harmony for the next hour. Jasper handled messaging for the client facing side, his voice smooth and reassuring as he explained the delay to stakeholders. Bennett coordinated internal logistics, rescheduling meetings, reallocating resources and building contingency plans.
It should have felt normal. It should have felt clean.
But the awareness sat under his skin like static. Bennett was hyperaware of every movement. The way Jasper’s knee brushed the edge of the bed when he shifted, the way his voice softened when he spoke to the team, the way he glanced over and waited, as if making space for him.
It was unsettling. Despite his reluctance, Bennett found it comforting.
Later, the power flickered. The lights dimmed, steadied, then dimmed again.
Bennett looked up sharply. “No.”
Jasper’s eyebrows rose. “What?”
“No power,” Bennett said. “No Wi-Fi. No contact. We can’t lose power.”
Jasper closed his laptop with infuriating calm. “If it goes, it goes.”
Bennett stared at him. “How are you like this?”
Jasper’s smile was gentle. “I know what it’s like to have plans change. You adapt.”
“I prefer to execute a well crafted plan,” Bennett said.
“I know,” Jasper replied. “That’s why you’re often having a harder time than necessary.”
Bennett opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it.
“Can I ask you a question?” Jasper said.
Bennett’s jaw tightened. “Ask.”
Jasper’s eyes stayed steady on his. “Have you ever wanted something that didn’t fit your plan?”
Bennett felt the words land.
He forced his voice to remain flat. “Everyone has.”
Jasper nodded slowly. “And what do you do with it?”
Bennett should have lied. He did lie. He just did it in a way that was technically true.
“I ignore it,” he said.
Jasper’s expression softened. “That sounds lonely.”
Bennett looked away. “It’s efficient.”
Jasper did not push. He let the silence exist, which was somehow worse than banter.
Outside, the wind battered the windows. Snow continued to fall, heavy and relentless.
Inside, the room felt too small.
“We should go get dinner before everything closes.”
Jasper nodded. “Sure.”
At the restaurant downstairs, options were limited, but the food was hot, and the tables were full of stranded travelers making the best of it.
Bennett and Jasper sat across from each other at a small table near the window.
Outside, snow continued its relentless fall, transforming the world into something unrecognizable.
Their knees brushed under the table, accidental at first, then less so when neither of them shifted away.
The server, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, took their orders with practiced efficiency. When she left, silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable, but weighted.
Jasper broke it. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Bennett’s guard went up automatically. “Depends on the question.”
“Why do you work so hard?” Jasper asked. “And I don’t mean the obvious answer about ambition or success. I mean, what are you trying to prove?”
Bennett’s jaw tightened. “That’s more than one question.”
“It’s the same question,” Jasper replied. “Just phrased differently.”
Bennett looked out the window, buying time. He could deflect. Make a joke. Change the subject.
Instead, he surprised himself by answering honestly.
“I’m trying to prove I’m necessary,” Bennett said. “That I can’t be replaced by someone more charming or more flexible or more… easy to work with.”
Jasper’s expression softened. “You think that’s how people see you? Replaceable?”
“I think that’s how the world works,” Bennett replied. “You’re valuable until you’re not.”
“That’s bleak,” Jasper said.
“It’s realistic,” Bennett countered.
Jasper leaned back in his chair, studying him. “You know what I think?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you’re so busy trying to be indispensable that you forget to let people actually see you,” Jasper said. “The real you. Not the competent, controlled version you present.”
Bennett looked down at his hands. “Maybe the controlled version is the real me.”
“Maybe,” Jasper agreed. “But I don’t think so.”
Their food arrived, interrupting the moment. Bennett was grateful for it. The conversation had gotten too close to something he wasn’t ready to examine.
But as they ate, trading comments about the mediocre food and the surreal situation, Bennett found himself relaxing again. Jasper had a way of pushing without pushing, of creating space for honesty without demanding it.
It was unsettling.
It was also kind of nice.
The conversation stayed light. Bennett even laughed once, surprised at the sound of it. Jasper’s grin in response was immediate, like he had been waiting to see that crack of realness.
When they returned upstairs, the hallway was dim, lit by emergency lights that made everything feel cinematic in a way Bennett despised.
Jasper unlocked the door. “After you.”
Bennett stepped inside and stopped short.
The bed was turned down. Two extra blankets had been delivered. It looked welcoming, like the room had decided to be complicit.
Bennett stared at it. “We cannot keep doing this.”
Jasper set his keys down. “Sleeping.”
“Sharing,” Bennett snapped, then immediately regretted the edge in his voice.
Jasper looked at him. “Do you want me to sleep somewhere else?”
Bennett’s mind short circuited. The obvious answer was yes. The responsible answer was yes. The answer his body wanted was something else entirely, and that was unacceptable.
He swallowed. “No.”
Jasper’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “No?”
Bennett crossed to the desk and set his phone down with too much care. “It is fine. We are adults. It’s a bed.”
Jasper’s voice was soft, almost amused. “It is a bed.”
Bennett turned to face him. Jasper was standing near the foot of it, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. The light from the window painted his profile in pale edges.
Bennett’s stomach flipped.
Jasper took a small step closer. “Bennett.”
Bennett held still. “What?”
Jasper’s gaze dropped to Bennett’s mouth again. He did not hide it this time. He did not pretend it was accidental.
Bennett’s breath caught.
The air between them felt electric.
Jasper spoke quietly, clearly. “If I kiss you, will you regret it?”
Bennett’s brain screamed to say yes. His body refused to cooperate.
He stared at Jasper, at the patience and the question and the impossible kindness of being asked instead of pushed.
“I don’t know,” Bennett admitted, voice rougher than he intended.
Jasper nodded, like that was an answer he could work with. He stepped closer anyway, slow, giving Bennett every chance to move away.
Bennett did not.
Jasper’s hand lifted, stopping just short of Bennett’s jaw, hovering like a question. Bennett’s pulse thundered. He could feel the warmth of Jasper without contact.
Bennett whispered, “This is a bad idea.”
Jasper’s eyes flicked up. “Then tell me to stop.”
Bennett should have.
Instead, he stood there, silent, because some truths were louder without words.
Jasper’s fingertips finally touched his jaw, gentle, steady. Bennett’s breath shuddered. The touch felt like permission and exposure all at once.
Jasper leaned in.
Their mouths almost met.
Bennett’s hand rose and caught Jasper’s wrist.
Not to push him away.
To hold him there.
Bennett’s voice came out low. “Not yet.”
Jasper stayed close, breathing the same air. “Okay.”
Bennett’s chest ached.
Jasper pulled back first, choosing restraint with deliberate care.
“Not yet,” he repeated softly.
Bennett let go of Jasper’s wrist.
“Go to sleep, Quinn.”
Jasper’s smile was small and unguarded. “Goodnight, Shaw.”
Bennett turned away before his expression could betray him, before his face could show the truth he was not ready to say out loud.
He climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling until his thoughts blurred. Jasper settled beside him, careful with space, as if he understood the fragile line Bennett was walking.
Bennett lay awake long after the room fell quiet.
Not because he was afraid of Jasper.
Because he was afraid of wanting him.
And he did not know what came after that.