Twenty-Five Arya #2
“I’m sorry. You want to talk about it?”
Yes, please. “It’s heavy shit.”
“I don’t mind.” Ben worked his jaw. “Tell you what. I’m off tonight for once. Come over and tell me all about it.”
That did sound enticing, but it was also outside the bounds of the rules.
“We already did our date this week, though.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “What, we’re only allowed to hang out on our fake dates? You can cuddle up with Simon if you come over. She makes everything better.”
Arya’s heart melted a little. Simon did make everything better.
And so, he had to admit, did Ben.
“All right.”
As soon as Ben cracked the door open, Simon’s snout jammed itself into the crack. Her wide skull wasn’t far behind, trying to make a break for freedom. Or maybe just desperately trying to greet Arya.
“Hey, Simon!” he said, laughing and kneeling to rub her head—and keep her from wedging herself out the door and dashing off into the neighborhood.
“Sit,” Ben said from somewhere inside. To Arya’s surprise, Simon did, immediately, though she kept jiggling, vibrating with energy.
“Come on in.”
“I will when I’m done saying hello.” Arya scratched the top of Simon’s head, and she closed her eyes and let her head droop. “Yeah. I missed you.”
“Wow. All the love for Simon, none for your fake boyfriend?”
Arya chuckled and stood so Ben could let him in.
“Hey.”
Ben pulled him into a one-armed hug as he closed the door, pressed a soft kiss to Arya’s cheek. Arya’s stomach squirmed. It didn’t feel like a practice kiss. One to make sure they looked good in public. No, this felt like…
Well, it felt like a kiss hello. And he liked it.
What was wrong with him? Where had all his walls gone?
He was too fucking exhausted to keep them safe and secure, that was what.
“Here. I’ve got something special for you to try.”
Ben led Arya to the couch. Two glasses of white wine stood on the coffee table, bowls growing dewy from the cold liquid.
“Oh. I should’ve asked if you even wanted something.”
Arya thought of Mitchell, passed out at the office. Lying in a hospital bed insisting he didn’t have a problem. His stomach turned again.
But Ben said it was special.
“I don’t think I can drink right now, but I could taste? If you don’t mind?”
“Sure.” Ben disappeared into his kitchen and came back with a stainless steel tumbler. “For spitting.”
“Who told you I did that?” Arya joked. “Whoever it was, they’re a liar!”
Ben rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond.
Arya took the spittoon and sat on the couch.
Simon immediately launched herself up next to him.
Ben laughed as he sat on Arya’s other side, maybe a little closer than friends—or fake boyfriends without an audience—should’ve been.
But there wasn’t much room with Simon there, tail wagging, looking up at Arya’s wineglass like it was the finest of treats.
“Sorry, Simon, no booze for puppers,” he said.
She huffed, then awkwardly spun around in place—bumping Arya’s shoulder and nearly spilling the wine—before curling into a little bean against his side.
Ben laughed and raised his glass. “Here. Cheers.”
They clinked, and Arya smelled his wine, getting a heady whiff of sea breeze and sand, before taking a sip. It was cool, crisp, sharply acidic, but with a backbone of something powerful, like lemon curd, and something sweeter and mellower, like lychee. And underneath, something unyielding, stony.
Arya swished the wine, enjoying the way it evolved as it warmed, now sweeter, now sharper, before finally spitting it into his tumbler.
“What the fuck is this?” he asked. “Wow.”
Ben’s eyes lit up. “It’s called Immigrant. It’s our—well, Phoenix Mountain’s—Sauvignon Blanc.”
Arya cocked his head. “I thought you only made Cab Sauv.”
“We did. But a few years ago my sister Alex planted some Sauvignon Blanc to see what would happen, and, well. This is what happened.”
Arya took another taste, swished, spat. He almost—almost—felt guilty about “wasting” it, but Ben didn’t seem to mind. The proof was in the taste, anyway, what it did in your mouth, not your bloodstream.
He puckered his lips. “It’s got, like… something lemony going on.”
“Alex likes to say Meyer lemon zest. But I think it’s more like lemon curd.”
“I was going to say lemon curd, too!” Arya studied his glass. “Have you given any to David?”
“Not yet. I’ve only got one other bottle, and I figured you could take it to the Holbrooks?”
“Shit.” Arya nearly doubled over from the weird twinge his heart gave. “That’s really nice of you.”
“You help me, I help you. That’s what makes this work. Right?”
“Right.” Arya nodded solemnly. “Right.”
Helping each other.
Ben pushed his glasses up his nose and lowered his voice. “Carley said your boss-slash-mentor-slash-friend was in the hospital?”
“Yup,” Arya said, popping the p obnoxiously. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you everything. It all happened so fast and then I was stressed and I just… I didn’t want you to be stressed, too.”
“I get it,” Ben said, low and soft. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Arya did, though. He felt like shit. But he appreciated Ben not making him feel like it.
“What else did Carley tell you?”
“Not much.” Ben sipped his own wine. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Except of course that wasn’t true at all.
“I’m pretty sure he’s an alcoholic.”
Ben frowned. “Oh. Is that why—”
“Yeah. Just… I’m not, and I’m usually fine with a glass, but today I just…”
Ben rested a warm hand on Arya’s shoulder. Arya leaned into the comfort, unclenching his shoulders.