CHAPTER 15
BEN
The main room is empty when I get back inside, but my bedroom door is open. After I set down the cooler, I move to find Holly, only to see her on all fours on my bed. Her tight black leggings show off the lovely, round shape of her ass, and she’s practically wiggling it in the air as she messes with something.
“What are you doing?” The mental strength I use to keep all my blood from rushing down south also results in my words coming out gruffer than I meant them to.
Obviously surprised by my tone, Holly squeaks and flips over, bouncing when her butt hits the mattress. She slides off, revealing a partially made bed.
“Sorry. Am I not supposed to be in here?” She looks confused, but I’m relieved to see no embarrassment or discomfort.
“No, I’m sorry. You can be in here. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”
“Oh, okay. Weirdo.” A small smile touches her mouth before she crawls back onto the bed to finish the job. “Turn on the radiator. It’s freezing in here.”
I gladly follow her orders because I also need to take a moment to adjust myself.
Who knew making a bed could be so sensual?
The way she crawls across the mattress slips right into my fantasies, and now, I’m thinking about me lying on the bed with her crawling toward me, lips curving, eyes heating, silently promising me wicked things.
“Are all these paintings yours?” she asks the question while tucking in the edges of the top sheet. As her fingers move, her eyes meet mine and then flick around to the crowded walls.
I’m not sure how I feel about her seeing them. I painted them when I was a kid, when I was just starting to learn. Not that I’m anywhere near a master now, but I’m much better. But, no matter how many mistakes I made, my grandfather praised me for each piece. Of course, he gave suggestions for improvement, but he insisted they all be hung on the wall to be admired. If Grandpa Ben could love them, then so could I.
“Yep. I started painting when I was around eleven, so they’re not my best. But they’re not too shabby either.”
She’s silent for a moment as she walks around the room, peering at each of them individually. I try not to follow behind her like a praise-seeking ghost.
“Mmhmm. I think it’s this one.” With a little wave, Holly points to one of the smaller canvases.
The winter break during my junior year, my parents let me spend half the time here with my grandpa. The image on the canvas is as close to a copy as I was able to make of the view from my window one early morning. In a vivid contrast, I painted a fat crimson cardinal sitting on a snowy branch, icicles dripping from the underside of the wood.
“You think that one is what?” My stomach clenches, and my nerves are raw as I wait for her answer.
Sharing my artwork isn’t something I often do. Annabelle was a mistake; annoyance was in her eyes when I laid out a few of my sketches for her input. My parents show polite interest but don’t tend to ask questions or encourage the pursuit. At least my tattoo artists gave positive feedback, but I was also paying them to apply my artwork to my body, so it wasn’t like they were unbiased. Grandpa Ben was the only one who met my passion with his own.
I brace for the politeness or disinterest or possibly even the insult that will be injected into Holly’s next words.
“I think it’s my favorite … nope.” She glances around the room, shakes her head, and then hits me with her breath-stealing grin. “I know it is.” With a light touch, she brushes her index finger down the sweep of the bird’s back. “This is just so sweet. And gorgeous. And realistic. Did you actually see this bird?”
I nod. “He was sitting right outside my window one morning. I took a picture before he flew away and even had time for a quick watercolor rendering before he left. Then, I got to work and painted that. You really like it?”
“I more than like it. I like, like it. I have a crush on this painting. It’s not just the bird. It’s winter. You captured the beauty of winter.” She goes to touch it again but then pulls her hand back.
For a moment, I can’t speak. Somehow, this lovely woman perfectly interpreted the feeling I had been attempting to convey when making that piece. I want to gather her in my arms and brush kisses over her sweet lips as I thank her for understanding my work. Instead, I step beside her and slip the painting from the wall.
“You should take it then.” Now, I’m hoping I don’t find out she was just being polite.
That thought is quickly dismissed when she practically snatches it out of my hands.
“Really? I can have it? To take home with me?”
I cover up how much her excitement means to me by making a joke. “Well, since you like, like it. I wouldn’t want to break up the happy couple.”
Holly does a little hop dance, like an energetic puppy, while she holds my painting to her chest, as if I’ve given her some precious gift. In reality, it’s me who’s just been given something wonderful. Then, shocking the hell out of me, she reaches her hand up to grab the back of my neck and pulls me down to her tiptoe level before planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you, Ben.” She releases me and slips out of my bedroom, eyes focused on her new artwork.
I, on the other hand, am still bent forward, dealing with the shock of having Holly’s lips on me for even the briefest moment.
Dijon mustard drips onto my chin, and I quickly swipe it off with my finger but not before Ben sees.
He smirks and hands me a napkin. “I told you that was too much.”
