Chapter 10 Jasper
CHAPTER TEN
jasper
The thing Jasper noticed first was that Bennett didn’t hesitate.
It was a small thing. Almost invisible. They were standing just outside the conference room, badges clipped on, coffee cooling in their hands. Familiar territory. Neutral ground. The kind of place where lines were usually kept neat and unblurred.
Someone from Bennett’s team called his name.
Bennett turned, answered a question, then did something that made Jasper’s breath catch.
He reached out and rested his hand briefly at the small of Jasper’s back.
Not possessive. Not performative.
Just there.
The gesture lasted maybe a second. Long enough to register. Long enough to be real.
The conversation continued as if nothing had happened. People moved around them. No one stared. No one cared.
Jasper did.
When they were finally alone again, Jasper tilted his head. “That was new.”
Bennett blinked, then seemed to realize what he had done. His shoulders lifted, then settled.
“I know,” Bennett said. “I noticed.”
“And.”
“And I didn’t hate it,” Bennett replied.
Jasper smiled slowly. “High praise.”
Bennett huffed. “I’m learning to speak your language.”
The conference passed without incident. Meetings went well.
The Raptors pitch landed. Both approaches were approved for a joint pilot program combining Bennett’s data analytics for player performance metrics with Jasper’s creative fan engagement campaigns, exactly what their boss had hoped for.
Bennett was sharp and composed, Jasper persuasive and calm.
They worked together seamlessly, like the days stranded had unlocked a rhythm neither of them had expected.
Bennett pulled up the client email on his phone and showed it to Jasper. “We did it. The Raptors signed for a full season partnership.”
Jasper smiled. “We did. Together. Analytics and creative working in harmony.”
“Better than competing,” Bennett admitted.
“Much better,” Jasper agreed. “And now we have an in with one of the biggest franchises in the NHL.”
At lunch, someone from Bennett’s team asked if they were collaborating more closely now. The question was casual, curious. Not loaded.
Bennett felt Jasper’s attention shift to him. Waiting. Not pushing.
Bennett answered before Jasper could. “Yes. We are. It’s been productive.”
The conversation moved on. No one pressed. No one seemed to find it remarkable that Bennett Shaw and Jasper Quinn, longtime rivals, were suddenly working together seamlessly.
After the conference, Bennett suggested they debrief over drinks. They found a quiet bar near the office, settled into a corner booth.
“That went well,” Jasper said.
“Better than expected,” Bennett agreed. “The rivalry thing. I don’t think we need to keep performing that.”
Jasper’s eyebrows lifted. “Performing?”
“We were rivals,” Bennett said. “Real ones. I actively tried to tank your projects because I thought they were reckless. You made me look like a robot in front of clients.”
Jasper’s eyebrows rose. “You’re admitting that?”
“I’m saying it wasn’t productive,” Bennett replied. “We were both good at what we do. I was just too rigid to see that your approach had value. And too threatened to admit it.”
Jasper smiled. “That’s growth.”
“Don’t make it weird,” Bennett replied, but there was warmth in it.
But Bennett felt the weight of it. The simplicity of answering honestly. The lack of deflection.
Later, as they walked back to their respective offices, Jasper said quietly, “That was good.”
Bennett nodded. “It was easy.”
“It should be,” Jasper replied.
The simplicity of it felt like another choice.
They ended up back at Jasper’s place. Not planned. Not unplanned either. Just the natural continuation of the day.
They didn’t rush. Jackets came off. Shoes were kicked aside. Bennett wandered the space as if taking inventory, cataloguing something new.
“You do this a lot,” Jasper said.
“Do what?”
“Looks like you are committing something to memory.”
Bennett glanced at him. “I like to know where I am.”
Jasper stepped closer. “And where are you?”
Bennett considered him. Really considered him.
“Here,” he said.
The kiss that followed was easy. Familiar now. No sharp edge of uncertainty. Just warmth and intention.
Later, when they lay tangled together, skin cooling in the quiet room, Jasper traced idle patterns along Bennett’s arm.
Their legs were still intertwined, Bennett’s head resting on Jasper’s chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
Jasper’s other hand ran through Bennett’s hair, gentle and possessive at once.
“You okay?” Jasper asked.
“Yes,” Bennett replied. He sounded certain. “I’m more than okay.”
Jasper smiled into his shoulder. “Good.”
Bennett shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “I am not suddenly a different person.”
“I would be worried if you were,” Jasper said.
