Page 113 of If Only In Our Dreams

Thanksgiving Day came and went. It was as hectic as I’d expected. Mama Montgomery was a fucking matchmaker, oh my god. Put me right next to Ben with a knowing glint in her eyes—like she knew just how whipped I fucking was and wanted to help me out.

I’d stopped sleeping at the B&B altogether.

Ben would text me—even on the days I hadn’t seen him. He’d make sure I ate, checking up on me when he decided was the “proper time” for meals to take place. In turn, I made sure he kept up with his physical therapy.

Dude lived on a fucking schedule, and though I found it kinda hilarious and annoying in an endearing way, I loved that about him too.

He was structure, safety, and warmth.

He had therapy appointments on Thursdays. Had physical therapy once a month. Had his Saturdays with his mom. His Sundays with the girls. He worked out in the mornings. His shift started at ten on the dot. And he left work at exactly the same time every day.

And despite how busy he was, despite the fact that there was always something he had to be doing, Ben somehow made time for me. Like I was important. Like he wanted me around. Like he was willing to adjust his carefully put-together life just so he could fit me inside it.

Like clockwork, every night without fail, he’d invite me over.

And I’d come.

Because what else was I supposed to do?

When my time here in Belleville was almost up, and I couldn’t sleep without him anyway. I didn’t pretend to put distance between us anymore. We practically lived in each other’s pockets.

We’d spend sleepy, happy mornings together, with and without the twins. And instead of training on Sundays, I got tospend the day playing with Rosie and Jane. Counting their now full swear jar, and rewatching the same fucking episode of their favorite show with them over and over again.

On the days Ben had taken off to finish his book, I spent all day feeding him snacks, and entertaining the twins. His mom had been the one that was supposed to watch them, but she’d come down with a cold right after Thanksgiving.

Not that I minded.

I liked helping.

Liked when Ben leaned on me.

And even more than that, Ilovedthe twins. Loved the way they laughed. The way they sassed me. The way they watched me with wide, toffee-colored eyes—just like their dad’s—staring at me like they thought I was as wonderful as I thought they were.

It was on the last day of Ben’s time off that the truth about my surprise finally came out. But not before I accidentally terrorized Ben first.

Rosie was building a wall in front of me with pillows, blocking me in the back corner of the room. As far as I could tell, we were reenacting theCask of Amontillado—which again, was their favorite episode of LilPoe.

After the second time the pillow wall collapsed, Rosie’s face went red, her mouth opened—and a horrible cry escaped.

“Hey,hey—” I hummed, gently pushing the pillows aside and reaching for her. “It’s okay, sweetie?—”

She made another garbled noise, angry and wet, and I glanced around the room desperately to try and figure out what to do. Ben had already begun wrapping gifts and putting them beneath the tree that we’d decorated together—motherfucker had surprised me with ornaments of my own, the big softie. And as my gaze raked over the baubles, it landed on an empty cardboard box that was stacked in the corner ready to be recycled.

Distract the gremlin.

“Why don’t we make a better wall?” I offered, trying to redirect her attention.

Despite the fact I’d been the primary caregivers for the girls for the last few days, this was my first time witnessing a true freakout. For the most part, they were incredibly chill kids. But…they were still toddlers.

And Rosie had reached her limit.

“You can even tape me in!” I declared, already leaping over the pile of pillows and toward the giant fucking box. “It’ll be like building a wall, only better.” I had no idea what Ben had bought that was that fucking big, but hey! Didn’t matter at the moment.

Rosie sniffed dubiously, her face still as splotchy red as Ben’s became when he was embarrassed. I could see the resemblance then, because her eyebrows twitched the same way that his did as she debated whether or not I was full of shit.

“I want to trap Robin in a box,” Jane replied helpfully from where she’d been sitting quietly on the couch watching the same fucking episode of LilPoe they always did. It was turned down low, and she’d still been able to mouth every word.

“Um.” Well, this had escalated quickly.

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