Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
Hannah
I wake up alone. The morning light filters through my curtains, too bright, too cheerful for how I feel. My phone is on the nightstand where I left it last night, screen dark. No new messages. No missed calls.
I reach for it anyway, my hand shaking slightly as I unlock the screen.
Three texts from Bennett from last night.
Bennett: Please let me know you got home safe.
Bennett: I'm here when you're ready to talk.
Bennett: Good night, Hannah. I hope you can sleep.
My eyes well up. I lock the phone and set it back down, staring at the ceiling instead.
She's not good enough for him. Just a barista. He'll realize eventually.
The words loop through my mind like a broken record. I've been hearing them all night, every time I closed my eyes.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me. My apartment feels too quiet. Too empty. I've gotten so used to waking up in Bennett's bed, his arm around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. Waking up here feels wrong now. Like I'm going backward instead of forward.
My phone buzzes. I grab it too quickly, hope flaring in my chest.
Bennett: Good morning. I hope you slept okay.
That's it. No pressure. No demands. Just... Bennett being Bennett.
I stare at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I should respond. I should tell him I'm fine, that I just needed space, that we can talk later.
But I can't make myself type the words.
I set the phone down and force myself out of bed. Shower. Coffee. Normal things. Maybe if I go through the motions, I'll start to feel normal again.
The shower doesn't help. The hot water just gives me more time to think, to replay every word I heard last night. She doesn't belong here. She's just ordinary. Pretty only gets you so far.
I press my forehead against the tile, letting the water run over me.
I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I don't want to see what those women saw.
My phone buzzes again as I'm getting dressed.
Bennett: I'm not going to push, but I'm here whenever you're ready.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, the phone clutched in my hand. He's being so patient. So understanding. And it just makes everything worse because it reminds me of all the reasons I fell for him in the first place.
I can't answer him. Not yet. Not when I don't even know what to say.
I pull on leggings and an oversized sweater, then pad into the kitchen. Coffee. I need coffee.
But when I open the cabinet, I realize I'm out. Of course I am. I've been staying at Bennett's so much I haven't restocked my own place.
I grab my keys and head out, keeping my head down as I walk to the corner store. It's a beautiful morning,clear sky, cool air, the kind of day that should make me feel hopeful. Instead, I just feel hollow.
I'm standing in line at the register when my phone rings.
Bennett's name flashes on the screen.
My heart lurches. I stare at it, frozen, as it rings once, twice, three times. Then I silence it and shove the phone back in my pocket.
The cashier gives me a strange look as I pay for the coffee, and I realize my hands are shaking. I mumble a thank you and hurry out.
Back at my apartment, I make coffee with trembling hands. The familiar ritual should be soothing, but it's not. Nothing is.
I sit on my couch with the mug cradled in my hands, staring at nothing.
My phone buzzes. Not a call this time. A text.
Bennett: I'm worried about you. Please just let me know you're okay.
Guilt twists in my stomach. He doesn't deserve this. He didn't do anything wrong.
Another buzz. This time it's not Bennett.
Mara: Hey, you okay? You seemed off yesterday before you left for that event.
Mara. My best friend. The one person who might actually understand.
I stare at the message for a long moment, then type back.
Me: Can you come over?
Mara: On my way.
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock on my door. I open it to find Mara standing there with two coffees and a bag of pastries from Brewed Awakening.
"You look like hell," she says, pushing past me into the apartment.
"Thanks," I mutter, closing the door.
She sets the coffees and pastries on the counter, then turns to face me, arms crossed. "What happened?"
I open my mouth to say nothing, to brush it off like I always do. But the words won't come. Instead, my eyes start to burn and my throat closes up.
"Hannah." Mara's voice softens. She crosses the room and pulls me into a hug. "Talk to me."
And suddenly I'm crying. Not pretty tears, but ugly, gasping sobs that shake my whole body. Mara just holds me, rubbing my back, not saying anything until I finally pull away and wipe my face with my sleeve.
"Sorry," I choke out.
"Don't apologize." She guides me to the couch and sits beside me. "Now tell me what happened."