“You can never have too much mustard.” I take another generous bite of the turkey, cheddar, lettuce, and tomato sandwich I assembled for myself from the different fixings Ben stocked the cooler with. “When I was a kid, I used to have mustard sandwiches.”
“You don’t mean …” The horrified look on his face cracks me up as I nod.
“Yep! Bread and mustard. That’s all I needed.”
He mimes gagging, and I decide I’d better not mention how I resorted to that simple meal a few times this past year when money was tight.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten anything weird before.”
Ben chews on his own sandwich, his expression morphing from disgusted to thoughtful. As he ponders his past eating habits, I take the time to study him.
We’re sitting at the small kitchen table, and Ben’s elbows rest on the worn plastic surface. He’s wearing his wire-rimmed glasses. I’m betting it’s because he knew he’d fall asleep in the car. Again, I can’t help comparing him to a sexy professor. With them on, all he needs is a sports coat with elbow patches, and my panties would catch on fire.
Speaking of fire, the one he built roars behind him, bringing out the red in his hair so much that I can’t even see the blond tones anymore.
My gaze moves from his face to his body. The purple shirt he has on completely covers his tattoos. I wonder if he wears long sleeves because it’s cold or if it’s a habit to hide the ink. I want to push them up his arms, so I can see more of his work.
But maybe it’s not just his tattoos he’s keeping covered.
I know Marcus is self-conscious about the raised ridge on his forearm needed for the dialysis treatment. He thinks it’s unattractive. I, on the other hand, have always connected the twisting bulge with him staying alive. There’s no part of my mind that views fistulas as ugly.
Maybe, if I told Ben that, he’d stop wearing so many long-sleeved shirts.
Maybe he’d stop wearing shirts altogether.
I jump and glance up when Ben finally answers, trying not to look like I was mentally undressing him.
“I’ve been eating sushi since I was three years old. Does that count?” Ben’s eyes focus on me with a hint of hope in them, like he wants to be weird like me.
My smile is indulgent. “I’d say that’s a bit odd. But it doesn’t make me want to gag.”
He smirks. “Sorry to disappoint. You want me to go grab a handful of dirt and try to choke it down?”
“Wow. You really know how to show off for a lady. I don’t think a man has ever eaten dirt for me before. At least, not since kindergarten.”
“There’s not much I wouldn’t do to try to impress you, Holly.” The joking tone is gone from his voice, and when I meet Ben’s gaze, a sudden flash of heat races over my body.
But that’s probably just the fire.
I focus back on my sandwich, and we finish our meal in silence.
Ben cleans up the dishes as I go to sit on the couch, enjoying the gentle blaze. The flames shrank while we ate. Trying to be careful, I place a log in the fireplace before quickly retreating to my seat.
The heat from it is lovely, and the flickering amber and crimson embers are mesmerizing.
“How’s your first fire? Everything you imagined?” Ben settles on the opposite side of the couch, turning to face me with his arm slung over the back cushions.
“I love it. It’s so warm and soothing.” Relaxed for the first time in a while, I sink back and let my body go limp.
These past few weeks have been tough. I’ve tried so hard to continue on my steady course, power through all the stress, never admit that there are nights I want to cry myself to sleep. With classes, work, internship hours, study sessions, club meetings, and doctor appointments, I’ve found it harder to keep away the ever-looming emotional storm.
Besides that one time, I haven’t called Ben after my blood draws. Even while he tried to make me laugh, I could see the guilt as he watched me struggle to calm down. And it was too easy to rely on him. I need to do this on my own. So, each time, I spend close to a half hour in the restroom, working through a set of breathing exercises. Safe to say, my nerves are shot for hours afterward.
A few bright spots have kept me sane—talking on the phone with Marcus every other day, eating Monday night dinner with Pops, receiving texts from Fred about his tests going well, and visiting Ben during his dialysis sessions.
But those are just Band-Aids on a festering wound. This trip, a whole weekend away, is a healing balm.
“Thank you. For inviting me here. I’ve been …” My throat clogs up, and to my horror, there’s a sudden pressure of tears behind my eyes. Like my body wants to take advantage of my relaxed state to let go of all the tension I’ve been stifling in the form of a sloppy sob session.
Not gonna happen.
I breathe in deep through my nose, let the air sigh out of my mouth, and start again. “I’ve been stressed lately. Didn’t realize how much I needed a few days off.”
“Is it the exchange?” he quietly asks from his side of the couch.
I shrug. “Some of it’s that. I just want it all to go smoothly. I need Marcus to be okay. He’s my brother. He’s everything to me.” The desperation in my voice unnerves me but not as much as Ben shifting closer.
He reaches out his arms and wraps them around my shoulders until he can pull me into a gentle embrace.
