Page 32 of If Only In Our Dreams

All my life I’d dreamed of one of those big, winter snow storms. The kind that piled up against doors. The kind that crunched beneath your feet. The kind that was as peaceful as it was dangerous.

But now that I’d heard Ben’s laugh, I had a feeling the snow’s beauty wouldn’t compare. Not to his laugh lines. Not to the way his face scrunched up, a miracle in itself.

“You always have something to say,” Ben’s eyes danced as he stopped sharing his joy with the sky and gave it back to me. He sounded pleased by this, which was another surprise.

“Trashmouth,” I hummed.

“What?”

“That’s what the other kids called me when I was little. That’s why it’s my stage name.” Ben hummed thoughtfully like he was psychoanalyzing me again. Locking away memories of the grin on my face, and the tension around my eyes so he could crack it open later and get right down to the ooey gooey parts.

He looked at me like he found me fascinating.

And I shouldn’t have liked that, but I did.

“Ask me your question,” I hummed, my hand moving up to cup the back of his, to force it to stay where it was. “The invasive one you didn’t want to ask.”

“Really?” Ben’s eyes widened, his brows rising.

“Sure.” This was an exercise in trust. Which was something my therapist had strongly urged me to do while I was over here on vacation for the holidays. Ben could take what I gave him to the press. He could twist my words and hurt me.

But I didn’t think he would.

Simple as that.

“Were you often ignored when you were a child?” Ben asked, looking nervous—like he was still scared of upsetting me.

Memories surfaced, of sitting by Miles when he was sick, of combing his hair back, of waiting for help that never came. Memories of spending hours building sand castles only for the waves to knock them away before my mother ever turned to look.

“Yeah,” I admitted, and it didn’t hurt like it should.

Because maybe I’d been ignored then, but Ben was looking at me now.

I was here, and it was going to snow, and Ben’s hands were larger than dinner plates—so there was no need to be sad.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Ben’s thumb rubbed my cheekbone, and I hummed, squeezing the back of his hand in reply. “No child should ever feel ignored. Especially not one as precious as I’m sure you were.”

“It’s old news.” My eyes fluttered shut as something cold and wet fluttered down to my temple. It took me a second to realize what it was—lighter than rain, and softer somehow. Chilly. Snow.

Asnowflake.

“Shit!” I knocked Ben’s hand off my cheek without thinking as I jerked my head back to stare at the sky. “It’s snowing!”

“Just because it’s old pain doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt you,” Ben countered quietly. “It’s okay if it does. And I promise to never ignore you agai?—”

“Oh my god, I’m gonna make asnowman.” Slapping Ben on the chest in excitement, this time deflecting accidentally, as visions of what was to come danced around in my head. “Oh my god,”I repeated, hopping up and down in excitement. “Oh-my-god. I could go sledding!” Shit. “I need a sled. Where do you buy a sled? Is there a store for that?”

That excitement, however, was short-lived because I realized that I’d successfully distracted Ben from his job—and now it was snowing—and there was no way he was going to be able to finish the skeleton now.

Deflating, I realized that snow probably also meant going inside. And not sleds, like I’d hoped. And certainly not snowman.

And…that also meant no more Ben.

Damn.

“I forget you’re from the South,” Ben hummed thoughtfully, watching me with fondness. He seemed to decide he’d stared too long, however, because he dropped back down to his knees on the cold, leaf-strewn ground, and began working on the skeleton again. Like it wasn’t fucking snowing. Little white blobs landing on the back of his dark red hair.

“What—”

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