Chapter Thirty-Two
The fluorescent lights of Adelaide Airport were brutal after twenty-seven hours of travel. Franco felt sluggish, as if his body was still somewhere over the Indian Ocean, but his heart beat hard and fast as he stepped through the sliding glass doors of Arrivals.
The crowd blurred together at first, a sea of signs, hugs, yawns, and impatient taxi drivers, but Franco scanned every face, every shadow, searching for the one he needed.
And then he saw him.
Ben stood beyond the barrier, tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair mussed as if he’d been dragging his hand through it for the last half hour, his gaze locked on Franco as though nothing else in the world existed.
The sight punched the air out of Franco’s lungs.
I’m home.
Someone nudged his arm, and Franco turned to see Dan, tugging his case behind him. He inclined his head toward Ben.
“Is that him?”
Franco smiled. “Oh yeah. ”
Dan sighed. “Okay, my heart is broken, but I have to admit, you’ve got great taste in men.”
He chuckled, returning his attention to Ben. “Yeah. I know.”
Dan patted his arm. “Be happy, hon.” Then he walked away, hips swaying a little.
When Franco finally stepped through the barrier, his bag clutched in one hand, pulling the handle of his suitcase with the other, Ben didn’t move at first. They stood there, staring at each other, Franco waiting for two months of distance to fold in on itself.
Then he closed the gap, dropped his bag to the ground, let go of his case, and threw his arms around Ben.
The embrace was fierce and bone-deep, and Franco clung to Ben as though his body was finally catching up with what his heart had known all along. Ben’s arms locked tight around him, his hand cupping the back of Franco’s head in that familiar grounding touch he’d come to love.
“I missed you,” Franco whispered against Ben’s neck, his throat raw, his eyes burning.
“God, Franco,” Ben murmured, his voice low and thick. “You have no idea.”
Franco pulled back and smiled. “Thank you for the upgrade. Business class was a good call. I managed a few hours’ sleep here and there. And the crew looked after me like royalty.”
“I wanted you to be comfortable,” Ben said simply. “You deserved it.”
Franco fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, withdrew the folded slip of paper, and pressed it into Ben’s palm. Ben opened it and frowned.
“Who is Dan, and why is he giving you his phone number?” He blinked. “That flight attendant just now? Was that him?”
Despite his fatigue, Franco smirked. “Yeah. He gave it to me right before we landed. Cute guy.” Something flickered in Ben’s eyes before Franco laughed softly, brushing his knuckles down Ben’s cheek.
“Relax. One, he’s far too young for me. And two…
” His voice dropped low. “My heart is already taken.”
Ben swallowed, his eyes shining in the harsh airport light. Without a word, he pulled Franco close again.
Back where I belong.
Ben hadn’t been sure how he’d react when he saw Franco again. He’d pictured it a hundred ways: running, kissing, maybe breaking down in the middle of Arrivals. But when Franco walked through those sliding doors, rumpled from travel, weary-eyed, yet so achingly beautiful, everything in Ben stilled.
This was it.
His man. His lover.
The long weeks of waiting, the silence, the ache of missing him, all of it melted away the second Franco’s arms wrapped around him. He pressed his face into Franco’s shoulder, breathing him in, that familiar mix of cologne and something indefinably Franco. The scent alone nearly undid him.
Then Franco’s words slid straight into the hollow place inside him that had been empty since September.
My heart is already taken.
Ben’s throat tightened, and he cupped Franco’s face, kissing him softly. It wasn’t a frantic kiss: it was sure, steady, a promise sealed in the press of lips. People passed by, some smiling, some pretending not to stare, but Ben didn’t care.
He had Franco back. That was all that mattered.
“Come on,” he murmured, after they broke apart. “Let’s get you home.”
The city was quiet by the time they pulled up outside Ben’s flat, the summer night warm and scented faintly of jasmine.
Ben was amazed Franco’s weary legs could carry him up the stairs, but at last they were inside.
Franco dropped his bag by the couch along with his suitcase and sighed with relief.
Ben poured them each a glass of water, then guided Franco toward the bedroom.
Franco chuckled. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
He snorted. “It’s already ten-thirty, and you must be exhausted. So we’re going to sleep.”
Franco reached for Ben, tugging him onto the bed beside him.
They didn’t rush, didn’t undress further than slipping out of shirts.
They simply curled into each other, touching, kissing softly, Franco’s fingertips tracing the contours of Ben’s frame.
