Chapter 9
Ben waited for Sara outside the school.
He didn’t know why. His truck was parked by the curb, perfectly capable of taking him home where he could lock himself in his house and pretend this entire afternoon hadn’t happened.
Instead he stood on the sidewalk like an idiot, watching as the school gradually emptied. He was still standing there when Flora appeared at his elbow with her usual uncanny ability to materialize out of thin air.
“She’s a good one,” she said. “You’re not going to mess this up, are you, Benjamin?”
“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, but couldn’t quite summon his usual annoyance.
Flora’s eyes sparkled. “There he is. The boy he used to be, before he decided being a miserable bastard was a better career choice.”
“I’m not miserable.”
“No,” she agreed, surprisingly. “You’re lonely.”
He didn’t answer.
“Just remember you don’t have to be,” she added, and then she was gone again.
The departures continued—parents collecting children, car doors slamming—and the school grew silent. When Sara finally emerged, her coat buttoned and bag slung over her shoulder, she stopped short at the sight of him.
“You’re still here.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
Good question. Excellent question. One he had absolutely no answer for.
“I’m walking you home.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I’ve been walking myself home since I started working here.”
“And now I’m walking you home.”
“Ben—”
“Don’t argue.”
“I’m not arguing. I’m expressing mild confusion about your sudden caveman tendencies.”
He tucked her hand in his arm and started walking. She stopped arguing.
The February afternoon was crisp and grey, the snow from the previous week melting into slush at the edges of the sidewalks. Fairhaven Falls was quiet at this hour—most people home from work, the shops closing early on weekdays. Their footsteps echoed in the empty streets.
“The kids loved you,” she said eventually.
“They loved the candy.”
“They loved you. Maisie asked if you could come every day.”
Something twinged in his chest, but he ignored it. “I own a tavern. I don’t have time to visit kindergarten classes every day.”
“I know. I just thought you’d want to know you made an impression.”
He had made an impression. That was the problem.
He’d walked into that gym expecting to hate every second, expecting the small grabbing hands and high-pitched voices to grate against his every nerve.
Instead he’d found himself… charmed. Not to mention completely undone by a gap-toothed girl who’d offered him a hug.
What the hell is happening to me?
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Come today. I know you said you’d think about it, but I expected it to take a while.”
“I thought about it quickly.”
“Bull.”
He stopped walking. She stopped beside him, turning to face him with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and challenge.
“You want to know why I came?” he asked harshly. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because you asked me, and apparently that’s all it takes now. Because you look at me like I’m—” He cut himself off, jaw tight.
“Like you’re what?”
“Something other than what I am.”
She frowned up at him. “What do you think you are?”
“A grumpy bastard who has spent six years hiding in a small town and shutting everyone out.” The words came out rough, scraped from somewhere deep inside. “A coward. Someone who doesn’t deserve—”
“Stop.”
She took a step closer, putting her hands on his arms, and the touch burned through his sleeves like a brand, sending sparks dancing up his spine.
“You’re not any of those things.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” she said firmly. “I know you shovel my driveway before I wake up. I know you cook for your staff and don’t let anyone disrespect them.
I know you carried me home because you were protecting me.
I know—” She paused, something flickering in her eyes.
“I know you let a five-year-old hug you because she thought you looked sad.”
His throat tightened. “Sara—”
“I’m not stupid, Ben. I see you. The real you, not whatever character you think you’re playing. And I like what I see.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Too late.”
“I’m not—” He struggled to find the words. “I can’t give you what you want.”
“What do you think I want?”
“Someone uncomplicated. Someone who can take you on normal dates and meet your friends and not spend half his time fighting the urge to—” He stopped.
“To what?”
To claim you. Mark you. Keep you.
The words sat on his tongue, unspoken. Six years of discipline. Six years of control. And here she was, standing in the grey February light, smelling like sugar and looking at him like he was worth something, and he could feel every carefully constructed wall crumbling into dust.
“You brought me cake today,” he said instead, unable to hide the accusation in his voice. “Even after what I told you yesterday.”
“You said it was significant. An invitation.”
“An invitation you didn’t mean to extend.”
“Didn’t I?”
The question stopped him cold. She was looking at him now with those clear green eyes, direct and unflinching, not backing down an inch.
“Sara.”
“I’m not an idiot, Ben. I looked it up. After you told me. I found an article about Other courtship rituals, and I—” She took a breath. “I brought you the cake anyway. Knowing what it meant. Knowing what I was saying.”
The air between them felt electric, charged with possibility.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Probably not.”
“I’m not safe for you.”
“Probably not.”
“I haven’t—” His voice cracked. He hated himself for it. “I haven’t been with anyone in six years. By choice. Because I couldn’t trust myself to—”
“Ben.” She stepped closer, tilting her face up to his. “I’m not asking for promises. I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking you to stop running away.”
“I’m not running away.”
“You carried me home Friday night and then avoided me for two days.”
“That wasn’t—”
“You showed up at my classroom yesterday, told me you wanted to take what I was offering, and then disappeared before I could respond.”
