Page 55 of Stuck With the Best Man

When I crack open my eyes, my gaze lands on a set of thick polyester curtains, maroon and patterned in a way that was probably tasteful about twenty years ago. The sun filters brightly through a narrow crack between them, revealing hundreds of tiny dust motes swirling through the air.

My eyes flash open all the way.Sunlight.

Sunlight! The sun is shining! The storm is over!

I bolt upright, then reach for the bedside lamp. It doesn’t turn on when I flip the switch, so there’s still no power, but that’s okay. I’m sure power companies all over the region are scrambling to put the lines back together after the second tropical storm in the span of a week.

The good news is that it’s no longer raining. The widespread flooding can start drying back up. The road crews can clear the debris away.

And Ben and I can finally get back to New York City.

I twist around toward him. He’s still fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach with one of his arms dangling off the side of the cot. His face is smushed into the pillow, his hair a wavy mess from being slept on while still damp.

For some reason, I smile to myself.

When I realize that it’sBen HawthorneI’m smiling at, I stop.

Then I think about how my idea of Ben Hawthorne has changed drastically since this weekend started. It’s easier to smile at him now. Maybe Iwantto smile at the idea of him now.

As if he’s coaxed awake by my idiotic thoughts, Ben’s hand twitches where it’s dangling in midair. Slowly, he pulls his arm back onto the narrow cot and lets out a low, tired groan. My heart stutters at the sound.

Quickly, I reach for my phone and lookverybusy staring at the weather app so that it’s not obvious I was just openly staring at him. In my peripheral vision, he pushes himself up into a sitting position and yawns loudly.

I glance over at him, hoping that I look totally casual and as if I completely forgot he was even here. I also really hope that my hair doesn’t resemble a rat’s nest.

“Good morning,” I rasp.

“Morning,” he croaks.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. There is so much intimacy in this moment—seeing each other in our drowsy, vulnerable states in a way that so few people in our lives are privy to—and it’s clear that both of us are a little too aware of it.

I clear my throat too loudly. “Um. The sun is out.”

Idiot,I grumble to myself.He’s literally squinting at the sunlight right now. He knows the sun is out.

A soft, sleepy grin forms on his lips. The ridiculous beauty of him strikes me for the umpteenth time. I expect a spark of annoyance at my unwilling acknowledgement of his handsomeness, but it doesn’t come. Is it possible that I don’t find Ben annoying anymore? What changed?

Maybe nothing at all has changed. After all, when I first met him, I didn’t find him annoying in the slightest. I was completely enthralled by him. I liked him. A lot.

So maybe, even though it’s the worst thing that could possibly happen, I’m going full circle. I’m returning to the version of myself that enjoyed one of the best days of my life with a perfect stranger and foolishly dreamed that it might turn into some kind of love story.

If that’s the case, maybe I should go jump into the floodwaters and let them sweep me away.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, running his hands through his wild hair. It looks soft. Idly, I wonder how it would feel to tangle my fingers in that unfairly shiny hair of his.

Stop it, Ruby. Stop it right now.

“Yeah! Yeah, I slept fine. Totally fine… you?”

“Hmm?” Ben is staring at me with a strange look on his face. Self-consciously, I comb my fingers through my hair and use the long lengths as a shield to hide the blush I can feel rising to my cheeks.

“Did you sleep alright?” I repeat.

“Surprisingly, yeah.”

“Maybe I should have let you take the bed,” I murmur. “You’re bigger than me.”

Ben shakes his head. “No way. You’re the professional athlete. I’m not going to let it be my fault that you have a sore neck or back because you slept on a rickety cot.”

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