Page 19 of Becoming Ben

I had been at the worktop cutting up the steak and potatoes when he pulled in the driveway, and I was still standing there, though I was now facing the door instead of the window. I realize that I still have the knife in my hand, so I lay it on the cutting board and take a step toward him, holding out my hand. “I’m sorry about last night,” I say, not stopping until I can touch him. I lay my hand on his forearm, and he looks at it, then looks me in the eye. His spine is straight, and his chin is high. He looks like a work of art titled “Proud and Defiant.”

I swallow. “I didn’t mean to upset you last night. I’m really angry that those things happened to you, that you were ever treated that way, but I never should have made it about my feelings. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of being a safe person for you to talk to. I swear I’m usually better at it than that. You’re a wonderful person, Trey, for many reasons. Please let me make you a nice dinner and say sorry.”

Trey nods slowly. “I’d like that,” he says. “I think maybe what I heard and what you meant were two different things.” He covers my hand on his arm with his other one, and warmth floods through me. “I’ll go up and put my things away. I’ll be back down in a minute.”

I hear him, I really do, but I get lost in the feeling of his hand on mine and how beautiful his lips are when he speaks. I just stand there looking at him.

“Ben?” he asks, obviously confused by my spacing out.

“Oh, sorry! You’re just really gorgeous. Yes, dinner. It won’t take long, and I got some duck fat for the pan to make it taste even better, even though it’s already delicious. I’ve made this stuff a million times, and everybody always loves it.” I pick up the knife without thinking and almost begin to talk with my hands before I catch myself and go back to cutting potatoes. I put my head down and take a deep breath.

“I’ll be right back down. Do you want me to do anything?” Trey asks, and when I look up, he has the sexiest half-smile I’ve ever seen.

Boy, do I,I think, then nod. “Yeah, uh, the herbs. Could you chop the herbs?” I gesture to the little plastic box of parsley on the worktop.

“How was your day?” I ask when he returns and sets to work on the parsley.

“It was all right. Mondays tend to be busy days. I talked to Mandy on my lunch break, which was nice.” He addresses his hands, watching his fingers as he chops. I watch, too, and then I get caught up in staring at his hands again and have to drag my eyes back to my own workspace.

“How was your day?” Trey asks after a short silence.

“It was busy. Meetings, you know. Some of them were a little rushed. I rearranged my schedule so I could make dinner for you.” Should I tell him that? Too late now.

Trey lays his knife on the counter, and I follow his arms up his body, up all the way to his face. The little frown is back.

“You rearranged your whole day to make dinner for me?”

I nod wordlessly and watch his mouth open and close several times. “Ben,” he finally manages. “I– You shouldn’t have done that. I don’t–”

“I wanted to,” I say quickly. “I didn’t want my awkwardness and temper last night to spoil the friendship we’ve been building. Cooking for people is my love language. I wanted to make sure I had time to make you something nice.”

Trey smiles gently at me. “Oh, Ben…” he says, stepping up into my space. His fingers brush down my arm, and when they trail from the fabric of my cuffed shirtsleeves to my skin, I shiver hard.

He takes a step closer, leaving only a couple of inches between us. “You’re such a good man, you’re sweet, and you’re a wonderful cook.”

His praise makes me shiver again, and I put my knife down out of self-preservation. Once I’m unarmed, Trey folds me against him. I wrap my arms around his waist and tuck my head into his neck, exhaling slowly. The tension I’ve been carrying for the better part of two days melts away, and I can feel Trey breathe deeply as well and relax against me.

“I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here with you or you’re doing with me,” he says quietly in my ear, “but I’ve never felt like this about someone before. You’re important to me. As much as I’d like to find all the different ways I can make you shiver like that right now, I’d like to talk through yesterday so there’s no miscommunication or questions left.”

“I’d like that too,” I tell his neck. I’m not quite ready to let go yet, and he seems happy to stand and hold me. I’m not sure how long it is, but when we finally let go, my nerves are steady, and I’m looking forward to cooking this dinner for him.

We finish the dinner prep in a comfortable, companionable silence, and before long, we’re sitting together, inhaling the amazing scent of steak and potatoes roasted with fresh herbs. I watch carefully as Trey takes his first bite, then closes his eyes and leans his head back in appreciation. When they open again, they meet mine, and I have nerves again, but the good kind.

“This is incredible!” Trey says. “I don’t think I’ve ever had steak this good in my life. Thank you so much for making this.”

I let the good, content feeling wash over me. I love the way Trey’s praise makes me feel. I take a bite of mine, and I have to close my eyes in agreement. Dinner is amazing.

The good food smoothes the way for the conversation we need to have. I remind myself inside my head that I can do this, and it will be fine. “Can you tell me how what I said made you feel?” I ask. “Or maybe what you heard? I don’t really understand what I did wrong, but obviously, something didn’t come across the way I meant it.” I remind myself to stop talking so Trey can actually answer me and wait for him to do that.

16

Trey

What Ben is asking me for is absolutely valid. I know that we need to talk about this and figure out what comes next. The problem is I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t do hook-ups. I don’t even really do friends-with-benefits. What we had done together was neither of those things – was it?

I don’t know ifBendoes hook-ups or friends-with-benefits. Sure, Mandy said he hadn’t dated since the divorce, but everybody has urges, and I doubt he would tell his daughter if he had hook-ups or other arrangements to get those itches scratched.

“The way I see it, we have two different conversations to have,” I tell him. “Your questions hurt my feelings because of the implications that I heard in them. After some time and thinking about it, I’m relatively sure that you didn’t mean to imply that what happened was all my fault, that I should have made better life choices, and that I wasn’t fit for Mandy to be friends with.”

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