Page 8 of I Do With You

“Ben?” I call as I walk down the narrow hall, the sway of my dress touching one wall and then the other with every swish.

“In here,” he answers. I follow his voice and find him folding back the covers on a queen-size bed. As he fluffs the pillow, he informs me, “No mint, but I changed the sheets. The beds are comfortable, and you’ve got a private bathroom through that door.” He’s given me the main suite, generously moving his own stuff to the other room for my sake.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. I’d take a cot in a tent out back at this point if it’d buy me some time, but the promise of a comfortable bed sounds like a fantasy. Now that the adrenaline is no longer coursing through my body, exhaustion is setting in. “Sorry for interrupting your hike and ruining your vacation. I’ll stay out of your way and be out of your hair first thing tomorrow. Oh, except—” I cringe. “Sorry to ask another favor, but do you think you could take me into town in the morning? I told my sister I’d meet her to get a bag. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I can’t be in Maple Creek till I figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

That’s a joke and a half. I have no idea what I’m doing, nor do I think I’m going to suddenly get a clue. I’m winging it, on a hope and a prayer, fighting off what’s likely to be a crash landing with guaranteed casualties—me, most likely. Hopefully, the damage from the hemorrhage will be minimal and repairable.

“Sure. On one condition,” he replies, dropping his chin so that he’s looking down his nose at me. Sternly, he continues, “Quit apologizingfor shit that’s not your fault. You didn’t interrupt my hike. Maybe I interrupted your whole runaway moment. And you’re not ruining anything. Remember, I’m going to bore you to tears with my life story later, so you’re basically making my vacation. I haven’t talked to a damn soul in days, and it’s driving me crazy. And a drive into town sounds a lot better than my plan for tomorrow, which was more titmouse spotting.” His tone grows lighter as he speaks, and he finishes with a grin, having addressed every one of mysorrys in a way that magically makes me feel slightly less awful.

“Um, okay. Thank you, then.” I stand there, not sure what else to say if I can’t apologize for my train wreck taking over his day, cottage, and life for the next twelve hours.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” he suggests, eyeing my hair. “I’ll grab you a T-shirt or something so you don’t have to wearthatall night.”

I look down at my dress. The perfect, beautiful dress of my dreams. It’s ruined, stained along the hem, and torn in places. It should make me want to cry fresh, hot tears. Instead, it feels symbolic of how I feel. Used. Saggy. Lifeless. “Thanks.”

“Another condition: stop thanking me for basic human decency. If I do something amazing, fine. If I pull off a double-flipping-back handspring, feel free to clap. But helping you isn’t some big deal. I’m happy to do it.” He doesn’t look happy. More like, he looks worried I might collapse into a puddle of tears at any moment—which, given the current situation, is probably a valid concern.

If only he knew. Nobody helps me. I’m the helper. Always putting everyone else first, taking care of their needs and ignoring my own. It’s kinda weird to be on the other side. I don’t like it, but I need it.

I bite my lip, on the verge of saying thank you again, but I simply nod instead. Ben smiles at the small success, and the silent praise makes me feel like at least I did one thing right today. “Good. Need anything else?”

“Um, I might need a little help getting my dress undone?” I say it like I’m not sure, but the truth is, I know there’s no amount ofcontortionist-style stretching that’ll let me reach the long row of tiny buttons at my back. It was supposed to be something sexy that Roy did for me tonight, but now ...

“Turn around.” Ben’s voice is rough, like he knows this isn’t how I was supposed to get out of my wedding dress, and I have to swallow hard to not apologize again as I give him my back and stare at the pillows on the bed.

His deft fingers work their way down the dozens of buttons, and I stand there feeling more vulnerable with every inch of exposed skin, even though Ben isn’t giving creeper vibes. If anything, he’s holding himself at a respectable distance and trying to make this easier by keeping me talking.

“Who was it you called? That you’re meeting tomorrow?”

“My sister, Joy. She’s my best friend, maid of honor, and ride-or-die. Hopefully, she’ll actually meet me tomorrow,” I say thoughtfully.

“Not sure she’s all that ride-or-die if you’re questioning whether she’s gonna meet you.”

I explain, “Oh, she will if she can. There’s also a fair to good chance she’ll be in the city jail instead, if she gets her hands on Roy.”

His chuckle is dark and rough, like he doesn’t do it often. “Sheisa ride-or-die, then,” he agrees, sounding like he approves of Joy’s potentially violent tactics.

“She’s the best. My brother, Shepherd, too. I don’t know if either of them will survive the night without getting arrested. If they stick to something stupid, like toilet-papering Roy’s car, they might get leniency, given the extenuating circumstances. But Joy’s rougher around the edges and stronger than I am, mentally and physically, and Shepherd knows how to fight from being on the ice, so if they get physical, none of them stand a chance,” I say as if Ben knows them. “Especially since Roy’s dad is the sheriff and likely not feeling too kindly to us Barlowes. Usually, I’m the one who keeps the two of them in line, but I’m veering into uncharted territory this time ...” I trail off, worried about my siblingsand what they might do. Maybe I should call Joy again to make sure she understands this isn’t something Roy did but rather somethingIdid?

“That’s where growth happens. In the murky, questionable waters off the shore of certainty.” Ben mumbles the poetic words, and I feel like he’s talking to himself more than to me.

Still, I respond, “What if I can’t swim?”

“But on the other hand, what if you can?” he challenges. “You said your sister’s stronger than you, but I’d say it takes some pretty big balls to get all the way to the altar and then act on doubts. I’d bet most folks would’ve gone through with it, even as their hearts saidDon’t do it.Sounds pretty strong to me.”

I inhale sharply in surprise. Is he right? I sure as shit don’t feel strong. Like, at all. In fact, I’m basically 0 percent strong right now. I feel stupid, weak, and crazy.

“Done.” His hands are somewhere around my lower-back area, so with the buttons undone, I know he can see the white thong Joy insisted I wear as good luck for a marriage filled with sexy times.

I turn around, holding the loose fabric of the dress to my breasts, and find him staring at me with dark eyes and a faint lift to his lips. “Thank you,” I say, then quickly add, “and that was well above basic human decency, so let me say it.”

I feel like he’s proud of me again, but he doesn’t say anything as he leaves and closes the door behind him. For the first time, it hits me.

I left Roy at the altar. I’m alone.

Somehow, it feels . . . good?

But that doesn’t make sense. I should definitely feel bad about that, right? So why does it feel like a relief?

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