Chapter 13
This isn’t a date,I remind myself as I walk next to Brock along the leaf-carpeted pathway through the sprawling dog park.
Ahead, a pond sparkles under the setting sun. Reeds sprout up around the pond, tan but tinted gold. Trees line the path we’re on, tall and majestic.
The dogs have been off-leash since we stepped through the park fence. Zoey runs ahead toward the water. Mr. Brown, slower, pads along just in front of Brock and me as though he’s paving our way.
This feels romantic.
But it shouldn’t.
I’m getting paid right now. The man at my side promised to add a ‘couple thousand bucks’ to my paycheck for hanging out with these dogs.
Despite the fact that my head knows this is not a date, my heart feels like one of the sparkly-heart emojis: it is bursting with love.
It’s just love for the golden sunlight,I tell myself. Love for these two Golden Retrievers. Love for the fresh air, and the foliage…
Not love for Brock.
Zoey runs back to us, a tennis ball in her mouth. She offers it to Brock, and he stops walking to take it gently from her mouth.
He lobs it into the air toward the pond ahead. I track it with my eyes so I’ll be able to help Zoey find it if it lands in the reeds.
“Oh… no,” I whisper when I spot a familiar figure up ahead.
“What, was that too far?” Brock asks.
“It was a good throw. The bad part is that guy up there.”
Brock follows my gaze. “Guy in the yellow jacket?”
“He’s the one.”
I never liked that reflective yellow jacket, but Charles wore it all the time back when we were dating. His mother gave it to him when he started riding his bike to work.
The reflective strips glare as Charles strides toward us. “Gwen? Is that really you?” he calls with a big, forced smile. “Where have you been hiding?”
Yikes.
This not-really-a-date outing with my boss, who just called me charming, is difficult enough to navigate. Add in a sort-of-ex that I ghosted, and the situation has become downright awkward.
“Hey… Charles. How have you been?”
His tight, fake smile pushes his stubble-covered cheeks up toward his eyes. “Not bad, not bad… Better now that I’m seeing you. Honestly, I’ve been keeping an eye out for you around town. I tried to call… You been busy?”
His eyes dart over to Brock.
“Hey, man,” Brock offers.
“I—yep,” I choke out. “Yeah, got really busy with the house project and everything.”
That’s not at all why I stopped taking his calls. The truth is, I didn’t feel any connection to Charles despite the fact that he is a perfectly fine human being.
I didn’t feel any chemistry.
Lizzy’s words flicker in the back of my mind: ‘You go for tame and passionless, but you deserve amazing. Your heart knows it.’
Tame and passionless.
Yeah. That description fits Charles without a doubt. When he held my hand during a movie we went to, I felt as though my palm was molded around a dead fish.
Charles’ eyes dart over to Brock again. He scratches the back of his head. The silence that hangs between the three of us reminds me that I’m the common element here—the reason the three of us are stuck on this path as though in a stalemate. I need to do some sort of introduction, but how?
‘Brock, meet the guy I went on three very unmemorable dates with.’
‘Charles, this is my boss-crush, Brock Benson.’
No way.
But the silence stretches. Without a solid plan in place, I dive in. “Brock, this is my friend, Charles.” I gesture as if Brock could possibly miss the fluorescent-yellow jacket currently blocking our way.
“Charles, this is Brock Benson. He owns Epic Elevate and?—”
The warm feeling of Brock’s arm moving around my shoulder catches me completely off guard and makes the sentence die in my throat.
What was I about to say?
Something about Brock’s podcast, I think. I make myself continue the sentence, but now my own voice sounds foreign in my ears. “And he produces the Epic Elevate Podcast. Have you heard it? I bet you’ve listened to it. Hundreds of thousands of downloads.”
It doesn’t even matter to me that I’m rambling about Brock’s credentials like a fool. All that matters is that he has his arm around me.
His hip grazes mine. His arm, hugging me, makes me feel incredibly safe and loved.
Zoey, who has retrieved her slobbery wet ball from the soupy wetlands around the pond, trots up to us. This time, she brings the ball to me. She presses it into my hand. I take it from her and lob it off into the woods beside us. All the while, I’m incredibly, almost painfully aware of how Brock feels at my side.
He is tall and strong. The feel of his side touching mine makes my body thrum and buzz. Head to toe, I feel energy I haven’t felt in years. I want to melt into him and turn so that all of me is pressed into all of him. I want to savor the feel of him right next to me on this leaf-carpeted path and not get distracted for even an instant.
Charles is talking now.
Something about the podcast—the episodes he’s heard. His demeanor has shifted, and I realize he probably thinks Brock and I are together. He’s no longer looking at me like a fish he hopes to hook on a line.
After a few half-hearted comments on the podcast, he backs up and whistles for his dog. The border collie bounds up to us, and Charles hooks her to a leash and tugs her along the path.
“Maybe I’ll see you around, Gwen,” he says coolly before delivering one last wary look toward the hulk of a man synched into my side.
Brock and I continue up the path. His arm is still over my shoulders.