“But,” Bennett continued, “I am not who I thought I was either.”
Jasper met his gaze. “Most people aren’t.”
Bennett smiled faintly. “I like this version better.”
Jasper reached up and kissed him. Soft. Certain.
They didn’t need to talk about forever. They didn’t need declarations that stretched beyond what they could honestly promise.
They had effort. Intention. Choice.
And that, Jasper had learned, was enough.
When Bennett left later that night, he paused at the door.
“Dinner again,” Bennett said. “Soon.”
Jasper smiled. “I will hold you to that.”
“You should,” Bennett replied.
As the door closed behind him, Jasper leaned back against it and let himself breathe.
This wasn’t a secret. This wasn’t an accident.
It was something chosen. Again and again.
And Jasper was very happy to keep choosing it.
Two weeks later, Jasper suggested a weekend away.
They were at Bennett’s apartment, Friday evening settling into that comfortable quiet that had become familiar. Bennett was reviewing quarterly reports at his kitchen table. Jasper was scrolling through his phone on the couch.
“I have an idea,” Jasper said.
Bennett looked up. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” Jasper replied. “It’s spontaneous.”
“Even worse.”
Jasper smiled. “There’s a cabin. Two hours north. My friend owns it. He offered it to me for the weekend.”
Bennett set his pen down carefully. “A cabin.”
“Yes.”
“In the woods.”
“Technically, yes,” Jasper said. “But it has Wi-Fi and running water. I’m not asking you to survive in the wilderness.”
Bennett considered this. His instinct was to check his calendar, to list the reasons why leaving town on short notice was impractical.
Instead, he asked, “When?”
Jasper’s eyebrows lifted. “Tomorrow morning.”
Bennett’s chest tightened. Not with anxiety. With something else. Possibility, maybe.
“Okay,” he said.
Jasper stared at him. “Okay.”
“Yes,” Bennett confirmed. “Let’s go.”
Jasper’s smile was immediate and genuine. “Look at you. Being spontaneous.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Bennett replied, but there was no bite in it.
They left early Saturday morning. Bennett drove because Jasper claimed he needed coffee before functioning. The highway stretched ahead of them, traffic thinning as the city gave way to smaller towns and eventually to trees.
Jasper handled the music. Bennett didn’t argue about it.
“You haven’t argued about a single song choice,” Jasper observed.
“I’m picking my battles,” Bennett replied.
“I like it.”
The cabin appeared after they turned off the main road, tucked between pines with a view of a small lake. It was modest but well-maintained. Wood siding. A stone chimney. A deck that wrapped around two sides.
“This is nice,” Bennett admitted as they pulled up.
“I told you,” Jasper said.
Inside, the space was open and warm. A kitchen with worn counters. A living area with a fireplace. Two bedrooms, though Bennett suspected they’d only need one.
They unpacked quickly. Bennett organized their supplies with more precision than necessary. Jasper watched him with fond amusement.
“You can’t help yourself,” Jasper said.
“I like order,” Bennett replied.
“I know.” Jasper stepped closer. “It’s one of the things I like about you.”
Bennett looked up. “One of.”
“There are several,” Jasper said. “I could list them.”
“Please don’t.”
Jasper kissed him instead. Slow and easy. The kind of kiss that said they had time.
When they pulled apart, Bennett rested his forehead against Jasper’s.
“This is good,” Bennett said quietly.
“It is,” Jasper agreed.
They spent the afternoon exploring. The lake was cold but clear. They walked the perimeter, boots crunching on pine needles and fallen leaves. Jasper pointed out birds Bennett couldn’t identify. Bennett pointed out the most efficient path back to the cabin.
“You’re incorrigible,” Jasper said.
“I’m practical.”
“You’re both.”
That evening, they cooked together. Jasper handled the actual cooking. Bennett managed logistics, handing over ingredients with the precision of a surgical assistant.
“You’re very good at this,” Jasper observed.
“At what?”
“Being my sous chef.”
Bennett huffed. “I’m overqualified.”
“And yet here you are,” Jasper replied, smiling.
They ate on the deck as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The air was cool but not cold. The quiet felt complete.
“Can I ask you something?” Jasper said.
Bennett nodded. “Always.”
“Are you happy?”
Bennett set his fork down and looked at Jasper. Really looked at him.
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
Jasper smiled. “Good.”
“Are you?” Bennett asked.
Jasper reached across the table and took his hand. “Very.”
