Page 78 of Love in Fine Print

Trevor had been sending me compilations of him playing, and, holy hotness, him in his football uniform pants was quite the sight. I had to admit, I’d watched several of those compilations on repeat.

I was still salivating over his fine physique when he reappeared minutes later.

“I’ll drive,” he said as we walked out of the house.

I nodded and walked to his truck. He opened the passenger door for me and held my hand as I got inside. As I put my seatbelt on, a realization dawned on me. I’d never been a big believer in traditional patriarchal roles. Probably because my mom had used them for her own benefit. Bianca Bradshaw loved playing the damsel in distress. She always needed a big, strong, man to take care of her. She was basically useless without one.

All my life, I’d worn my independence as a badge of honor. It was just one more piece of evidence that I was nothing like her. I always split the bill fifty-fifty when I dated. I opened my own doors. And I drove whenever I was going somewhere, no matter who I was with.

But since marrying Ben, he opened my doors. He drove when we went anywhere. He paid when we went out to dinner or anywhere. He checked to make sure the doors and windows were all locked before we went to bed. He even made sure that I had gas in my SUV.

Holy shit.In the past month, I hadn’t gotten my own gas.

“So, is this what you do every Thanksgiving?” he asked after putting in the address for the shelter.

I nodded.

“When did you start this tradition?”

I opened my mouth to tell him the short version that I’d been doing it for years. It was the answer I gave everyone who asked me, well, except Trevor or Bailey. But Bailey knew the answer, and Trevor, well, he didn’t accept abbreviated responses. He’d forced me to open up. He used to tease me that someone needed an emotional crowbar to get to know me.

I’d always been a private person. Painfully so. I never wanted anyone to know about my personal life, my home life. I used to think that it was just because I was embarrassed about my mom. But now, as an adult, I knew that it was my dad who I was embarrassed of, too. As painful as that was to admit, it was the truth.

He let my mom walk all over him. He continued to pay her bills even when she was married to other men, wealthy men. Anything she wanted, he gave her.

“Liv?” he prompted.

It was the first time Ben had used the nickname. No one in my life called me Liv. Bailey and Trevor both called me Vi, sometimes, but no one called me Liv. It was the name my dad used to call me. It felt wrong hearing anyone else use it.

But again, Ben seemed to be the exception. With him, it felt right. Just like when he’d called me angel.

“Um, I’ve been doing it since I was five. The first year that my parents were separated, I spent Thanksgiving with my dad, and he took me to the shelter. He told me it was something he’d always done, but when he married my mom, she wanted to make their own traditions, so he’d stopped.” If that wasn’t red flag number one for him, I had no clue what would have been. “Anyway, I somehow always ended up with him during the holidays, even on my mom’s years, because she was always traveling with whoever her newest boyfriend or husband was. Iwas twelve when he passed away, but I still kept coming back and volunteering every year.”

“Wow, that’s…”

Sad. Pathetic. Lonely.

“Amazing. He sounds like he was a really good man. I wish I could have met him.”

Moisture filled my eyes at the thought of Ben meeting my dad. My dad would have loved him. He would have been so happy that I’d married a man as good as Ben was. The only thing that gave me some comfort was that my dad wouldn’t be around next year when we separated and got divorced. That would have broken his heart.

I was quiet the rest of the ride. Once we arrived at the shelter, I quickly made introductions between Ben and the organizers, Kathy and Julian, who I’d known since I was a little girl. Julian was especially stoked to meet Ben because he was a big football fan. Kathy was just happy for the extra pair of hands. She quickly slotted us into the well-oiled machine that she’d perfected over the thirty-plus years she’d coordinated the volunteer program.

The next five hours went by in a blur of mashed potato trays as I spooned the fluffy goodness onto plates. All morning my attention kept being pulled to Ben. People gravitated toward him. At first, I thought it was just because of his notoriety as an athlete. But that theory was quickly disproven. People who had no clue he’d ever worn cleats were drawn to him. He had a warmth that radiated from him like a fire on a cold winter day. He treated everyone with kindness, respect, and dignity.

As we said goodbye, Kathy, who had never been overly affectionate or effusive in my experience, pulled me into a bear hug and quietly told me, “You got a good one there. Michael would have been so happy.”

Hearing her vocalize what I already knew, that my dad would have loved Ben, had my eyes watering. I managed to sniff backthe tears, but on the drive home, I found myself having a hard time keeping my emotions at bay. I felt the dam was about to burst.

“Thank you,” Ben said, pulling me out of my inner emotional battle.

“For what?” I asked as I sniffed.

“For letting me come with you.”

“No, thank you. You were amazing.”

“That was amazing. This is my first holiday without Gran and, I don’t know, I feel like that was the perfect way to spend it.”

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