Page 22 of Reckless Flames

The agreement that passed between us was silent, an understanding that, while the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, the journey was one we were willing to embark on together, however cautious our steps might be.

Chapter thirteen

Sophie

The words had been flowing from my fingertips with an ease I hadn’t felt in weeks, the document on my laptop screen filling up with the fruits of a newfound clarity. I didn’t know if yesterday’s events had unclogged some previously dammed-up well of creativity within me or there was some other reason for the book suddenly coming to life, but I really didn’t care. Sophie Wright had found her muse!

I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t hear the study door open, nor did I notice Ben’s presence until he was right behind me, his voice breaking through my concentration like a sudden clap of thunder.

“Sophie?”

“Jesus, you scared me!” I exclaimed, spinning around in the chair to face him, my heart racing.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, though his brow was furrowed with something that looked suspiciously like concern or perhaps it was disapproval.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to mask the annoyance I felt at being interrupted. His overprotectiveness, while usually endearing, could sometimes feel suffocating, especially when I was in the throes of creative work.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” he replied, his gaze drifting to the open document on my laptop screen before meeting my eyes again. “You’ve been holed up here for hours.”

“Well, that’s what I do when I’m working—I hole up,” I said, fighting the defensiveness that wanted to creep into the tone of my voice. This was my work—my business—the way I earned my living. I didn’t need to defend the time I spent on it. “It’s going really well, actually.”

He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sorry about interrupting you. It’s just that I was over at the renovation house a lot longer than usual. I didn’t intend to be there that long—the time just got away from me. I called you just before I left the house, but there was no answer, so I really started worrying on the way back.”

His concern was genuine, and part of me softened at the admission. But another part, the part that thrived on independence and the freedom to lose myself in my work, bristled at the implication that I needed checking up on. After all, wasn’t that why I was here and not at home with my family?

“Ben, I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do. But I’m fine, I promise,” I assured him, hoping to convey both gratitude and the need for space. “I had turned my phone off, so I wouldn’t be interrupted by it.”

He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I can’t forget that email and your being followed in the woods. I need to know you’re safe.”

The memory of those incidents sent a shiver down my spine. “I understand that, and I’m taking it seriously. But I also need to be able to focus, to immerse myself in my writing. It’s how I process things, how I make sense of the world.”

Ben’s expression softened. “Okay, I get it. I just...I care about you, Sophie."

For a moment, we were both caught in the gravity of his words, the air thick with the weight of what they implied.

“I care about you too, Ben,” I found myself saying, the words feeling both monumental and entirely inadequate to express the depth of what I felt for him.

The moment stretched, taut and filled with the potential for something more, something deeper. But then Ben stepped back, as if physically pulling away from the precipice we’d found ourselves on.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the conflict within.

“Thanks,” I said, watching as he turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

Alone once more, I turned back to my laptop, the cursor blinking expectantly on the screen. But the spell had been broken, the seamless flow of words interrupted by the complex dance of our interaction. The room felt emptier without his presence, the air cooler, as if his departure had taken some vital warmth with it.

I tried to refocus on my work, to recapture the thread of the narrative that had been so vivid just moments before. But the undercurrent of what had passed between us, the unexplored depth of our connection and the unresolved tensions that lay beneath, proved to be a distraction I couldn’t easily shake.

As I sat there, the document on my screen a stark reminder of the dual nature of my struggle—creative and personal—I couldn’t help but wonder about the balance between the solitude my work required and the undeniable pull I felt toward Ben, a man who had become both my muse and my distraction.

Any ounce of focus shattered as Ben reappeared, this time with a gravity that pulled the air tight around us. His face was carefully casual, the lines at the corner of his eyes deeper, more pronounced. He hesitated at the door, as if bracing himself to deliver news he wished he didn’t have to.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my fingers pausing above the keyboard, a sense of foreboding creeping up my spine.

“I completely forgot to tell you. I dropped in to the police station this morning on my way to the house to tell Detective Roberts what you’ve remembered about that guy at your book signing that acted so oddly. She said that there’s nothing they can do with the information since acting weird isn’t against the law, and there’s nothing to connect him to the email and the stalking. So I guess that’s the end of that.”

I completely gave up trying to write after Ben left me alone the second time. Instead, I decided to go for a walk. His front yard was impressive if it can even be called a yard. A better term for his outdoor space would probably be “grounds.” Anyway, I prefer the grounds behind his house.

Leaving the house, there’s the patio, the pool, and the large grassy area bordered at the back by shrubs and flowers with a path through them to the river beyond. I walked all the way down to the river this time and sat on the wrought iron bench that had been placed there so the river could be viewed in comfort. The bench had long enough legs that my feet barely touched the ground, and I could swing my legs back and forth.I loved being able to do that—it almost made me feel carefree—like a child again.

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