“That guy wants you,” he says as Zoey runs up to us again. He shifts his arm away so he can reach for the ball and toss it.
It lands with a splash in the shallows of the pond. “You didn’t seem that into him. Figured I’d help you out.”
“I don’t think he’ll be calling me anymore,” I agree.
Mr. Brown pushes his silvery muzzle into a stand of reeds and comes out with a wet, grimy stick. I take it from him and chuck it far enough to give him a bit of fun, but not far enough to wear him out.
“Is that a good thing, that he won’t call?”
“Yeah. We went out a few times, but I’m not up for hanging out with him again. So, thanks. That was helpful.”
“What’d he do wrong?”
“Eh, not important.”
We amble toward the shoreline. The water reflects the colorful trees and the golden sky. Zoey drops her ball in the shallows so she can watch a row of ducks drifting in and out of the tan, leafy reeds.
She barks.
Mr. Brown stops gnawing his stick to see what the fuss is about. Spotting the ducks, he adds a low “woof.”
“You’re not gonna tell me how he messed up?” Brock says.
I shrug. “He didn’t mess up.”
Brock and I stop walking just before the ground gets muddy. I can smell the fall leaves, the clean air, the mineral-rich water of the pond.
“He must’ve. You didn’t look happy to see him.”
“He didn’t mess up. He didn’t do anything wrong, exactly. He just never really did anything all that right, you know?”
“What should he have done?”
“I don’t know…”
“I bet I know.”
I give him a quick smile. “Oh, come on. You don’t know everything.”
“He should’ve swept you off your feet. Right? That’s what you wanted.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, but I’m taking an educated guess based on how you sound. Plus, I have a decent idea about what women want.”
“Oh, I know.”
“You know?”
“I’ve read the articles, the social posts. Your sizzling love life is public knowledge.”
“Sizzling?” He chuckles.
“Scandalous, even.”
“Scandalous…” He strokes his chin and looks out across the water. “Ha. I think I like that. Jordan and Leo would love it. Maybe we’ll weave it into a podcast one of these days.”
“Brock Benson’s Sizzling, Scandalous Dating Life,” I tease.
“I don’t know if it would hold listeners’ attention.”
“Oh, I am sure it would. People love your tales of adventure. And you’ve got a reputation as quite the ladies’ man, so of course, people want to know all the details.”
He raises his brow. “You’re calling me a ladies’ man?”
“Only ‘cause it’s true.”
“You sure you want to go there?”
No. Not at all.
But he put his arm around my shoulders, out on the path, and I’m still reeling from that. Part of me needs him to know that I’m aware of his reputation. His intimidating reputation. And, I want to hear what he has to say about his relationships.
I nod and fight off nervousness as I look out at the reflection on the water. “Yeah, let’s go there.”
“Okay, what do you know about my ways with women?”
“The cruises, the island vacations, the five-star restaurants… Parties in New York, movie premiers… all with the elite women of the world. Must be exciting.”
“I had no idea you knew so much about my life, Gwen Temple.”
“You’re a public figure. At least around here. Practically a celebrity. Looks like you have it all.”
“Well, sometimes how a thing looks on the outside is really different from how it feels from the inside. Photos, social media, interviews… they all highlight the ups, not the downs.”
“There are downs?”
“Yeah. Some. Everyone has that.”
I nod. “True.”
“I know I get a bad rap for dating around so much. Perennial bachelor, player, all that. My friends even give me a hard time. But that’s not the whole story.”
“So, what’s the whole story?”
“I… hm…” He trails off.
This is a first.
Brock Benson, speechless?
I don’t want to deter him from this new vulnerability. He may not be good at waiting, but I am.
So, I wait.
Finally, he speaks. Not in the booming way. His voice is quieter now. Soft and gentle. “I was married, way back. Didn’t last.”
He’s divorced?
Whoa.
I had no idea. That information doesn’t fit at all with the reputation I’ve heard about for so long. The media loves to paint Brock as commitment-phobic—the typical pleasure-seeking male who has his choice of women and enjoys the buffet line so much he’ll never decide on one dish.
“I had no idea,” I say, my voice just as hushed as his.
“Yeah, well, I don’t talk about it.”
“Too… too painful?” I try to imagine what it’d be like to promise ‘forever’ to another person, then have it fall apart.
“Yeah. That’s the right word. There was a lot of pain involved on both sides. It sucked, basically. Big mistake that we both paid for.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Nah, don’t feel bad. It actually feels good to let you know the bigger picture.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re easy to talk to, you know that?”
I nod. “I’ve heard it before.”
“So, you’ve got an advantage.” His tone lightens. He steps forward to pick up the stick Mr. Brown abandoned. When he chucks it, Mr. Brown swivels his head away from the ducks and tracks it until it lands with a splash in the water.
Mr. Brown starts wading that way, slow and steady.
He’s like Brock and me. We waded through some heaviness just now. Thanks to Brock’s movements and lighter sound, I know he wants to brighten the conversation.
