Page 65 of If Only In Our Dreams

“I’m going to get ready for work,” Ben said, cutting me some slack because he was an angel.

“Good plan,” I agreed, splashing around in the water for something to do. My ears burned. My cheeks burned. Myeverythingburned. That was happening to me a lot lately.

“Try not to use the dish soap the same way you used my conditioner,” Ben teased. And then he was gone—leaving me to turn into a soapy, wrinkly-fingered puddle of embarrassment all on my own.

“He saidwhat?” Miles choked on his slice of pizza.

“He said, ‘don’t use the dish soap like you—’” I repeated only for Miles to start coughing so loud he interrupted me.

“No, no, I gotthatpart. I was just…surprised.” Miles managed to not die somehow, though his face was red as he reached out for a glass of water. Bubs had left the dinner table and was upstairs playing with Jeremy. Who wasapparentlyhis, and I quote, “best friend in the whole world.” Miles said the kid practically lived at their house nowadays.

Miles and I were in the kitchen. The ceramic cow on the table mocked me as I fiddled with my dinner and the clock above the table ticked.

“I had no idea Ben was such a flirt,” Miles added, sounding just as surprised as he’d said he was.

“Well, I would hope not, considering the fact that you’re married to his brother,” I laughed, though my cheeks felt hot.

Today was a good day.

Areallygood day.

After eating breakfast with Ben he’d insisted I hang out with him before his first appointments of the day arrived. I’d sat on his couch and creepy-stalk-watched him while he didpaperwork. And when his coffee had run low I’d offered to go get him more from the bakery across the street.

There was a cute kid in his early twenties manning the counter who looked vaguely familiar. He’d given me Ben’s coffee for free—and one for me and the receptionist, Lynda, and a whole container of chocolate croissants.

Chocolate croissants that Ben later insisted I take to Miles and Bubba, as he said he had more than enough sweets at home.

Best of all though was the fact that when I’d delivered said coffee to Ben—after what I could only assume was a rough appointment with an old man wearing flannel—he’d pulled me into a side hug, ruffled my hair with his big-ass hand, and murmured right against my ear, slow and sweet, “You’re such agood boy,Robin. Thank you.”

Suffice to say I’d been floating onthatparticular cloud all day.

Despite the fact that he’d had appointments in the other room, Ben had never shooed me back to the B&B and its creepy floral sheets. And I spent the rest of the day cat-napping on his couch and re-reading his books on my phone when he had appointments so that I’d have new, fresh ideas to bug him about every time he returned.

Whenever he’d push the door open I’d grin from whatever new position I’d taken on the couch and wave. And one memorable occasion, I even hid beneath his desk so I could pop out and say, “Boo!”

It was the best day ever.

And the croissants made it even better! Miles had loved them. Bubba too. Even Trent had found them delightful. He’d snuck two with him as he’d run off to check on something at the farm. Apparently, he’d be vending at the Christmas market and he wanted to make sure the thing would go off without a hitch.

“You like him,” Miles observed, eyes dancing.

I shrugged a shoulder, “I like a lot of things.” I held up my pizza slice. “Like this pizza, for example. I like this pizza. In fact, I might evenlovethis pizza.”

“Flatterer,” Miles laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’d made the pizza, so he should feel flattered. It was good-ass pizza. Cheesy with fluffy dough and all the toppings you could imagine.

And then, because I was a glutton for punishment, I added, “I should’ve said something snappy in reply, right? Something clever. Like…” I played it cool like I hadn’t been replaying that same interaction in my head over and over all day. “Fuck.” The thought left me. I’d had aperfectcomeback all planned out earlier. “Dammit. I forgot.”

Miles snorted, reaching over to top off my glass of wine. He didn’t drink, but I did—and he’d made sure to have my favorite kind stocked for my visit. I liked dessert wine. The sweeter the better, and this particular brand was my favorite because it had a skull on it and tasted just like grape juice.

“Why don’t you ask him out?” Miles asked, because he was a nosy motherfucker.

“Because he’s a serious kinda guy, dude.” I glared at him, taking a sip of my overfilled wine, careful not to spill because I was still proudly wearing Ben’s hoodie. “He’s got kids. He’s got a life here. Andmylife is back in L.A.”

“You’re here for Christmas,” Miles wagged his eyebrows.

His eyes said,anything can happen.

“I’m hereuntilChristmas,” I corrected, nipping that in the bud immediately. “Which is what…?” I blew out a breath, my bangs puffing up. “Amonthaway?”

---