June, this year #2
He has me laughing within moments, and we fall into conversation about our respective work projects and my eviction predicament, until the food arrives and Bonnie shows up minutes later.
We take the dim sum onto the deck and dish out dumplings and spring rolls, along with the rest of the white wine.
I’m gradually beginning to relax, to feel fully like myself again.
Except, of course, for the fact that I can’t stop staring at Ben. We keep catching each other’s eyes. Smiling, a little shyly — at least on my part — at each other.
From his perspective, he’s probably wondering what the hell has gotten into me and why I’m being so weird, and is just smiling to be kind about it.
Bonnie, of course, is utterly clueless as to my altered state. She’s distracted herself, constantly checking her phone — she’s getting texts from somebody. She suddenly turns to me, her eyes bright with excitement.
“It’s Paul, the pastry chef. He wants to meet me at a bar in Lake Forest, like, in a half-hour. Would you hate me if I went? I really want to see him.”
Her lovely face is lit up, as if from within. Wow, she really likes this Paul. I’ve rarely seen her like this over a guy.
I put my hand over hers and squeeze. “Go for it, honey. He’s clearly no fool, since he texted you like he said he would. You wouldn’t want to miss this chance, right? You look beautiful. You go get yours.”
She beams at me, rises from her seat, and plants a kiss on my temple. “You’re the best. I’ll be back . . . well, I don’t know when. Might be late . . . might be tomorrow morning . . .” She grimaces an apology, and blushes a little as Ben, protective big brother that he is, quirks an eyebrow at her.
“You spend as much time with Paul as you like,” I tell her, firmly. “We have the whole rest of the long weekend to hang out. We won’t wait up. How about, if you’re not back by morning, we meet at Malone’s for brunch tomorrow — say, eleven?”
“Perfect,” Bonnie replies with a devilish grin. She turns to her brother. “You take care of our girl, you hear?”
Ben responds with a nod and a solemn salute.
As Bonnie excuses herself for her hot date, I help Ben clear the table and clean up the kitchen. We bring the last of the plates inside and load them into the dishwasher.
“Okay,” Ben says, wiping his hands on a towel. “That’s everything. I wouldn’t mind another drink, though. Okay if we open your red?”
My stomach flips.
Me and Ben, totally alone, with no interruptions, on a warm evening?
This is it.
This has to be my moment, to tell him how I feel about him. This is surely what I came home to do.
I nod, my tongue suddenly thick in my mouth. My pulse is quickening again as I watch him tug the cork out of my bottle of Shiraz, looking all tall and sexy in his blue shirt.
But, despite my nerves, I know there’s nothing that’s going to stop me from spilling my heart out to him. I’ll tell him that I’m in love with him, and risk everything. And even if he shoots me down, I know he’ll be kind about it.
He hands me a glass. “Wanna go back outside?” he asks. “It’s still plenty warm.” His eyes are on mine, and they’re smiling, crinkling slightly at the corners.
“Sure,” I reply, my heart racing at his prolonged gaze. Something deep within me is tugging, pulling me toward him. Aching to touch him. To tell him.
But he turns away.
“I’ll be out in a second — just need to plug my phone in somewhere. There are no goddam chargers in this house.”
I nod, gathering myself, trying not to be disappointed in the loss of a moment that wasn’t even a moment. Only in my own head.
Pull your shit together, Millie. You’ve known this guy for over a decade. You can wait a second to spill your deepest desires to him.
I step back out onto the deck, where the light is waning. The sky above the lake is a rich cobalt, fading to a lighter blue, then a streak of mint green before it hits the watery horizon. At the very highest point, in the deepest indigo, a few pinpricks of stars are pushing their way out.
I take a sip of the deep, fruity wine and place my glass on the flat ledge above the railing. A wishing rhyme my mother taught me as a child springs into my memory.
Mom. I hope she’s doing okay. I’ll go visit her, make things better between us. She’s been a flawed mother, but she’s a good person, and she’s always loved me.
I mutter the rhyme into the warm evening, toward the heavens.
“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight.”
What to wish for?
As a child, I was always wracked with anxiety about what to choose. But now, it’s easy.
“I wish . . . to stay in this life, my true life, but also have Ben as my partner throughout it.”
The highest, brightest star twinkles merrily back at me.
