Chapter 19-Esme
“The Big C Quarterly Barbecue is on!”
Chase Baron’s voice carries over the crowd, easy and confident, and the place erupts.
Hats go flying.
Napkins wave.
Laughter rolls across the open space like thunder.
And somehow—I’m laughing too.
Clapping along, caught up in it, in the warmth of it, in the simple, uncomplicated joy of people celebrating something they built together.
For a second?
It feels easy.
The road trip. The miles. The motels. The people.
Like I belong to this kind of life.
Like I could belong with him.
Benji’s hand settles at the back of my neck, big and warm and there, and my breath catches just a little.
God.
That simple touch?
It does things to me.
Grounds me.
Unravels me.
Both at the same time.
I lean into it without thinking, letting myself feel it—him—just for a second.
It’s wonderful.
Terrific.
Dangerous as hell.
Because this?
This feels like a dream.
And not for the first time tonight, I wonder just how badly I’m setting myself up for heartbreak.
My smile softens as the noise fades into the background.
Because yeah—the last few days?
They’ve been good.
Better than good.
We’ve talked.
Actually talked.
Cleared some things up.
Started to untangle the mess we made of each other three years ago.
And the heat between us?
The pull?
That hasn’t gone anywhere.
If anything, it’s worse.
Stronger.
Like all the time apart just compressed it into something sharper.
More intense.
And I don’t know if we’re fixing things—or just walking right back into the fire.
My fingers curl lightly against my cup as my thoughts spiral.
The motel last night.
This afternoon in the cabin.
The way I keep losing my head so completely when we’re alone, it almost scares me.
“That’s not like you,” I mutter under my breath.
Except.
It is.
But only when it comes to him.
Benji’s always been the exception.
The one person who could knock every carefully built wall right down without even trying.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening.
And then there’s that.
The condom.
Or lack of one.
My pulse spikes.
Jesus, Esme.
I want to groan, pressing my lips together to hold the sound inside.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t.
That’s the problem.
I felt.
And when I feel with him?
There’s no halfway.
Never has been.
I exhale slowly, dragging my gaze across the crowd—anything to ground myself.
People laughing.
Talking.
Music drifting through the warm night air.
Normal.
This is normal.
So why does everything inside me feel like it’s teetering on the edge of something huge?
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Again.
I don’t even need to check it.
I know who it is.
My producer.
Three messages now.
Probably about the dating segment.
Deadlines.
Ideas.
Men I’m supposed to meet.
I don’t move to answer it.
Because the truth?
I don’t care.
Not right now.
Not when the only man I’ve ever loved is beside me, his hand still resting at my neck like he doesn’t want to let me go.
How am I supposed to fake interest in anyone else when this—this—is within reach?
My chest tightens.
Because that’s the other side of it, isn’t it?
What if this isn’t real?
What if this is just…
Closure.
A better ending than the one we had before.
A way for him to make peace with the past and move on.
Without me.
The thought hits hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
I feel wrecked.
Completely wrecked.
“Hey.”
His voice cuts through everything.
Low.
Close.
“Your thoughts are loud, Ezzy. What is it?”
Before I can stop him, he’s turning my chair, pulling me closer so I’m facing him.
Those eyes—those damn blue eyes that always seem to see too much—lock onto mine, sharp and searching.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
Then I shake my head.
“I mean, it’s not for now, Benji.”
I force a small smile.
“Maybe we should just have tonight and worry about it tomorrow.”
Make the promise, please, I beg silently.
Even if I don’t know if I can keep it.
“We can talk now—” he starts.
“No.”
The word comes out stronger than I expect.
I soften it immediately, reaching for his hand.
“I don’t want to,” I admit. “Not right now.”
Because if we talk?
Really talk?
I might hear something I’m not ready for.
And tonight—tonight feels too fragile to risk.
“Just,” I take a breath, searching his face. “Dance with me. Will you dance with me?”
For a second, he just looks at me.
Serious.
Still.
Like he’s weighing something.
Then he nods.
Slow.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll dance with you.”
The band shifts into a slow country song, something soft and aching, and he takes my hand, leading me out onto the makeshift dance floor.
Twinkle lights hang overhead, casting everything in a warm golden glow.
People move around us.
Laughing.
Swaying.
Living their lives.
But the second he pulls me in—it all disappears.
His hand settles at my waist.
Mine finds his shoulder.
And just like that—it’s only him.
Only us.
He spins me once, slow and easy, like he’s done it a hundred times before, and when I come back into him, I don’t fight it.
Don’t hold back.
I just fit.
Like I always did.
Like I still do.
My heart pounds as I look up at him, my breath catching.
Because this?
This feels like everything.
Like home.
Like something I’ve been searching for without even realizing it.
And that terrifies me.
Because I don’t know how this ends.
Don’t know if it lasts.
Don’t know if tomorrow will rip this apart all over again.
But right now?
Right now I don’t care.
I rest my head lightly against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
And for once—I let myself have it.
This moment.
This feeling.
This us.
Tomorrow can figure itself out.
Tonight?
Tonight I’m his.
And I think—maybe—he’s still mine, too.