So I do. I tell her about the gala, about how well it was going, about the women in the restroom. I tell her every word I heard, every cruel assumption they made. And then I tell her the worst part,that maybe they were right.
"They weren't right," Mara says immediately.
"But what if they were?" My voice cracks. "I don't belong in his world, Mara. I'm a barista. He's a lawyer. I didn't even finish college. He went to Yale. I wear Target dresses and he wears custom suits. We're not,we don't make sense."
Mara is quiet for a moment. Then she says, "Is that really what you're afraid of?"
I look at her. "What?"
"That you're ordinary?" She tilts her head. "Or are you afraid that Bennett will see what you see when you look in the mirror?"
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
"Hannah." Mara's voice is gentle but firm. "You're not afraid Bennett will leave because of something he's done. You're afraid he'll leave because of what you think is wrong with you."
My eyes burn again. "What if he does? What if he wakes up one day and realizes I'm not worth it?"
"Then he's an idiot." Mara takes my hand. "But I don't think that's going to happen. I've seen the way he looks at you. That man is gone for you."
"I don't know if he loves me," I whisper.
"Hannah." Mara gives me a look. "Come on. Of course he does."
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her so badly. But the fear is still there, coiled tight in my chest.
Mara squeezes my hand. "You need to talk to him."
"I know."
"Today, Hannah. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today."
I nod, even though the thought terrifies me.
Mara stays for another hour, making sure I eat something, making sure I'm okay. When she finally leaves, she hugs me tight and says, "He's one of the good ones. Don't let fear ruin that."
After she's gone, I sit on the couch and stare at my phone.
I should call him. I should text him. I should do something.
But I can't make myself move.
Around two in the afternoon, there's a knock on my door.
My heart jumps. For a second, I think it's Bennett. But when I open the door, there's no one there. Just a vase of flowers sitting on my doorstep.
Wildflowers. Not roses or anything fancy. Just a simple bouquet of wildflowers in shades of yellow and purple.
There's a card tucked into the stems. I pull it out with shaking hands.
These reminded me of you. —B
My throat tightens. I carry the flowers inside and set them on the counter, staring at them for a long time.
He's not pushing. He's not demanding. He's just... there. Quietly showing me he's not going anywhere.
The afternoon stretches on. I try to distract myself with cleaning, scrolling through my phone, anything to keep my mind occupied. But my eyes keep drifting back to the wildflowers on the counter.
By evening, I'm pacing my apartment, my phone in my hand. I've read his messages a hundred times. I've stared at the flowers and tried to convince myself that this is real, that he's not going to wake up tomorrow and realize those women were right.
Then there's one more knock.
This time when I open the door, there's an envelope on the mat. My name is written on the front in Bennett's neat handwriting.
I pick it up with trembling hands and go back inside. I sit on the couch and stare at it for a long time before I finally open it.
Inside is a handwritten note.
Hannah,
I don't know what you heard last night, but I need you to know something.
You are not ordinary. You are not too young or too inexperienced or not good enough.
You are the woman who makes me laugh when I'm stressed.
The woman who dances in my kitchen and makes my house feel like a home.
The woman I think about every second of every day.
I know you're scared. I know you don't believe you're enough. But I see you, Hannah. All of you.
When you're ready to talk, I'll be here.
—Bennett
The tears come fast and hard. I press the note to my chest and let myself cry, really cry, for the first time since last night.
He sees me. He actually sees me.
And he's not running.
I don't know how long I sit there, but eventually the tears stop. I wipe my face and pick up my phone.
My hands are shaking as I pull up his number.
I hit call before I can talk myself out of it.
It rings once. Twice.
Then his voice. "Hannah."
Just my name, but the relief in it makes my chest ache.
"Hi," I whisper.
"Hi." A pause. "Are you okay?"
"No." The word comes out choked. "I'm not okay."
"Tell me what you need."
"I need..." I close my eyes. "I need to talk to you. Can you come over?"
"I'm already on my way."
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, my heart pounding.
He was already coming. He was already on his way before I even called.
Fifteen minutes later, there's a knock on my door. I open it to find Bennett standing there, still in his work clothes, his hair slightly messy like he's been running his hands through it.