The patio door slides open behind me, and Ben’s heavy footsteps tread across the deck.
I don’t turn around — not yet.
He comes to the railing and stands beside me. For a moment he says nothing. He might be looking up at the stars, too.
Then he breaks the silence. “So, Millie . . . are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you tonight?” He turns his body to face mine. “What’s happening here?”
I shake my head, unable to turn to him just yet. He always could see right through me. My vision blurs with sudden tears, and a single sob shakes my frame.
Ben takes a step even closer. “Mill? What’s the matter?”
He reaches out and gently rotates me by the shoulders so that I’m facing him. My tears are falling freely now, and he wipes one away with his thumb, tenderly, waiting for me to reply.
I don’t even know if I can speak. I part my lips to attempt it, but nothing comes out, except another distorted sob.
“Mill . . . what is it?”
I try again, focusing on the deep indent at the base of his throat, aching to place the pad of my finger there, see how it fits. This time, the words come out all in a rush.
“I just . . . I’m in love with you, Ben.
I’m crazy about you. I think I always have been.
I don’t know why I was such a fucking idiot before, because of course it was you.
” I screw up my face, embarrassment warming my damp cheeks, and push through.
“But you were almost always with someone, and I’ve been such a mess, and God, I don’t even know how you feel .
. . I mean, this is probably not something you even want, but I just had to tell you anyways, and I hope it won’t stop us being friends, because you mean so much .
. .” I’m rambling, probably making no sense to him.
I finally manage to lift my gaze to his, biting my lip, trying to gauge his response.
Ben’s eyes search mine, and he gives a low, sudden chuckle that reverberates through my body.
“Oh, thank fuck. I really don’t know how much longer I was gonna be able to hold on.
” He laughs more freely, shaking his head in what looks like absolute relief.
The smile fades, and he becomes tender again.
With his hands still steadying my shoulders, his gaze roams my face, then meets mine once more.
“I’m totally, completely in love with you, too, Mill.
Have been for . . . well, for a while now. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”
Then he slides a hand around the nape of my neck, pushes me gently back against the railing, and lowers his mouth onto mine.
Oh my God.
Ben is kissing me.
He’s really, really kissing me, with a passion and a desire and a love that I’ve never felt from anybody, not in my whole life. Not in any of my lives.
And I’m kissing him back, through my fresh tears, feverishly, desperately. My fingers are in his hair, as one strong arm pulls my slight frame into his firm body. His other hand is round the back of my head, his grip steady. His lips are warm and fruity, his beard soft on my chin.
His own kissing becomes more feverish, and his tongue explores my mouth — not too much, just gently probing. Promising. Good God, I’ve never wanted anyone this much, not even in the height of my infatuated lust for Rufus.
I run my hands under his loose shirt, where my palms meet firm, soft skin, and run them over his smooth back.
His denim-clad thigh is starting to tease my legs apart, and I push my pelvis into it.
Against my lower stomach, through his jeans, his erection has formed, large and hard.
A burst of wetness between my thighs accompanies a dark tug of desire, and I let out a small, involuntary moan.
Jesus.
Ben moves his mouth down to my neck, grinding his body against mine, as the deck railing digs into my back. He’s fully bending down now, being so much taller than me, and I’m straining on my tiptoes to give him access to my collarbone.
“Holy shit,” he mutters into my clavicle, his voice lower and darker than I’ve ever heard it, “I need to get you into the guest room right now, before I fuck you right here on the deck and the neighbors hear us.”
I laugh, suddenly, into his temple. “Great idea. Lead the way.”
In a moment, he pulls back, contemplates me for a second, his eyes narrow and stormy, then grabs both wine glasses and turns on his heel. He hustles through the sliding door, straight through the kitchen, and into the beach-themed guest room off the foyer.
I follow him through, scurrying to match his pace, and shut the bedroom door behind me.
A low, bedside light is on, and the mood is cozy and inviting. Ben is sitting on the edge of the large bed, hurriedly pulling off his sneakers and socks.
“Lock the door, baby,” he says.
Baby.
Is that what he’ll call me?
I love it.
I turn, and flick the metal latch at the top of the door handle. Now we won’t be disturbed, even if Bonnie makes it home tonight.
Now, Ben is all mine.