They sat like that for a while, watching the light fade, neither of them in a rush to move.
Later, inside, they built a fire. Jasper was better at it, which Bennett grudgingly admitted. They settled on the couch together, Bennett’s head on Jasper’s shoulder, Jasper’s arm around him.
“This is nice,” Bennett said.
“It is,” Jasper agreed. “We should do this more often.”
Bennett considered that. The idea of regular weekends away. Of building routines that included rest and spontaneity and each other.
“I’d like that,” he said.
Jasper pressed a kiss to his temple. “Then we will.”
The fire crackled. Outside, the night settled in completely. Inside, Bennett felt something he hadn’t expected.
Peace.
Sunday morning, Bennett woke to sunlight and Jasper’s arm across his waist.
“Morning,” Jasper murmured.
“Morning.”
They made coffee, moved around the kitchen with easy coordination. Breakfast by the window, watching the lake shimmer.
“I don’t want to go back yet,” Jasper said.
“Neither do I,” Bennett admitted.
“We could stay another night.”
Bennett’s instinct was to say no. He had work Monday. Responsibilities. A schedule to maintain.
But he looked at Jasper, at the hope in his expression, and made a different choice.
“Let me check my calendar,” Bennett said.
Jasper waited, patient.
Bennett pulled out his phone, scrolled through Monday’s meetings. Nothing critical. Nothing that couldn’t be rescheduled.
“Okay,” he said. “One more night.”
Jasper’s smile was worth it.
They spent the day doing nothing urgent. They walked. They read. Jasper napped while Bennett worked on his laptop for an hour, unable to completely disconnect.
When Jasper woke, he found Bennett on the deck, staring at the lake.
“You okay?” Jasper asked, joining him.
“Yes,” Bennett said. “I was just thinking.”
“About?”
Bennett turned to face him. “About how different this is from what I expected my life to look like.”
Jasper’s expression grew serious. “In a good way?”
“In the best way,” Bennett replied. “I couldn’t plan for you. Couldn’t control how I felt. That terrified me.”
“And now?”
Bennett took Jasper’s hand. “Now I know that some things just need to be chosen.”
Jasper’s throat worked. “Bennett.”
“I choose this,” Bennett said quietly. “I choose you. Every day.”
Jasper pulled him close, kissing him deeply. When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.
“I choose you too,” Jasper said. “In case that wasn’t clear.”
Bennett smiled. “It was. But it’s good to hear anyway.”
That night, they made love slowly, taking their time, learning each other again in the firelight. Afterward, they lay tangled together, neither willing to move.
“Thank you for this,” Bennett said.
“For what?”
“For suggesting this. For being patient with me. For not giving up when I was difficult.”
Jasper ran his fingers through Bennett’s hair. “You’re worth it.”
“I’m learning to believe that,” Bennett replied.
“Good,” Jasper said. “Because it’s true.”
They drove back Monday morning, tired but content. The city rose up to meet them, familiar and demanding.
But something had shifted. Bennett felt it as they merged back into traffic, as the cabin disappeared in the rearview mirror.
He could choose joy over control. And the world didn’t fall apart.
A month after the cabin weekend, Jasper met Emily for brunch. Bennett had been nervous about it in that quiet, controlled way of his. He’d changed shirts twice before they left.
“She’s going to like me,” Jasper had said.
“You don’t know that,” Bennett replied.
“I do,” Jasper said. “Because she loves you, and you’re happy.”
The brunch went well. Emily was warm, curious without being invasive, and had Bennett’s same dry humor without the sharp edges. She asked Jasper about his work, his family, his intentions.
“Intentions?” Jasper had echoed, amused.
“With my brother,” Emily clarified. “He’s not good at casual.”
“Neither am I,” Jasper replied, meeting her gaze steadily.
Emily smiled. “Good.”
Bennett had relaxed visibly after that, the tension in his shoulders easing as conversation flowed naturally. When they left, Emily hugged Jasper without hesitation.
“Take care of him,” she said quietly.
“We take care of each other,” Jasper replied.
Emily nodded, satisfied.
In the car afterward, Bennett was quiet for a long moment.
“That went well,” he finally said.
“It did,” Jasper agreed.
“She liked you.”
“I liked her too.”
Bennett reached over and took Jasper’s hand. “Thank you for doing that.”
“You don’t have to thank me for meeting your family,” Jasper said.
“I know,” Bennett replied. “But I want to.”