We stare at each other for a long moment.
Then I step back. "Come in."
He walks inside, and I close the door behind him. We stand in my tiny living room, the space between us feeling like miles.
"I'm sorry," I say finally. "I'm sorry I ignored you all day. I just didn't know what to say."
"You don't have to apologize." His voice is gentle. "I just needed to know you were okay."
"I'm not okay." The words tumble out. "I heard what they said, Bennett. About me. About us."
"Hannah." He takes a step closer. "Whatever they said, it's not true."
"But what if it is?" My voice breaks. "What if I don't belong in your world? What if I'm not?—"
"Stop." He closes the distance between us, his hands gentle on my arms. "You belong exactly where you are. With me."
"How do you know?" The question comes out desperate. "How do you know you won't change your mind?"
"Because I know you." His hands move to cup my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on my cheeks.
"I know the woman who spilled coffee on me and made me laugh instead of getting angry.
I know the woman who dances in my kitchen and makes terrible jokes when she's nervous.
I know the woman who fits into my life like she was always meant to be there. "
His voice is firm but gentle. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. I don't care if you're a barista or a CEO. I care about you. The real you. And that's never going to change."
I stare up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But all I see is certainty. Conviction.
"I'm scared," I whisper.
"I know." He presses his forehead to mine. "But you don't have to be scared alone. I'm here. I'm always going to be here."
The words crack something open in me. Suddenly I'm kissing him like I need him to breathe.
My hands fist in his shirt, yanking him closer, and he answers with a low, rough sound that vibrates against my mouth.
His arms band around me, one hand sliding up into my hair to tilt my head so he can kiss me deeper, harder.
I pour everything into it, all my fear, all my doubt, all the desperate, aching need to believe him, and he takes it, swallowing every shaky breath.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His eyes are dark, pupils blown.
"Stay," I whisper against his lips. "Please stay."
"I'm not going anywhere." His voice is pure gravel. "Not tonight. Not ever."
We move toward the bedroom, shedding clothes in a slow, deliberate trail.
He peels my shirt off like it's something precious, then drops to his knees to drag my leggings down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the insides of my thighs as he goes.
By the time I'm naked, he's still half-dressed, staring up at me with a look that makes my stomach flip.
Bennett lays me down on the bed and just looks at me for a long moment, eyes dark and intense. His hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he says quietly. "Do you know that?"
I shake my head, throat too tight to speak.
"You are." He leans down, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to my collarbone, then lower, dragging his tongue across the swell of my breast. "Beautiful.
Smart. Funny as hell. And so goddamn kind it wrecks me.
" Another kiss, this one right over my heart.
"I'm the luckiest bastard alive because you chose me. Because you're mine."
His hands move over my body, reverent but hungry, mapping every curve like he's relearning me.
His mouth follows, hot, wet kisses that feel like promises and ownership at the same time.
When he finally settles between my thighs and pushes inside me in one slow, deep thrust, we both groan.
His eyes stay locked on mine the entire time.
"Fuck," he breathes. "I've got you. Feel that? I've always got you."
He starts moving, slow and deliberate, every stroke rolling deep enough to make my back arch. His hands cradle my face, thumbs brushing away the tears I didn't even realize were falling. Forehead pressed to mine, he keeps talking in that low, wrecked voice, filthy and tender at the same time.
"You're soaking me. Taking me so well. Let me feel you, baby. Let me take care of you."
We move together like that for what feels like forever, slow, intimate, intense.
Every thrust feels like he's showing me something he can't put into words.
Every kiss feels like a vow. His hips grind in a way that keeps pressure right where I need it, and when I come it's with his name broken on my lips and tears streaming down my face.
He follows a moment later, burying himself deep and shuddering hard, arms locked tight around me like he's never letting go.
Afterward we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back while his cock softens inside me.
"I'm still scared," I admit quietly.
"I know." He presses a kiss to the top of my head, voice still rough. "But we'll figure it out together. Okay? I've got you. Always."
I nod against his chest. "Okay."
And for the first time in two days, I feel like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.