Page 29 of The Barista's Beloved

12

Ben and Maeve sat in his car outside of her small ranch-style home on the edge of town, neither of them saying a word. Next to him, she wrung her hands.

“Hey,” he said, reaching across the dark cabin to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t know.”

She turned her face to him and huffed. “Story of my life.”

“No,” he said, his hand slipping forward to rest against the exposed skin at the base of her neck. He’d seen her hair tossed into carefree ponytails countless times, but for her date, she’d worn it up an elaborate mix of twisted coils and braids. Small tendrils were escaping from their confinement, and he resisted the urge to twine them around his fingers. Instead, he let his thumb brush back and forth over her nape. “The story of your life is that you’re the kindest, most trusting person I’ve ever known.”

Maeve’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Which translates to being the most naive person you’ve ever known. Just once, I wish … ” She sighed and turned her head to stare out the window. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

She sounded so bleak, so utterly lost. It was a feeling he knew all too well. He’d been there himself a time or two over the last year. And as cliche as it may have sounded, talking about it had helped. He wanted to be the shoulder she leaned on now the way Max had been his.

“What do you wish?” he asked, his tone gentle, yet probing.

Her shoulders slumped forward. “Let’s pretend I never said that.”

Ben stared at her for a beat, but when she didn’t continue, he reluctantly drew away and busied his hands with knobs on the dash. If he didn’t keep them occupied, he was liable to reach out and draw her into his arms instead. She was hurting, and he wanted to comfort her. Yeah, comfort. That’s all this overwhelming desire to hold her close and never let go was.

It had absolutely nothing to do with seeing her with another man earlier. Nope, not a thing. His lips twisted as he recognized denial. Ben wasn’t a jealous man, but watching Maeve laugh with Steve Smith had pulled at some primal urge he’d never felt before, triggering some deep-seated need to claim her. To call her his own. To protect her.

But Maeve didn’t need his protection. She was strong and capable, regardless what their mutual friends seemed to think. So what if she’d made a mistake by trusting someone she shouldn’t have? While he’d never really trusted anyone outside of Max (and now Maeve, he conceded), her ability to open herself up to possibility was one of the things he lo—.

No. He shook his head. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t. You didn’t fall in love with a woman you’d never even kissed.

Shit. He gripped the steering wheel tight. He was losing his fucking mind over her. The air in the car felt suddenly stifling, and he couldn’t seem to pull enough of it into his lungs to breathe properly. He needed to leave.

Ben leaned forward to look out the windshield. In the last couple of minutes, fat droplets of rain had begun to fall, and fog from the river had rolled in. In the distance, the light from her front porch glowed, but otherwise, the landscape was a muted, milky gray.

“I’ll walk you in.”

She turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Wait there,” he said, opening his door and running around the front of the car to the passenger side. He tugged his jacket off and made a sort of makeshift shelter of it. Maeve stepped out and looked up at him. Damn, she really was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. “This should keep you dry,” he said, swallowing past the unwelcome lump that had formed his throat.

“Thank you,” she whispered, stepping up onto the curb.

Together, they dashed up her front walk to her door. He held the jacket aloft while she rooted around in her purse for her keys. When she found them, she tossed him a look he had trouble interpreting, and then she moved to unlock the door. She missed the lock, though, and her keychain tumbled to the floor. Simultaneously, they bent to retrieve them, and their hands touched. Ben moved to pull away, but Maeve’s fingers twisted around his. With her free hand, she scooped up her keys, and when she looked up at him, she licked her lips.

Ben’s heart kicked wildly in his chest as rain pelted down on them, the makeshift umbrella all but forgotten. He forgot everything, in fact, except for how badly he wanted her. And if the heat in her eyes was any indication, she wanted him, too.

“Maeve?”

Her eyes flicked between his for a few brief seconds, and he watched as she drew a breath deep into her lungs, stretching the thin cotton of her dress tight across her chest. “That thing I wished for before?” Her voice was a breathy sigh, and it made him think of all the ways he wanted to make her sigh in the future.

“Yeah?” he asked, his own voice coming out as a rough rasp.

She pushed to her feet, bringing him with her. Ben tried not to fixate on the fact that she hadn’t let go of his hand. In fact, she was holding it even tighter, her fingers now laced with his. “How familiar are you with Demi Lovato?”

Ben’s brows scrunched in confusion over what seemed like an abrupt change in topic. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

Maeve stepped close and lifted her face to his. “She has this song called ‘Ruin the Friendship.’ It’s about someone she can’t stop thinking about but has stayed away from because he’s her good friend—maybe even her best friend. But she’s willing to risk the friendship for the sake of one night in his arms.”

Ben swallowed deeply. “Are you saying that’s what you want? To risk our friendship for what—one night together? And then what? We just pretend it never happened?” Frankly, he didn’t know if he was capable of that. He was pretty damn certain that once he got a taste of her, he’d want another, and another, and another. He already ached with desire every damn time he was around her. How bad would his cravings be if he was given a sample of heaven only to have it snatched away?

Maeve chewed on her lip, and her gaze flicked away … almost as if now that she’d given voice to her desire, she’d lost her nerve to take it any further.

Honestly, he could understand. How many times had he wanted to tell her how he felt, only to chicken out at the last second? How many times had he wanted to reach out and touch her the way he frequently did in his dreams? Too many times to count … all because he was afraid of ruining their friendship. He might not know a damn thing about Demi Lovato, but he knew the emotions that would drive someone to write a song like that. He knew because he lived with them daily.

---