Page 31 of If Only In Our Dreams

Ben sounded hesitant.

Slowly, my mind came back to the present. Focusing on Ben’s toffee-colored gaze and the way the setting sun lit his hair like Christmas ribbon, snow-laced pine trees framing the sides of the artfully styled strands.

“Sorry, I realized what I was about to ask was incredibly invasive.”

“Oh.”

“It’s the psychologist in me. That was my favorite part of school. I have a hard time turning it off.”

“Like Hannibal Lecter,” I hummed without thinking. Ben blinked. Then his serious expression cracked and he laughed, shaking his head.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Like Hannibal Lecter.”

“The NBC one or theSilence of the Lambsone?”

“NBC, obviously.”

“That’s a very gay choice of you, Ben,” I hummed, warming up all over again.

“Is there any other choice?”

“I mean, Anthony Hopkins is a total snack,” I countered. Then my cheeks warmed when I realized I’d had that very thought about Ben earlier that week. His palm never budged from my cheek, his fingers tracing these very distracting patterns on my skin while he grinned down at me. He was going to hurt his back if he kept bending down like that.

“Anthony Hopkins is an incredibly talented actor,” Ben agreed.

“Anda total snack.” I blinked innocently. Again, Ben’s smile grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners. In a weird way, he looked his oldest then. He had kind of a baby face? Looked close to my age most of the time. The gray at his temples betrayed him, of course, but still. For the most part, the years didn’t show.

They did now though, written in every gorgeous crinkle by his already expressive eyes. Laugh lines. These were laugh lines. And they were…fuck. Ben Montgomery was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.

And he had never been more beautiful than he was then, all forty-something years of him. (Yes, I’d asked Miles how old he was. I’d asked him a lot of questions, obviously.)

“Say it, Ben,” I hummed. “Say that he’s a total snack.”

“Please don’t make me do that,” Ben laughed.

“Coward,” I tsked.

“I like my men a lot less…terrifying,” Ben snorted. “And I’ve been told I haveverygood taste.”

“Whoever told you that also probably does not think Anthony Hopkins is delicious. And is therefore also tasteless.”

“JesusChrist.” Ben’s head tossed back as he chuckled, shaking his head like he was asking the overcast sky for patience. It was the second “Jesus Christ” he’d uttered around me in that exact same tone, and it kinda felt like I’d won an award.

It looked like snow would fall tonight, covering the quiet streets of Belleville in a soft white blanket.

I was…weirdly excited about that.

It would be the first snowfall of the season. The first true snow I’d ever really seen. Like movies, you know? With the pine trees and the mountains. With the trees still painted autumn’s fiery hues.

All my life I’d imagined what that would be like.

Would the snow be soft?

It looked so soft.

Would it be cold? It was hard to imagine.

I’d seen snow on occasion when I was a kid. But we weren’t really allowed to go outside. And I’d always used my imagination to fill in the gaps.

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