Page 112 of If Only In Our Dreams

Honestly, if the race had taken place even two months ago I would’ve been devastated. Would’ve been beating myself up. Would’ve been dissecting every move I’d made to try and figure out where I could’ve been better.

But instead, I just felt…peace.

Because despite the fact we’d lost because of me—despite the fact Ben had bet on the slowest pony on the track—things hadn’t changed a bit. He was just as gentle, just as flirty, just as Ben-nish as before.

His smiles were wide and bright and unrepentant.

He handed them to me freely.

Like it cost him nothing.

Like they weremine.

And I didn’t feel like a loser. I didn’t feel like a waste of space. I didn’t feel like a nuisance, or a problem. I didn’t feel like it was my fault. And the girls didn’t treat me like it was either. They simply told me that we would keep training and try again next year.

Next year.

Like they expected me to be around that long.

Ben swayed to the beat, Rosie’s little feet on top of his as he led her in a looping, graceful circle. And as Jane leaned into me, and I curled my arm around her, settling my cheek on her warm, fuzzy head, I watched him.

I watched him because he was a miracle dressed in cashmere and a tan flannel coat.

I’d spent a lot of time wondering about Ben lately. Daydreaming about what he liked to do when he was bored. About his emo days in highschool—because oh my god, Ben in eyeliner?Fuck me!About where he chose to shop. About his favorite foods, his favorite color, his favorite place to go when he was sad.

And now, I wondered where he’d learned to dance.

Where he’d learned tosmilelike that. All wrinkly and soft and beautiful.

I wondered how someone so wonderful could be real at all.

And how he could love me.

Because he did.

I’d have to be blind not to see it.

Eventually, Jane changed her mind and decided that shedidin fact want to dance after all, so we joined Ben and Rosie on the dance floor. Some twangy country song was playing over the speakers. And though it wasn’t my jam, I could appreciate the ambiance. Especially when Ben swapped me for Jane and Igot to enjoy swinging Rosie around, her riotous giggles carrying through the air.

That night, both twins wanted me to read them bedtime stories.

Bothof them.

Which felt like a gigantic fucking honor, man. And I was so excited I couldn’t help but stumble over my words. Especially because the picture books they wanted were all Edgar Allan Poe remakes—and used words I’d often read (in books) but hadn’t really used aloud.

Reading and speaking were two different things.

But neither twin seemed to mind when I stumbled, they simply corrected me when I fucked something up.

Ben leaned against the doorway the whole time, listening silently in the dark like the giant teddy bear he was. And when both little girls had collected kisses from their dad, he led me to his room and undressed me slowly and deliberately, with flickering little pecks against my cheeks and ears, precious and gentle and perfect.

“Spend the night,” Ben requested, even though I’d already spent the night before.

“Okay,” I agreed, breaking my own personal rule not to cross that line as if I’d never made it at all.

I gave him the back rub I’d promised myself I would.

And Ben curled around me, protective, and warm—and the scent of sandalwood and blossom lulled me into sleep. And once again, I didn’t bring up the surprise.

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