Chapter 24
The house Fred owns is beautiful. It’s situated on the very end of one of these baby peninsulas facing Shinnecock Bay with a private section of beach and a dock, which is currently empty because the boat is dry-docked for the winter; the boat being the only thing that’s actually Ben’s, so he says. Overall, I feel like a plebian even standing in the foyer of the home with cathedral ceilings and skylights with bright, light furniture and white woods.
It’s something out of a fucking magazine, and I don’t want to think about how I already want to come back again.
“You’re sure you don’t own half of this or something?” I ask, rolling my suitcase into the bedroom we’re staying in, almost weeping at the waterfront view outside the sliding glass doors.
“What would it change if I did?”
“I wouldn’t feel as bad making a mess of this room.”
He glides past me, settling his suitcase on the end of the bed and unzipping it. I follow, running my fingers along the fluffy, white duvet that would never survive a single day in my possession without getting messed up. As it is, I want to climb on and jump to see how bouncy the mattress is in comparison to the one from Italy. If I asked, Ben would throw me onto it in a heartbeat.
“Just enjoy the weekend.”
I blow out a breath, throwing my suitcase open. It’s the same one I used for our trip to Italy, the colorful chaos of mine compared to the organized monochrome of Ben’s, and again I’m not sure how we even work together at all. I just want to stick my hand in his clothes and stir everything up for the fun of it, even when I wish I could be more like him. The best I’ve got is the wrinkled clothes that I picked up and folded from the clean pile of laundry that’s been sitting at the end of my bed for two weeks.
“I’ll try.”
His hand covers the pile of underwear I’ve just set down. “Won’t be needing these then.”
And he just—sweeps them off the side of the bed.
“Ben,” I whine. “I’m going to have to pick those back up.”
“You were going to have to pick them up off the floor eventually, anyway,” he says, the confidence in his tone swaying me on my feet.
“If I can’t wear underwear, neither can you.”
“Fine with me.”
I’m screaming inside, because he’s just set down a pair of gray sweatpants and they’re absolutely going to be my undoing.
“Whatever.”
When we’re done unpacking our clothes, it’s my stomach that breaks the strangely comfortable silence. A growl that betrays the way I’d just cooly crossed my arms.
“Hungry?”
“Mmmmm, I could eat.”
“Well,” Ben settles down into the bed, laying on his side as he scrolls through his phone, “there’s a lot of good restaurants that are pretty close. Or we could order something in, if you prefer.”
I bring a knee up onto the mattress, walking across the bed on my palms until I crawl over him and stick my face in his side when I can’t go any further. I breathe him in, the way the pure sensation of comfort spreads across my skin is cruel. My arms wrap around his middle, and he drops his arm around my shoulders as he tosses his phone down.
“Maybe I just want to eat you.”
“Funny,” he chides, a hand carding through my hair. “You forget to eat three meals a day enough, but not when I’m around.”
“Are you sure you don’t have a feeding kink?”
He chuckles, shifting until his back is pressed to the bed. I scoot up until I’m hovering over him. “I’m sure that I just like to see you healthy.”
“Boring,” I huff, leaning down until I can almost taste the cherry Twizzlers still lingering on his breath.
His fingertips graze my hips, head tilting to the side as he looks up at me. There’s that assessing quality to his gaze, but I can’t say I hate it when he looks at me so intensely. Even when I feel stripped bare beneath him, there’s a vulnerability reflected back at me that makes me safe. And when I would like nothing more than to let my decision paralysis either consume me or fall back on something old and familiar, he pulls me to the surface again.
“Why don’t we go out tonight, stay in tomorrow?”
My body feels looser, more relaxed as he curves his palms over the backs of my thighs. I drop down to my elbows, our chests pressing together as a little whoosh of breath lifts from him.
“Can we see the shops?” I ask, my thumb tracing over his lower lip.
He squeezes me tighter to him, making my hips rolling reflexively. He bites the end of my thumb hard enough for me to retract it.
“Sure. Is there something particular you’re looking for?”
“Anything cute.”
Ben laughs, eyes dropping closed. “You said the same thing in Italy, and I ended up with a suitcase full of stuff. I have my work cut out for me today, then.”
“Always,” I state, leaning in to press our lips together in a kiss. “Hope you have your credit card ready.”
“Always,” he echoes between the slow back and forth of our lips.
I sink into him, my hands drifting through his hair and pulling him closer. He tastes sweet, unlike the usual spice on his breath.
“Ice cream,” I breathe, pulling a lung full of air in when I jerk my head back.
“It’s fifty degrees out.”
“Good, it won’t melt then.”
He gives me a withering look, tucking the hanging strands of hair behind my ear. “Fine, but we have to get going if you want to do all of this before everything starts closing.”
