Chapter 9 #2
A distant church bell broke the spell, its tone muffled by snow. Ben cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "One more run?" I asked.
"Just one?"
One turned into two more tandem runs. First, we took a different line down the slope, and Ben's directions, pressed against my ear, sent shivers down my spine. The second, we purposely hit every bump we could find, and our combined laughter echoed across the empty hill.
After the second run, we collapsed at the bottom, sprawled in the snow beside the sled. My legs trembled from the exertion, and my face hurt from smiling.
Ben sat up. "Getting hungry? I might have thermoses of hot chocolate in my truck. And I know a place with an excellent view."
"Let me guess—your workshop?"
"Actually..." He brushed snow from his hair. "There's a spot behind it. Kind of a secret garden in winter."
I couldn't resist. It was the first time he'd invited me to his home.
The backyard behind the workshop was a winter wonderland. Ben had strung white lights through bare tree branches, creating a canopy of stars over a small cleared space. Two Adirondack chairs—clearly his handiwork, the lines clean and the joints invisible—faced the valley below.
"When did you do all this?"
"The lights went up for Christmas." He handed me a thermos, his fingers brushing mine. "The chairs... well, maybe I was hoping for a reason to invite someone back here."
"Someone?" I raised an eyebrow.
"A very specific someone who might want to sit and watch the sunset over the valley." He ducked his head, focusing on unscrewing his own thermos. "Instead of being too busy with rehearsals and Broadway careers and..."
"Ben." I caught his hand. "I'm here now."
We settled into the chairs, shoulders touching. The hot chocolate was rich and complex—definitely not from a packet—hints of cinnamon, vanilla, maybe a touch of chili pepper.
"Holly's special blend." Ben wrapped both hands around his thermos. "She said something about it being good for opening hearts, and then she winked a lot."
I laughed. "Subtle as always."
"She means well." His fingers threaded through mine where our hands rested on the chair arm. "Though sometimes I wish she'd let things develop more naturally."
"Are we... developing naturally?" I gestured between us with my free hand.
"I don't know." His honesty caught me off guard. He stared out at the valley. "Feels right, though. Even if it's complicated."
A snowflake landed on Ben's cheek. Without thinking, I reached out to brush it away. His skin was warm despite the cold air. He leaned into my touch, eyes drifting closed for a moment.
This time, there were no church bells to interrupt us.
We met over the gap between the chairs, and the kiss was gentle at first, tentative, but quickly deepened into something that made my toes curl in my boots.
Ben's hand cupped my jaw, calluses rough against my skin in the best way, and I gripped his coat, pulling him closer.
He tasted like chocolate and cinnamon and winter.
When we finally broke apart, Ben whispered, "Wow."
"Yeah. So..."
"So?"
I spoke before I could overthink. "Would you maybe want to have dinner? With me? Like a proper date, not just stolen moments between set construction and rehearsals?"
Ben's entire face transformed. His eyebrows shot up, his lips parting in surprise, and then a smile took over, making my stomach flip. "I'd love that. Though you should know I'm not much for fancy restaurants."
"Good thing. I was thinking of cooking for you." The offer surprised even me. "My grandmother taught me her lasagna recipe. The sauce takes four hours, but it's worth it."
"Four hours?" His eyebrows rose. "That's some serious commitment to pasta."
"More like a serious commitment to getting it right. Sometimes the best things take time."
Ben raised our hands and pressed a kiss to my palm. "When were you thinking?"
"This evening, after rehearsal?" I tried to sound casual despite my racing heart. "Unless that's too soon..."
"Too soon doesn't seem to be something we do." He pulled me into another kiss, this one deeper and more certain. My fingers tangled in his hair, and he made a soft sound in the back of his throat.
The idea of Ben in my grandmother's kitchen, sitting at her worn oak table while I cooked, filled me with anticipation and terror in equal measure.
I wasn't only offering dinner. I was inviting him behind my carefully maintained walls, giving him a chance to see me without the polish and performance.
See me the way those kids had seen me yesterday—vulnerable and honest and trying.
Finally, he pulled back. His cheek rested against mine, and his eyelashes brushed my cheek when he blinked. "I should probably let you head home before we freeze."
"I suppose." I stole another quick kiss. "Though I'm not feeling particularly cold."
Ben's laugh was low and rich. "Still, I'd hate for Santa to catch a chill before tomorrow's rehearsal."
"Don't remind me." I buried my face against his neck, breathing in sawdust and snow. "I still can't believe I agreed to this."
"Hey." He tilted my chin up with gentle fingers. "You were incredible with those kids."
We gathered the thermoses and chairs. The snow had picked up again, fat flakes swirling in the light strands above us, and the wind had shifted, carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding trees.
I caught Ben watching me as I brushed snow off my chair.
His expression was unguarded—soft and wondering.
"What?"
"Just thinking how different you look from the man who slipped on Holly's doorstep." He stepped closer, boots crunching in the snow. "Less polished. More real."
"Real is terrifying." I reached for his hand.
"Real is better."
Ben walked me back to Grandma's house, and we took our time.
Our shoulders brushed with every few steps.
We shared quiet observations about the transformed town—how the snow had turned Mrs. Kolchek's tacky inflatable Santa into something almost elegant and how the street lamps created perfect circles of gold on the white ground.
"Seven o'clock tonight?" Ben confirmed.
"I'll start the sauce in my slow-cooker before rehearsal." My fingers played with the zipper of his coat, the metal cold under my fingertips. "Fair warning—I take Italian food very seriously."
"I've noticed you take most things seriously." He leaned in. "It's one of my favorite things about you."
The kiss that followed was deep and confident.
Ben's hands found their way inside my coat, palms warm against my sweater, and I pressed him against the porch column, not caring if the neighbors saw.
His hat fell off, and snow immediately started catching in his hair.
His heart beat fiercely against my chest, matching my own.
A car horn from somewhere down the street eventually forced us apart. Ben's hair stuck up in all directions courtesy of my fingers, and his lips were red from kissing.
He bent to retrieve his hat, and when he straightened, he was grinning. "Dinner. Definitely dinner."
"Deal."
I watched him navigate the snowy sidewalk until he disappeared around the corner, his boots leaving a trail I could follow with my eyes long after he was gone.
I hung the borrowed scarf in the entry cabinet, letting my fingers linger on the soft wool that still smelled faintly of cedar and my grandmother's sachets.
Upstairs, I hummed as I searched my grandmother's recipe box for her legendary lasagna instructions.
Her flowing script covered the familiar cards, complete with notes about which ingredients could not be substituted "under any circumstances.
" I ran my finger over her handwriting, feeling the slight indentations where her pen had pressed into the cardstock.
Seven o'clock couldn't come soon enough.