“I didn’t—”
“You’re running.” Her hand found his chest, pressing flat over his thundering heart. “I can feel it. You get close and then you pull back, and I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but—”
“I’m afraid of this.” The words exploded out of him, raw and honest. “I’m afraid of wanting you so much it obliterates everything else. I’m afraid of losing control, of becoming the person I used to be, of—”
She kissed him.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t gentle. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level and pressed her mouth to his like she was trying to prove something.
For one perfect, crystallized second, he didn’t move.
Then his control snapped.
His arms wrapped around her, hauling her against his chest. His mouth opened over hers, his tongue sliding past her lips, tasting sugar and heat and Sara. She made a sound—a moan, a gasp, something that short-circuited what little remained of his higher brain functions.
Six years. Six years of nothing, of no one, of iron discipline and cold showers and the constant, grinding effort of keeping himself contained.
Gone. All of it obliterated by the feel of her curves pressed against him, the sound of her breathing his name, and the way she melted into his arms like she’d been made for them.
He walked her backwards until her back hit something solid—a fence post, a tree, he didn’t know and didn’t care. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her hips, the soft curve of her ass that had been haunting his dreams. She gasped when he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist.
“Ben—”
He kissed her harder, swallowing whatever she’d been about to say. His teeth grazed her lower lip and she shuddered, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The scent of her arousal hit him like a punch to the gut—rich and sweet and his.
Mine.
The word echoed through him, primal and possessive. His mouth moved from her lips to her jaw to her throat, finding the place where her pulse hammered beneath soft skin. He could feel the urge rising in him—the need to bite, to mark, to make sure everyone who looked at her knew she was taken.
“Oh God.” Her voice was breathless, wrecked. “That feels—”
His teeth scraped her skin.
Stop, an inner voice yelled, cutting through the haze of desire like a knife. He froze, his mouth still pressed to her throat, his whole body trembling with the effort of not moving.
What am I doing?
She was human. She was vulnerable. She was pressed against a fence post on a public street, her legs wrapped around his waist, her pulse rabbit-fast against his lips. And he was—
He was out of control.
He pulled back so abruptly she nearly fell. He caught her, steadied her, and then stepped away, putting three feet of frozen air between them.
“Ben?”
He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t bear to see what his loss of control had put on her face—fear, probably. Shock. Maybe disgust.
“I need to go.”
“What? Ben, wait—”
“This was a mistake.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, and hated himself for causing it. But he couldn’t stay here, couldn’t trust himself not to push her back against that fence and finish what he’d started.
“A mistake?” Her voice was cold now, hurt. “You just… We just… and you’re calling it a mistake?”
“I lost control.” The words came out harsh. “That can’t happen. Not with you.”
“Why not with me?”
“Because I care too much to hurt you.”
Silence. He could hear her breathing, ragged and uneven, and could smell the salt of tears threatening to spill.
“You’re hurting me right now,” she said quietly. “By walking away.”
“Better this than—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Better this than what? Letting yourself feel something?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me!”
He finally looked at her. She was beautiful—flushed and disheveled, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes bright with anger and something deeper. She looked like everything he’d ever wanted and nothing he deserved.
“When I want something,” he said slowly, “I want it completely. Absolutely. Without half-measures or compromise. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been. And if I let myself have you—” He swallowed hard. “I won’t be able to stop. I’ll want all of you. Every part. Forever.”
“And that’s bad?”
“It is when you don’t know what you’re signing up for. When I can barely control myself after one kiss.” He shook his head. “You should be with someone who can give you normal. Not… this.”
“I don’t want normal.” She stepped towards him, and it took everything he had not to retreat. “I want you.”
“Sara—”
“No. You don’t get to decide what I can handle.” Her voice was fierce now, the schoolteacher steel coming through. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and then tell me it was a mistake. You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection. I need you to stop being a coward.”
The word hit him like a slap. He stared at her, something raw and wounded twisting in his chest.
“I’m not—”
“You are.” She held his gaze, unflinching. “You’re scared. And I get it. I’m scared too. But walking away isn’t brave, Ben. It’s just running.”
He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he was doing the right thing, and that she’d thank him later when she found someone who could give her the uncomplicated love she deserved.
But the words wouldn’t come. Because somewhere, underneath all his carefully constructed defenses, he knew she was right.
He was running. He’d been running for six years. And he was so goddamn tired of being afraid.
“I can’t do this right now,” he said finally, the words scraping his throat raw. “I need—I need to think.”
Her expression flickered—hurt, anger, understanding. Finally, she nodded.
“Fine. Think. But Ben?” She waited until he met her eyes. “Don’t take too long. I’m worth fighting for. I know that, even if you don’t.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him standing on the empty street with the taste of her still on his lips.
He watched until she disappeared around the corner. Then he stood there a while longer, the winter cold seeping through his clothes, the silence pressing down on him like a weight.
I’m worth fighting for.
She was absolutely right. The question was whether he was brave enough to deserve her.