I jump off of him, bouncing on my knees to the edge of the mattress. I spring off of it and do a twirl, sweeping my hair behind my shoulder and tugging my cropped hoodie back into place. “Ready.”
“Do you wanna drive?”
I shrink just a little, because as much as I wanted to drive on the way here but was relegated to the passenger seat, the thought of going into town and driving on streets I don’t know to places I’ve never been isn’t it.
“No, you drive, please.”
Ben rises from the bed, arms stretched above his head as my fingers reach out to graze over the trail of hair on his lower stomach. He catches my wrist in his hand before I can curl my fingers in the waistband of his jeans.
He ignores my pout, guiding us back out of the room.
We slip into our shoes by the door. The outside air smells citrusy and salty and so clean compared to the city. I probably sound like an idiot, the way I keep inhaling, but I can’t help it. And Ben’s cologne on top of it all as he walks past? Yes. A thousand times yes. Yes to what? Doesn’t matter.
Somehow, I’ve managed to get in the car and the fading orange and yellows of the trees blur into one big mess of brown, even when I roll the window down and stick my hand out to slip through the breeze.
We park on one of the main roads downtown, Ben parallel parking like a God. It’s disgusting.
There’s a bunch of little shops dotting the main street and the next street over, and as much as I love window shopping on a good day, the fact that he said I could have anything I wanted still doesn’t make me go wild. But I’m not an idiot; he’s offering to pay so I’ll pick out what I want, what I’d buy for myself if I had the money.
I drag him into this store called Roller Rabbit where they have everything from bedding to pajamas to tote bags. Their house-made prints come in everything under the umbrella, so I pick out a quilted tote as my prize. Then there are the pajamas, such soft cotton between the press of my fingers that I can’t resist them. I pick us out a matching pair, much to Ben’s dismay.
“They’re cute,” I insist as we leave the store, the straps of my new bag hooked over my arm.
“They have whales all over them.”
“And whales are cute.”
“It’s not really my style…”
“I’m considering this part of my compensation, take a hundred bucks off my payment this week. Whale pajamas for us both.”
He rolls his eyes, but grabs them from my arms, folding them over his elbow. “You’re impossible.”
“And you like that about me.”
He follows me into the next store without an ounce of protest.
When my new bag is full of knickknacks and new clothes from the downtown stores, my stomach growls again. Ben steers us down another street until I can smell fried food, making me want nothing more than a plate of fries.
We end up at a cozy restaurant with dark leather booths and tables with dim lighting. Everything is a mix of American and German cuisine; it’s like a comfort food for my soul. We get two plates to share, a pot roast and a schnitzel meal with a plate of fries, because I have to have some. And despite being a potato-heavy meal between everything, I love the braised red cabbage the most.
Then we stop at this gourmet market because snacks are a must, even on a long weekend vacation.
I’m absolutely dead by the time we get back to the house and Ben drags me through the door. All my spoons have flown out of the drawer for today.
I kick my slip-ons off in the living room once everything is put away, swiping a bag of popcorn off the counter as I trudge back to the bedroom with a yawn. I wish we’d brought Pebbles along to curl up with; I could use some animal therapy.
“I’m so tired. Why was there so much walking?”
Ben finally enters the bedroom, a bowl tucked under his arm and two bottles of water. “It wasn’t that much walking. Certainly wasn’t more than Italy. You’re being dramatic.”
“And that’s well within my rights when you look like that,” I wave a hand at him then gesture to myself, “and I look like this.”
“Like what?” He sets the items down on the bedside table before moving toward the dresser to stand in front of me. In true, oblivious boy manner, he yanks his shirt over his head.
“Oh, come on. You’ve got abs.”
He looks down at his stomach with the light definition of muscle and pinches at the one place he’s softer than the rest. “Not abs.”
“Suuure,” I drawl, narrowing in on where his biceps flex and his forearm strains as he unbuckles his belt and pulls off his jeans. “What would you call it, then?”
“Stomach muscles.” He shrugs.
Heat crawls up my cheeks when he pulls his boxers along with his jeans, stepping out of his clothes only to pull the overly cute pajama bottoms I picked out for him on.
He turns to lean against the dresser, holding out my set, entirely unbothered.
And he shouldn’t be. But I am. Because as much as I’ve seen him naked, I’ve never seen him so casual—shirt off, bare feet, cotton pajamas with a rainbow array of chubby whales.
I cross my arms at the waist, pulling the silky material of my hoodie up over my head. My jeans are a little harder to peel off my legs. I can feel him watching the entire time even as I stumble to pull my socks off. When I reach out to swipe the clothing from his outstretched hand, he pulls it out of my grasp, withholding the clothing as he makes a tsk sound that reverberates in my skull.
“No underwear.”