He glances my way, then gestures to the path behind me. “You know all about my history with women, and all I know about your dating life is that you went out a few times with that guy who rocks a reflective jacket.”
I giggle. “Isn’t that thing bright?”
“So bright. I was like—bro!” He feigns shielding his eyes. “Blinding.” He blinks a few times. “I think my retinas might still be fried.”
It feels like a dream to stand here and laugh with Brock. So good.
When our laughter dies down, I catch the way his eyes linger on me. He returns to my side like it’s where he belongs.
Heat snaps and crackles between us.
I know him better now. I’m glad about that.
“He was an idiot,” he murmurs.
“Charles?” I ask.
Brock nods.
“Well, idiot might be sort of harsh,” I say. “I mean… his mom gave him that jacket. And for all we know, it will save his life when he’s riding his bike in traffic… Reflective clothing is really?—”
He steps in closer.
His hand finds my hip. Electricity courses through me, hot and searing. My breath hitches.
“No, not for the jacket,” Brock says, his voice deeper now than it was before, with a new husky gruffness.
“For… for what then?”
His other hand curves around me, to my lower back. “For not making better moves.”
“He—he didn’t—I mean, he did okay. Once, when my ice cream melted and fell off the cone onto the sidewalk, he bought me a new ice cream.”
I should be put into classes or something. Remedial classes about how to behave when a man holds you and looks into your eyes.
The first class might be about not jibber-jabbing about an ex. Not saying stupid, rambly things. Not stalling for time, because you’re scared.
I am scared, though.
Not of Brock’s demands, or his selfishness, like I used to be. I’m not even scared of his reputation as a player anymore. That’s all gone.
I know him better now, and in this instant, new fears are rising up.
I’m afraid of how warm his eyes are.
How sincere his words can be in those times when our teasing and joking take a back seat.
I’m afraid of the sweetness he’s revealing in little bursts of vulnerability.
I’m afraid of how good it feels to be a person he wants to get to know.
His hands hold me, firm and sure. He pulls me in. His voice is deep, rumbly, and sends delicious shockwaves through me. “Buying you replacement ice cream isn’t the move I’m talking about.”
“I was sorta afraid of that.”
“This isn’t very work-ish, is it?” he says, his deep voice now hushed.
“I guess it’s a good thing we’re not at work.”
He leans in slowly.
Anticipation floods me. I can’t breathe.
His lips seal to mine, taking away breath that I didn’t even know was in me. Heaven. This might be heaven. The feeling of his lips touching mine is so much better than I ever imagined. His mouth is soft and warm, his kiss so gentle at first, like I’m delicate, and he fears breaking me.
My body feels floaty, as though I might levitate off the earth.
His arms, though, keep me safe. His hand moves up my back as he kisses me. When our kiss deepens, I let him hold me up.
With my eyes closed, I lose myself in the feeling of his mouth on mine.
When my lips part against his, I taste a hint of spearmint. His scent is stronger now that we’re so close. I smell his soap, his shampoo, the mix of his spicy cologne and laundry detergent that’s laced with verbena and a hint of orange.
As our lips part, I draw in a quick, jagged breath and try to gather myself.
“That guy… he should have pulled you in close, like this, every chance he got,” Brock whispers to me while his arms still circle my waist. “Maybe then, you would want to call him back.”
I can’t think. At all.
Not with Brock’s arms around me like this. His right hand moves to my face. He gently moves his thumb down my cheek. The wisp of my hair that was obscuring my vision disappears. I feel him tuck the strand behind my ear.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he whispers.
“My hair’s a mess. You don’t like messes.”
“I like your messes.”
“You shouldn’t,” I whisper.
“I also shouldn’t be holding you like this.”
“There’s also that.”
“Maybe I got carried away,” he says.
“There’s a small chance we both did.”
He releases his hold. I don’t want him to. I want him to keep his arms around me as the sun sinks below the tree line and the stars come out. But what we’ve done is bad enough, and more would only make the situation worse.
It’s complicated enough as it is.
When I look out and see Zoey swimming out toward the ducks, I’m glad for a reason to step away from Brock. “Zoey, girl,” I call, hands cupped around my mouth. “Leave those poor ducks alone. Let’s go!”
Mr. Brown barks like he’s calling for his sister, too. Zoey changes directions, and silvery ripples form a trail behind her as she swims toward shore. She emerges, dripping wet.
“So, that Land Cruiser of yours… is it ready to be christened?” I ask.
Brock frowns, but I can see it’s just for show. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Maybe they’ll air dry on the way back to the parking lot.”
“It would probably help if we took the long route. You’re the guide. Is there a trail we could walk on or something?”
“There is a loop that wraps around the pond before turning that way.”
“See? I knew you’d be good at this. You know this territory.”
Hardly, I think, as the dogs join on the shore. We all head for the path that will circle the pond. Brock slips his hand into mine, and joy flickers in the very center of my being.
This is new territory for me. Territory I’m not prepared for.
I don’t know how to handle this.
I’ve crossed the line with Brock, and there is no going back now.