Page 68 of Stuck With the Best Man

I suppose we’re both doing extremely well in our respective artistic endeavors. As soon as Thanksgiving is over and we return to the city, it’s officiallyNutcrackerseason. For the first time in my career, I’ve been offered a principal role—the Sugar Plum Fairy. If it goes well, I’ll be promoted to principal dancer permanently.

“Got it!” Ben exclaims, tightening the last bolt with a satisfied grin.

He lowers the car back down and then slides the jack out. He stands to his full height and plants his hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork. I get a little weak in the knees at the sight of him, and I also can’t help giggling. He looks like the complete opposite of a car mechanic in his tailored wool trousers and Burberry peacoat.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks with a pout.

“You.”

“Because I’m so very cute and charming?”

“Something like that.”

He winks at me, then picks up his tools to place them back in the trunk. I practically leap back into his fancy Porsche, grateful to finally be out of the frigid autumnal wind. When he slides into the driver's seat and turns on the engine, I notice a streak of dirt on his cheek.

“Ben, you’ve got dirt on your face.”

He shrugs, glancing over his shoulder to check that it’s clear before he pulls back into the breakdown lane to pick up speed.

“Yes, I think I’ll keep it there to make a good impression on your family. They’ll think I’m a rugged, sturdy, dependable sort of man.”

“Darling, you’re wearing Ralph Lauren.”

He snorts. “Yeah, fair enough.”

When he reaches up to wipe it off, I bat away his hand and reach for a napkin from the glove box.

“Just focus on the road,” I tell him. “I’ll get you all cleaned up, Mr. Mechanic.”

I lean forward and carefully wipe the dirt away, then give him a soft peck on the cheek before settling back in the passenger seat.

“I think we need to pull over again,” Ben says after a moment.

“What? Why?”

“Because I really need to kiss you right now.”

I smack his arm. “Don’t you dare. I’m starving and all I can think about is Gram’s vegan baked ziti. She always makes it for lunch the day before Thanksgiving.”

“Well,I’mstarving, too, and all I can think about is the taste of your lips, my sweet ballerina.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m a poet. I have to be.”

I take his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. “Will that tide you over until we get there?”

He lets out a mournful sigh. “I suppose it will have to.”

We drive on, finally reaching Cape Cod and curving up the coast toward Mermaid Shores. I can already feel the tingle of magic in the air, though we’re still about twenty miles away. My hometown calls to me like the sirens it was named for.

“Gram is looking forward to meeting you properly,” I say.

Ben smiles. “I’m looking forward to it, too. I can’t wait to show her that I’ve been carrying around the tiny raw ruby in my pocket every single day since she snuck it in there.”

My heart swells with affection—withlove, I fear—for this sentimental, ridiculous man.

“Are you nervous to meet my parents?”

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