At first, I tense but not because I don’t want his hug. I want it too much.
Still, his warmth is so much more soothing than the fire. After a moment of hesitation, I surrender and lean into him.
We sit, wrapped up together, silently watching the logs crackle and spark. This weekend’s adventure started with the simple goal of visiting this cabin without having the memory of my grandfather overwhelm me, and in doing so, I’m growing closer to Holly.
Apparently, I’m not the only one who needs some help.
She’s starting to open up to me.
I’ve gotten the surface of Holly. Just a few pieces of her that she’s willing to share. But I can tell, from offhanded comments and unconscious reactions, that there’s more underneath her protective shield.
Twice now, she’s been vulnerable with me.
There are no genuine words of comfort I have to offer because, until the donation happens, everything is just hoping. All I can do is be open and honest, like she is with me.
“My grandpa Ben, he was … he lived here. By himself. Except for when I visited.” The words don’t come easy, but having Holly in my arms helps. “He committed suicide. That’s how he died.”
She lets out a small gasp before slipping her arms around my waist to wrap me in a tight hug. “When?”
“It was the summer before my freshman year of college. So, I guess it’s been three and a half years now.”
But I remember that day so vividly that it could have been last week. Mom picking up the house phone with a smile that was gone a second later. The way she stared at my dad, who was still reading the newspaper across the table from me. He didn’t even notice her watching him, oblivious to the devastation that coated her face as some police officer relayed the news of her father-in-law’s death. And I sat there, cereal forgotten, knowing that, whatever the call was about, it would tear my heart out.
“Doesn’t matter how much time goes by. It still hurts,” she whispers the words and rubs soothing circles on my back.
It’s strange, revisiting the darkest part of my life, which was even worse than when I got sick, and at the same time feeling the highest level of comfort with Holly’s small body pressed against mine.
After sitting quietly for some time, I’m ready to change the depressing mood. This is supposed to be a fun getaway, not a sob-fest.
I lightly kiss her silky, honeysuckle-scented hair and then use my grip on her to stand us both up.
“Enough with this sad talk. I promised you an adventure, and I’m gonna deliver. Put your boots on.” There’s almost a physical pain when I let my arms drop away from her.
“My boots? You don’t expect me to go back outside, do you? It’s below freezing out there!”
She rests her fists on her hips and glares at me like I told her we were going to run naked through the snow. Maybe, if there were snow, I would suggest it. The thought and her sassy reaction have me grinning.
“Don’t worry, princess. We’re not going out for long. And you’ll be plenty warm. See?” I grab the stack of quilts. “I’ll wrap you up.”
She grumbles to herself as she stomps over to her boots. Laces tied, she glares at me from the front door. I’m not worried though; there’s no real heat in it. Instead of just handing her the quilts, I take the opportunity to wrap one around her shoulders and then place the second over her head like a hood before tucking its corners into her palms.
“Hold the edges together. There, nice and toasty.”
“I look ridiculous.”
“Yeah, you really do.” I laugh, and she pulls her trademark move of sticking her tongue out.
Does she know what that does to me? How my stomach clenches and my skin goes hot? The craving I get to cup the sides of her face and meld my mouth to hers, seeking out that tempting tongue with my own?
If she knew, would she still do it?
“You gonna tell me what we’re doing or what?”
I reluctantly move my eyes away from her mouth to find her watching me. “Let’s head out, and I’ll show you.”
After I cover myself in blankets, we walk outside. We’re just twenty feet or so from the front porch when I stop her.
“Look up. Ever seen a sky like that in the city?”
Holly’s stare follows my direction, and I get a rush of satisfaction when her mouth drops open. I move, so our shoulders brush and then look up myself.
Even though I know what will be there, the sight still rocks me, taking me back to my childhood when I was innocent. Full of wonder.
Luckily, we have a cloudless night, and the moon has sunk low. The dark, inky sky sprawls between the tops of the trees, filled to the brim with stars. Each one shimmers on the backdrop, making the universe seem infinite and daunting.
We stand silently, admiring the tapestry, until I can’t fight the urge to hear her voice any longer. “Whaddya think?”
Holly gasps, as if she’d forgotten to breathe for the past five minutes. “This is so much better than my bedroom ceiling.”
I’m confused for a moment before I remember the little plastic stars in her loft bedroom. Seems I chose well.
“Yep. Nothing beats the real thing.”
For the first time since I told her to look up, Holly takes her gaze off the sky to reward me with a grin. “This is amazing. So far, I give this adventure an A-plus.”
Success.
“Is the cold getting to you? Want to head back inside?”
She shakes her head and moves her eyes upward again. “Not yet. Just a few more minutes.”
I keep my stare fixed where it is, finding the view on Earth more appealing.