Chapter 28 #2
He lets out a sigh. “You had only been living here for a couple of weeks when you started working at Strange Brew. I ran into you in the hall as you were leaving for your first day. You were so nervous, so I decided to stop by after work. You gave me a coffee on the house, and I wrote my classroom number there on the back, just in case you were ever nearby and wanted to stop in.”
My heart is tripping over itself now. Yes, you remember this, I think. This is one of those things that I know, even though it’s like I’m feeling my way in the dark.
“You knew I worked there,” I say.
He nods. “I called after the accident to let them know what happened. To make sure they kept you on staff until you were ready to come back.”
That’s right, Bobbi had said someone had called. It had been Ben all along.
I put the napkin back in the box and hold up the map for the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
“One of my former students was involved with the renovation of one of their galleries,” Ben says.
“He was really proud, got me a couple of tickets so I could see. You mentioned you hadn’t been there before, so I waited until your day off and asked if you wanted to go.
We both agreed it wasn’t a date, since neither of us was looking for a relationship, but…
” He cuts himself off, then sighs, like whatever he wanted to say doesn’t matter. “We spent hours there, just wandering.”
My mind drifts back to the labyrinthine galleries of the museum, how Ben had studied my reaction to each room almost as much as he had studied the art. I had thought he had been trying to understand the motivation behind the trip, but now… I let out a shaky breath, putting the map back in the box.
I pull out the movie tickets next.
“You told me how much you loved Grace Kelly,” he says.
“And how you hadn’t been to a movie that wasn’t an action film in years.
So I slid those two tickets under your door.
There wasn’t any expectation for you to take me.
I knew you had just gone through a breakup and I…
” He lets out a shuddered breath. “I was hoping it might make you smile. You didn’t do a lot of smiling in those first months after you moved in. ”
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes as his words tug at a memory, something familiar trying desperately to break through.
I put the tickets back and pick up the Brattle Book Shop receipt.
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “I finished some work renovating the research wing at the Boston Public Library and you wanted to see. While we were there, we started talking about our favorite books. I hadn’t read Jane Eyre, and you hadn’t read The Count of Monte Cristo, so we decided to trade.
Except you didn’t trust me not to dog-ear the pages in your copy of Jane Eyre, so you bought me my own. ”
I smile, even as my heart lurches toward him, as if it might escape from my chest. “You read Jane Eyre for me?”
He barely nods.
A sob catches in my throat as I put the receipt back. Then I pick up the small metal Monopoly dog, holding it out in the palm of my hand.
He stares at it for a long moment, his eyes softening like he’s replaying the memory in his mind.
“That was from the week before the accident. We had tickets to a game at Fenway, but it got rained out before we even left. So you came over and we ordered food. Then you pulled out Monopoly. I had forgotten I even owned it, but you insisted we play. By the time we finished, you had completely wiped me out, but I didn’t care.
You were smiling and laughing and… you looked so beautiful, I couldn’t stop thinking about you after you left. ”
Sara’s theory suddenly floats to the top of my mind: If you feel like you’re falling in love with someone, play a game of Monopoly together. If you come out the other side still liking the other person, then it was meant to be.
That’s why I had pulled out the game. Why I had saved each one of these items.
“I think I was falling in love with you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
His throat bobs, as if he’s swallowing some emotion down, and he nods slowly. “I think I was falling in love with you, too.”
I look back at the contents of my memory box. This road map of a relationship that hadn’t even started yet. Memories that meant so much, I had tried my best to hold on to them. And, I realize now, Ben had been helping me to hold on to them, too.
I slowly walk to the sofa and kneel in front of him.
“Sara and I got into a fight at dinner tonight,” I say. “Matt is moving back to California, and she expects me to move, too. When I told her no, she pushed back and now I don’t even know if we’re talking.”
Ben doesn’t move, though I can see a muscle in his jaw tick amid his stubble.
“But afterward, I did talk to Matt. He told me about what happened the night of my fall. How he invited me to drinks because he wanted to get back together. He also told me that I turned him down. I was never going to get back together with him. I was coming home to you,” I say, looking up and forcing him to meet my gaze.
“I chose you, Ben. I chose you twice. I saved all these memories because they meant something to me. And when I lost all those memories, I still found my way back to you.”
I carefully edge my way into his lap. His arms move to make space, hovering around my body. He’s so warm, and the smell of sawdust envelops me as I nestle my face in the crook of his neck.
A moment passes before his arms tighten around me, cradling my body against his chest, while my hair absorbs his shuddering breath. Then he turns his head slightly, just enough for our lips to meet.
This kiss is delicate, like he isn’t sure if I’ve forgiven him, if this is okay. So I turn my body to face him, straddling his hips as I deepen it, letting our tongues intertwine as I cradle his face close to mine.
I love him. Of course I love him. I have always known that, haven’t I?
Despite how much I ignored it, dismissed it as attraction or lust, somewhere in a hidden corner of my heart, I knew.
I’d become an expert at pretending away fundamental truths about myself, so good that I still might have missed this.
I could have let him slip away and never really known.
He suddenly groans, the sound sending a thrum through my veins.
His hands are holding me so tightly I can feel my pulse thrumming where each fingertip digs into my back.
It’s like a frenetic metronome, keeping steady time while we kiss and nip and sigh.
As if making up for lost time is something we can measure.
Suddenly, he shifts, my legs still wrapped around his hips, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s stood up. That he’s clutching me tight to his chest as he walks through the nearby doorway to the bedroom.
He kisses my neck as he leans down to place me on top of his sheets.
It’s like falling into a pool of him—warm flannel and the smell of sandalwood and soap.
I close my eyes and let it envelop me as his lips journey to my collarbone, as his hands find their way to the hem of my dress.
I can feel the calluses on his fingers as they skirt along my legs until he finally pulls the hem up over my head, throwing it to the floor.
A moment later, his fingers tug at my tights, but they don’t budge.
“Never thought I’d say this, but I miss the pajama pants,” he murmurs.
“I can go grab them if you want,” I whisper. “They’re on the floor of my bedroom right now.”
A low chuckle as he pulls at the tights again, finally bringing them down and off my legs.
Then he moves up my body to unclasp my bra.
The air is cool against my skin, and I reach for him, desperate to feel his weight against me again, but he pulls back just enough to stare down the length of me.
His broad hand slowly spreads out against my sternum, those callused fingers spanning my rib cage.
My pulse is thundering in my ears, but I don’t move until his gaze comes back up to meet mine.
His eyes are hungry, like he’s already worked out exactly what he’s going to do to me, step by step.
By the time he leans down to kiss me again, I’m panting, fingers in his hair and my legs around his hips, demanding more.