“I thought we were joking,” I say lamely, hands twisting behind my back to unclasp my bralette. I drop the silky, orange material to the floor and his gaze drops from my face to my chest in a slow dip that feels like something out of a movie.
“I wasn’t joking.”
I kind of wish he was, but as long as there’s something between me and the bed, then I’ll be fine.
My panties slip over my hips and I step out of them, toward Ben. The warm central air heating in the house brushes my skin, but my nipples harden anyway.
“Pajamas, please,” I trill, pulling on the fabric clenched in his fist.
He relents and I pull the shirt over my head first, then the pants. They’re both a little loose—comfy, just the way I like them. I tug the drawstring on the pants tighter, tying the strings into a bow and smoothing my hands down my stomach.
Ben reaches out for my hands, and I let him as he steps closer. He pulls a hand up to rest on his shoulder, the other to his hip.
“And what about that comment on what you look like?”
“Oh, you caught that, huh?”
“Of course.”
I scan down the length of his chest, following to where his fingertips are tracing the sliver of skin between my pants and top.
“I’m just—soft,” I say. “It’s not a bad thing, I guess. I don’t think of myself as fat. If anything, I’m thin. But I lack any hard angles, muscle definition, or strength.”
“And do you go to the gym?”
“Hell no.”
“Do you work out at all?”
“No.”
“Then I wouldn’t expect that of you.”
“So you don’t mind that I’d rather eat the inside of all the triple stuffed Oreos I can find than do any exercise beyond sex?”
He laughs, and I realize I’ve been craving this—this easy companionship, the comfort of him next to me even when I’m a hop skip and a world away.
“No, I don’t mind, Emmeline.”
“Okay,” I breathe, leaning into the space of his arms as they wrap around me. A hug has never felt more comforting.
“Let’s go to bed.”
His arms tighten around my waist and I cling to his shoulders as he lifts me off my feet, walking the short distance to the bed before letting me go as he leans over the mattress. I bounce against the duvet, leaning up on my elbows.
“Get comfortable. We’ve got snacks,” he hands me the bowl from the nightstand and then turns to his suitcase stored in the closet, “and I brought you something I hope you’ll enjoy.”
Scooting to the head of the bed, I shimmy under the covers and rest the bowl in my lap. It’s filled with a hodgepodge of different things we bought at the store, all mixed together. Popcorn, habanero cashews, crispy snap peas, peanut M&Ms, sour gummy bears, and green grapes. I pick out a cashew first, crunching down on it while Ben digs through what’s left in his suitcase.
By the time he comes back to the bed with two books in hand, I’ve figured out the bowl. How it stops me from just eating a handful of something at a time, mindlessly eating what all tastes the same.
“You did this very purposefully.”
“It’s called dopamine snacking. “ He slides beneath the covers and in this huge bed, he feels so far away. “The different textures, flavors—I read that it’s good for sensory stimulation. Helps concentration.”
“You read it?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “when I was reading up on ADHD.”
My head tilts, watching him settle in place. It’s only when the chocolate melts on my tongue that I remember the M&M in my mouth. Crunching down on the peanut, I point a crispy snap pea at him. “And what’s this?”
Ben offers out one of the books to me. It’s a paperback with a matte print cover, shiny foil over the title’s lettering, and intricate details hidden in the background. I haven’t held a physical book in a while, but it feels good when I thumb through the pages.
“I picked it up the other day, I thought you might like it.”
I skim the back for the blurb, sinking back into the propped up pillow. It’s a story about a fae who gets bitten by a werewolf and falls ill with a curse having to team up with said werewolf to find the cure for both their afflictions. And of course, failing to resist each other along the way.
My gaze jolts up, and I smack a hand across his chest. “Shut up. This sounds so good.”
“Hopefully you enjoy it then,” he says with a soft smile, capturing my wrist to lay a kiss on underside. Letting me go, he waves his own book in the air, and I recognize it as the pirate and siren romance I’d told him about a couple weeks ago. “And I’m going to read this one.”
“It’s so good,” I can’t help but gush, my fingers itching to flip through it as well as I recall my favorite chapters. “I think you’ll like it.”
“We can talk about it once I’ve read a bit.”
“Looking forward to it.” And I am, because I haven’t had anyone to talk to that isn’t Cora for a while, and while she shares my love of reality TV, she doesn’t enjoy reading.
I move the snack bowl between us, turning onto my side to get comfortable and crack open the book. Once I’m done rearranging myself, Ben spreads his arm along the back of the pillows and his fingers play with the strands of my hair fanned against them. He sacrifices the need to use both hands, setting the book down every time to turn the page.
It feels so normal, so right, to lay in bed and read. He’s not even distracting beyond the sound of him breathing, the crunch of the snacks between us when either of us takes a bite. For the first time, I find myself flipping through the pages with ease, without having to read paragraphs twice or three times over.