Ben let himself sink into the warmth of Franco’s body, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath his palm.
“You’re really here,” he whispered.
Franco kissed his temple, his arm wrapped tight around him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m home.”
There was no urgency, no heat demanding more. Nothing but tenderness, the quiet sensuality of being skin to skin, of rediscovering that closeness they’d both craved. Ben stroked Franco’s hair until his eyes slipped closed, and Franco drifted into sleep.
He’s safe, anchored, exactly where he belongs.
With Franco finally in his arms, in his bed, Ben knew he’d been holding his breath since September and had only just learned how to breathe again.
The clock on Ben’s bedside table glowed 3:14 a.m. The world outside was dark and silent, but Franco lay awake, his body still caught between time zones, his mind humming with the surreal fact that he was here, back in Adelaide, back in Ben’s bed .
He shifted slightly, and Ben stirred beside him.
“You awake?” Ben’s voice was low, rough with sleep.
Franco smiled in the dark. “Yeah. Can’t seem to switch off.”
There was a pause before Ben whispered, “I was thinking… about us.”
Franco’s heart kicked up. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “Yeah?”
Warm fingers curled around his. “I like this flat. I do. And yours is great too. But…” He hesitated, then went on, softer now, almost shy. “I want us to have a place together. Our home.”
Franco’s breathing hitched. “I love that idea.”
“I even started looking,” Ben added. “Found a few possibles too.”
Franco pushed upright in bed, his eyes narrowing in the shadows. “What? And you’re only telling me now ? Show me.”
Ben laughed. “Okay, since neither of us seems ready to sleep right now…” He slipped out of bed, retrieved his laptop from the dresser, and climbed back in beside Franco. The glow from the screen lit the room in soft blue as Ben pulled up a folder.
Franco scrolled absently through flats in central Adelaide, all perfectly acceptable—until one property stopped him cold. He pressed his hand to his chest.
“That one. That’s it. Our home.”
A sunlit terrace complete with pergola, bougainvillea wrapped around its posts, a large kitchen with warm wood floors, an open plan living/dining area with doors that opened out onto views that took Franco’s breath away, wide windows flooding the rooms with light…
“Where is it?”
“Bibaringa. It’s about forty minutes’ drive from the restaurant.
” Ben read aloud: “Set across approximately ten acres of gently rolling land, this home is the lifestyle change you have been wanting. Whether you’re watching the sunset over the hills, tending to a garden, or simply enjoying the wide-open space, you’ll feel instantly at ease here.
” He stared at Franco, a mix of surprise, relief and joy etched across his features.
“You’re sure? You didn’t even look at the others. ”
Franco nodded firmly, returning his gaze to the glowing images. “I don’t need to. I can feel it. That’s where we belong. You and me. Our home.”
The words hung between them, rich and heavy with promise. Franco closed the laptop gently and set it aside on the bedside table, then turned back to Ben. His heart thudded in his chest, not from nerves, but from sheer certainty.
“Our home,” he repeated, softer now.
Ben cupped Franco’s cheek with a tenderness that made Franco’s throat tighten. “God, I love the way you say that.”
Franco leaned in and kissed him, leisurely at first, their lips brushing with aching sweetness.
But then the kiss deepened, urgency sparking as though months apart had lit a fuse neither of them could ignore.
Franco shifted closer, straddling Ben’s lap, his hands sliding into Ben’s hair, claiming Ben’s mouth with growing intensity.
Ben groaned softly against his mouth, pulling Franco flush against him. The kiss turned hungrier, hotter, the kind of kiss that tasted of promises and need, of everything they’d been waiting to reclaim.
Franco broke away long enough to murmur, breathless, “Back to sleep? Not a chance. I have a much better idea.”
He pressed another searing kiss to Ben’s mouth, and this time Ben didn’t hesitate. He gathered Franco into his arms and rolled with him toward the centre of the bed.
Franco was finally— finally —home.
Franco paused outside the restaurant door, the familiar hum of clattering pans and muffled voices filtering through the glass. His chest tightened. It had been three months since he’d walked through this door, but the scents that drifted out—coffee, garlic, warm bread—hit him like an embrace.
He stepped inside, Ben behind him, and every head turned.
“Franco!” Willow’s squeal carried across the dining room before she darted around the counter and threw her arms around him. He staggered under the impact, laughing as she clung tight.
“You’re really here,” she said, pulling back to gaze at him with bright eyes. “God, we missed you so much.”
“Yeah, I missed you too,” Franco said, his throat thick.