Page 40 of If Only In Our Dreams

“Hold tight,” he hummed, giving my hands a squeeze. His long legs framed my body, going way past where mine ended, feet nearly twice as large as my own. I was suddenly quite glad I was not the one in the back—otherwise my dick might’ve woken from the dead just to fuck with me.

“Don’t you mean, hang on tight spider monk—eeeeeeee!” My screech turned into laughter as the sled pushed off and the world blurred white.

Wind whipped my cheeks, bitter and cold. It burned the tip of my nose, icy bright as it filled my lungs and the snow kicked up around us. Ben’s breath was warm on the back of my neck as he kicked one leg out, digging it into the snow and sending the sled spinning, spinning, spinning.

I couldn’t stop laughing. Couldn’t stop for the life of me.

Those few seconds felt like years as the blurry trees along the top of the park danced.

When we finally spun to a stop I was out of breath and Ben was laughing against the nape of my neck.

“Oh my fuck,” I gasped out, wiggling in Ben’s grasp. “That was amazing.”

“I knew you’d like it.”

“That thing you did—with the leg—” I twisted around to look at him, momentarily distracted by the way he was looking at me. “Seriously inspired. You’re like the Picasso of sledding.”

“The girls love that. I figured you might too. That way you can impress them with my trick.” Ben winked. Winked!

“You’re high if you think my legs can reach that far.”

Ben tossed his head back and laughed.

And then we were scrambling up the hill again—me, with newfound confidence. Ben’s smile never died.

It didn’t die when he let me go a second time in a row—this time with Jane. It grew broader after I took her for a spin and squinted up at the top of the hill after her giggles subsided. It softened when I carried her up the hill on my shoulders because the snow was too deep for her tiny legs to climb.

Up and down, over and over. I rode with Jane, Rosie, and Bubba. Giggling my ass off like a man possessed, my heart pounding, my skin hot now—despite the chill. Like my body was burning up my happiness to keep me warm.

And all the while, I wished and wished and wished that I could ride down that first time again. That I could feel Ben behind me. That his warmth could be mine, and that smile would stay forever.

Snowflakes fell.

The night grew dark.

And for the first time in years, I felt like I belonged.

“So…” Mama said, crunching her way through one of the free cannolis we’d gotten for free-cannoli night at Rudy’s. Every Saturday was free-cannoli night. And every Saturday, like clockwork, Mama and I made our way here.

I was too old to worry about the fact my mother was my best friend.

Sure, if I’d still been in my twenties I might’ve felt some embarrassment that the highlight of my week was the time I spent with my mom, but I was well past that now.

After losing Dad, it’d become all too real, all too quickly just how fast we could lose the people we loved. And I’d made a point to call her every week after that, even when I lived in New York, or when I was still in school. I’d hardly had time to breathe, and yet I’d still found time for her.

A fact I knew she appreciated.

Now that I had moved back to my hometown, things were different.

It wasn’t a harried phone call we shared. It was cannolis. And all the fun moments in between when I picked up Jane and Rosie from her house after work, and we spent a solid forty minutes telling each other about our days over cocoa.

“So…?” I echoed right back, cleaning up the last of the cream from my plate before taking a long sip of water.

A sip of water that I promptly choked on when her next words came out.

“Robin Johnson, hmm?” Her eyes slitted, lips pulling into a Cheshire-like grin. “Matilda caught you making eyes at him the other day.”

“Oh, stop.” I waved her off, my cheeks hot. Couldn’t tell her to ‘fuck off’ like I could with my brothers. I was forty-five, and despite what I’d just said about being too old for those sorts of games, I would never be too old to respect my mother.

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