Page 29 of If Only In Our Dreams

And because I was fucking pitiful, it only took me two seconds to latch onto it, despite my hurt feelings. Ben’s hands were larger than mine, and warmer. I’d thought that before too—when we’d shook hands at the airport. He had piano hands. Fingers long and dexterous and careful.

Mine were rougher, by comparison. Guitar calluses definitely didn’t help.

“Look at me,” Ben’s voice was gentle and my lips wobbled as I did as I was told—finally,unhappilymeeting his gaze.

His eyes were liquid caramel, warm as a bonfire.

Looking into them sent a shiver up my spine, even though I still felt small and miserable and cold.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, even gentler this time, very obviously sincere. His dark lashes fluttered, casting shadows on his cheeks. The grumpy eyebrow twitch was missing. He wasn’t annoyed, despite how I was freaking out. And he really did look sorry. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was mean,” I told him, voice hoarse. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He seemed to inspire honesty out of me, even when I didn’t want him to.

“Itwasmean,” he agreed, squeezing my hand tight. “I won’t do it again.”

I nodded jerkily, the tension in my body settling a little.

“Why’d you do it?” I asked, because I knew him giving me the silent treatment had to have been intentional. “If you knew it was mean.”

Why are you doing this?

He’s going to think you’re annoying.

Why are you making such a big deal about this?

He was kidding.

Ben tipped his head to the side, a dark lock of auburn hair falling across his forehead. The sun lit him up from behind, dancing across his jaw and painting him with a halo, kinda like an angel. It was setting now, the autumn cold creeping in as the sun sank below the trees at the back of the B&B’s unkempt yard.

Didn’t look like anyone had taken care of this place in years. Paint peeling on the fence. The shed where the decorations were normally housed half-rotted. I wasn’t stupid. I knew Matilda Deed hadn’t always run this place alone, and judging from the photo frames that lined the mantle in the lounge downstairs, Mr. Deed’s death had hurt more than just her heart.

There were empty holes everywhere. Things he used to do probably. Things she couldn’t do anymore without thinking of him. Like how I couldn’t eat lemon cookies without thinking about my mom. About the only time she’d ever smiled at me, when I’d been too little to realize she hated me.

Ben was quiet as I mused, seemingly waiting for the moment my eyes connected with his again and he had my full attention.

I hadn’t meant to space out.

I’d warned him earlier that I had a tendency to deflect, and apparently the same could be said for my thoughts.

Ben’s eyes said,there you are.

They said,it’s okay.

They said,forgive me?

And when he was looking at me like that…it was kinda impossible not to.

“When we were younger we often played juvenile games to keep each other in check,” Ben explained, his palm warming mine. He hadn’t taken his hand away, and I didn’t remove mine either. Being touched felt so fucking good. “I responded to your teasing the way I would’ve if Trent had been the one hitting me.”

I nodded because that made sense, even if it made me feelweirdhe was treating me like his little brother.

Why does that make me feel weird?

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Ben added, voice soft. “I didn’t realize it would upset you the way it did.”

My heart fluttered.

“Do you forgive me?” Ben asked, holding my hand tight.

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