Chapter 32 #2
Benji is sprawled across my couch, one leg hooked over the armrest, tablet balanced on his thigh, stylus flicking with quick, confident strokes. He’s been like this for nearly an hour—murmuring to himself, zooming in and out, muttering about lighting and shadows and jawlines like a man possessed.
I try not to stare but fail. "What are you working on?"
"Nothing," he says immediately.
Which, based on experience, means absolutely something.
Finally, curiosity gets the better of me. I wander over and peek at the screen. And promptly freeze.
"Is that… me?"
Benji flinches. "No," he says too quickly.
I lean closer. "Benji."
He sighs. "Okay, fine. Not you, you. It’s a fictional character. Who happens to share your bone structure. And your shoulders. And your annoyingly symmetrical face."
"That man is me," I say flatly. "If I had long hair and were a pirate."
"You think?" he asks innocently, eyes still on the screen.
"You turned me into a swashbuckling Fabio," I accuse. "There’s wind in his hair. There’s drama."
"This?" Benji scoffs. "This looks nothing like you."
"It is identical to me."
"False." He taps the stylus against the screen, zooming in. "Look at his eyes. They glint with mischief and desire. Your eyes don’t glint, Carter."
"I absolutely glint."
"You brood."
"I glint while brooding."
He finally looks up at me, lips twitching. "You glower attractively. It’s different."
I fold my arms. "So I’m not sexy enough to be a pirate romance cover model?"
Benji’s gaze heats, sweeping me from head to toe before flicking back to my face.
"Oh, you’re definitely sexy enough," he murmurs. "You’re just more… brooding naval captain than reckless pirate."
"That is the worst compliment I’ve ever received."
"I could add an eyepatch," he offers. "Maybe a strategically placed bulge beneath your scabbard."
"Now you’re just pandering."
"Always," he says easily.
I shake my head, but I’m smiling. "I can’t believe you used me as inspiration."
"I can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner," he counters. "You live across the street. You walk around half-dressed. You cook shirtless. I’m only human."
My chest tightens at the way he says it. Casual. Honest.
I lean down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. "You’re ridiculous."
"I know," he says. Then, quieter, "But you make really good art."
And somehow, that feels like the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.
By noon the following day, Benji’s front yard looks like Christmas collided with a Pride parade and lost the will to self-regulate.
The flamingos are back. Naturally.
This time, Benji has harnessed them to a miniature sleigh, Santa perched precariously in the back, one glittering arm raised as if he’s mid–dramatic farewell.
Tinsel reins connect the whole absurd caravan, and at least one flamingo is wearing a tiny jingle bell collar that I’m fairly certain came from the adult toy store on Main.
"Tell me that the flamingos are temporary."
Benji steps back to admire his work. "They’re seasonal."
"That is not comforting. How many seasons are we talking about?"
"They’re my signature piece, Carter."
When he was satisfied with the debacle in his yard, he decorated the tree in mine. Not with lights. Not with tasteful ornaments. Not with anything purchased from a store with standards.
No.
My carefully pruned maple is now draped in strings of cranberries, popcorn garlands, dangling dried apple slices, seed bells, and what appear to be handcrafted pinecone feeders tied on with twine.
"What did you do?" I whisper.
"Eco-friendly ornamentation," Benji says proudly. "It’s a gift to nature."
"It’s a buffet."
"Same thing."
I rub a hand over my face. "You cannot turn my yard into a wildlife supper club."
"You said no inflatables."
"I did not say ‘summon the entire forest.’"
As if on cue, a sparrow swoops down and lands on one of the branches. Then another. And another. Within minutes, the tree is vibrating with feathers and frantic holiday enthusiasm.
"Oh," Benji breathes. "They’re coming in hot."
"They’re not supposed to come at all."
A squirrel launches itself from the fence, lands on the tree, and immediately begins aggressively dismantling a popcorn strand.
Benji claps softly. "Look at his little hands."
"This is not a Disney movie," I snap. "This is a zoning violation."
But he’s already drifting toward my driveway, eyes lighting up. "Uh, Carter?"
My stomach drops, and I turn slowly.
My SUV—my once meticulously maintained, hand-washed, sacred chariot of order—sits not ten feet from the tree. Now it looks as if it’s been personally targeted by a vengeful flock.
The hood is speckled. The windshield is abstract. The roof is… biblical.
I stare in shock.
Benji squints. "Huh."
I say nothing.
"That’s… impressive coverage."
I still say nothing, but my face warms from the sudden rise in my blood pressure.
"I mean, statistically—"
I pivot toward him. "Do not!"
He presses his lips together, valiantly suppressing a grin. It doesn’t work.
"I will burn those flamingos."
"You love them."
"I love you. The flamingos are collateral damage."
He steps closer, sliding his arms around my waist, his chin bumping my shoulder. "You knew loving me came with risks."
"I did not anticipate avian warfare."
"Semantics." Benji cozies up against my chest, nudging his nose against mine. "Say it again."
I glance down at him, then at the ridiculous sleigh, the squirrel mafia stripping my tree bare, and the absolute catastrophe that used to be my SUV. Somehow, beneath all the chaos, everything inside me feels astonishingly... settled.
"I love you, Benji Stewart."
The words leave me quietly, but they land between us with the weight of something permanent.
For once, he has nothing clever to say. He just... stares. His eyes shine in that dangerous way they do when he's trying very hard not to let himself feel too much all at once.
"You..." His laugh comes out breathless. "You finally said it."
"As if you didn't already know."
"I hoped." His voice is barely above a whisper now. "But Carter..." He shakes his head, still looking at me like I've handed him something impossibly fragile. "Knowing isn't the same as hearing it."
His hands slide up to cradle my face. "I love you too."
He kisses me slowly, like he's memorizing the moment instead of rushing through it. When we finally separate, his forehead rests against mine, and he smiles—a smaller smile than usual, but somehow brighter than all the loud ones.
"You realize," he murmurs, "I'm going to be unbearable now."
"You were already unbearable."
"Fair." He steals one more quick kiss. "I love you, Carter Reed."
Something inside my chest expands so suddenly it almost hurts.
"But I’m making you wash my car."
He laughs bright enough to scare three sparrows out of my maple. "Together."
"…Fine."
He kisses my cheek, quick and smug. "House of the Holiday, here we come."
I look back at the flamingo sleigh, the jumble of festive yard decor, and my once pristine driveway.
Clearly, I have made terrible life choices. And I wouldn’t undo a single one.
That night, we set up the tree in Benji’s living room. It’s worse than I imagined.