Chapter 13
SOL
“Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”
His voice wakes me before the light does.
I blink and he’s there, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, hair still damp from a shower I did not hear him have, holding a paper cup of coffee like it’s an offering.
That ridiculous Santa hat is on again, and his eyes shine with so much playfulness.
There’s zero trace of the many drinks we had last night, and instead, that fucking crooked smile is plastered on his face.
The curtains are slightly open, letting the ocean in: white surf, blue sky, sunlight bright enough to sting. It smells like citrus shampoo and coffee—like a domestic scene I haven’t had in months.
I groan and pull the sheet higher. “You’re too cheerful.”
He grins. “It’s a holiday. I brought caffeine and a present.”
“A present?”
He holds up something small pinched between his fingers—a single pink flower, its stem flattened between two napkins. “Found it on the path to the beach. You could press it between the pages of the book you’re reading to take it back home.”
I laugh, sitting up. “I—”
“It’s practical,” he says. “Portable. And hopefully, TSA-friendly? I don’t know about that, honestly.”
I take it anyway, fold the napkin closed around it. “Thank you.”
“For the flower or the free material for future teasing?”
I chuckle, still half-surprised. No one’s given me anything in such a long time; my ex-husband stopped doing any sort of gift years ago, after the third time I said I didn’t need anything.
But this small, thoughtless gesture feels bigger than it should.
I can’t remember the last time Matías saw something pretty and thought of me, if ever.
“Both,” I say finally, softer this time.
Ben smiles like it’s nothing, but something about the ease of it—the way he’s not trying to impress me, not asking for anything back—makes my chest ache a little. It’s been years since I’ve been this close to someone without wondering when the other shoe would drop, or what it might cost me later.
He sets the coffee on the nightstand and leans in to kiss me. It’s lazy, morning-soft, tasting of espresso and toothpaste and it makes my chest burn.
God, this feels so wrong but so fucking right at the same time. It’s like something finally unlocked, and everything makes sense.
Ben looks at me like he’s memorizing something. It’s almost too much.
I reach for a distraction. “You’re very good at this.”
He grins. “At what?”
“Making things feel easy.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a very convoluted way of calling me a people pleaser.”
“It’s a compliment.” My voice dips quieter. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I don’t usually let things be easy.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, just kisses the corner of my mouth, soft and sure. “Maybe you should,” he murmurs.
And for a while, I do.
We spend the rest of the morning in bed—laughing, kissing, talking about nothing. When we finally pull ourselves together enough to order breakfast, the sheets are a mess and my hair’s a disaster, but I don’t care.
He stretches beside me while we eat, one arm ticked behind his head, the other lazily stealing bites from my plate. “So is this how you do vacations, then?” he teases.
“Apparently,” I say, scooping up another piece of papaya. “Eat too much, sleep too much, flirt with hot men who are way too young for me.”
“Flirt?” His brows lift. “That’s what we’re calling this.”
I bump his leg with my foot and the dishes on the bed rattle. “You know what I mean.”
He grins, takes a sip of his coffee, then looks at me in that disarming way he has—curious, a little too perceptive. “Are you always this bad at relaxing?”
The question catches me off guard. “What makes you think I’m bad at it?”
“You keep checking the clock,” he says, gesturing toward the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. “And you’ve been staring at your phone expecting it to ring, even though it’s Christmas and I’m sure no one has ever called you with an architectural emergency on Christmas.”
I laugh, but it’s short and quiet. “Old habits. I’m used to being on a schedule.”
“Work?”
“And life,” I admit. I set the fork down, drag the edge of a cloth napkin between my fingers.
“I got married, kind of in a haste, to my college sweetheart. We met in school, he was a couple of years older than me.” I don’t think I’ve ever told this story to anyone outside of my most intimate circle.
As a matter of fact, I don’t think any of my coworkers know my divorce was finalized, and no one has asked.
“It was good, great, even, for a while. Comfortable, I guess.”
Ben doesn’t say anything, he just listens. His attention is steady, unhurried.
“Then we moved to New York for grad school. I did architecture, he went to a full time MBA program,” I continue.
“He got this amazing opportunity and I followed because that’s what you do when you’re in love, right?
You build around each other. Only… it turns out I built more around him than I realized. ”
His brow furrows slightly. “How long were you together?”
“Fifteen years. Married for seven.” I force a small smile. “Separated for over a year now, and my divorce finalized in September.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That’s… a lot of history.”
“Yeah,” I glance at him. “What about you? You talk like someone who never stays still.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I definitely don’t. I majored in economics, did a few years in corporate, then got an MBA while working. Been bouncing between clients and airports ever since. My apartment is mostly just a place where my mail piles up.”
“Sounds glamorous.”
“It’s not.” He looks out toward the balcony, sunlight catching on his lashes. “It’s hotel rooms that all look the same. Excessive amounts of coffee and way too many flights to keep track of.”
“Then why keep doing it?”
He shrugs. “Because it’s what I’m good at. And I guess I like fixing things. Or trying to, at least.”
Something softens in me at that. The way he says it—quietly, without pretense—makes me want to reach across the tray and touch him. I don’t. Instead, I let my foot slide closer until it brushes against his leg under the sheets.
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” I say.
He turns to me, curious. “What advice is that?”
“To let things be easy.”
He smiles, slow and genuine, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside this room doesn’t exist.