Page 70 of When London Snow Falls

“I told them to hold off on that till next week, because it didn’t fit my plans.”

We laugh, and before I can protest, Ben’s bought both tickets. The sneaky arsehole.

“I could’ve got mine,” I protest. “Let me get them on the way back tonight.”

“Oh, we’re staying over, gorgeous. Unless you object, that is.” Ben grins broadly as he passes over my ticket. “Next train’s in fifteen minutes.”

We make our way to the platform. Night has claimed the sky. Faint streaks of color scrape the clouds.

Ben looks magnificent, I have to say. For a moment, I’m overwhelmed by a hell of a lot of feelings that slam me like a wall.

“Ben,” I say hoarsely.

“What?”

I grab him by his jacket and give him a fierce kiss. To hell with who’s watching. I grasp his arse. When his warm fingers catch my jaw, I could die in this moment and be a very happy man. Except being dead would mean no more kisses and no more Ben, and that would be the biggest tragedy of all.

Breathless, we come up for air. The train station spins.

“Sorry,” I whisper, still feeling surprisingly vulnerable. “Had to get that out of my system.”

Ben’s flushed, starry-eyed as he gazes at me. “Gorgeous, you can do that any fucking time. Anywhere.”

Luckily, it’s busy enough that nobody’s paying any particular attention to us, though a lady that could be someone’s nan smiles.

“I suppose I didn’t ask you properly,” says Ben.

“Ask me what?”

Sparkling, he hops up onto a bench facing the south-bound platform, hand on his heart. “Charlie Renfrew, would you go to Brighton with me for our official first date?”

I crack up, glancing around at the others on the platform. “People are watching us now.”

“Never mind people. Pretend it’s just us. You. Me. And our private train.” Ben reaches a hand out toward me with a flourish. He beams down.

“Ha,” I tell him, seizing his hand and hopping up on the bench beside him. “And of course yes.”

Ben pulls me close for a kiss, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I promise an excellent time.”

And I wonder what Charlie he’s drawn out of me, a Charlie that’s starting to give no fucks about who’s watching. I’m falling—hard—for Ben’s charms. Leaving inhibitions on the platform, we stand on the bench with our arms around each other’s waists till the train takes us south to Brighton, to the promise of a new beginning.

Chapter Thirty-Two

It’s a cozy train ride to Brighton. We sit pressed together, hand in hand, gazing out of the window at the rolling green hills of the South Downs. We’re a million miles away from hectic gray London. Though it doesn’t matter where I am, because every time I’m with Ben, I feel like I’m on a holiday.

When we pull into Brighton Station half an hour later at 5:15 p.m., a tempestuous rain lets up. After a short taxi ride, we arrive at the hotel Ben’s booked for us near Brighton Pier in Kemptown. It’s a stylish hotel, clearly a splurge, and not some dive. Not that I think Ben’s cheap, but I’m poor, and dives are the only sort of hotel I could afford. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the idea that Ben’s trying to please me.Me, of all people.

The lobby is spacious and colorful, with statement designer wallpaper and modern art. Ben says we’re not far from the beach, but I’ll need to wait till daylight to prove that. I’ve been to Brighton a handful of times. It’s not too far from London for a day trip. If the trains behave themselves, which is questionable, it’s less than two hours out here, faster on an express. The problem is that on most of those past trips to Brighton, I was high. Now, on my own, clean and sober, I’ve had little occasion to visit. Till today.

Ben joins me with our bags, eyes sparkling. His leather jacket is open, striped scarf loosely looped once around his neck over his pink jumper. “Bad news. They’re booked for the night. We’re sleeping on the beach.”

“Ha. I’m onto you, Campbell. I’m not buying that for a hot minute. Plus, I saw you put the keycard in your pocket.”

He laughs. “All right, all right. Come with me, then.”

We find our double room on the second floor. It’s just as posh as the rest of the boutique hotel. We put our bags on the luggage racks, shut the door, take in the fab room with its plush cushions and throws, grand wallpaper, and hip decor. It really is spectacular. No sort of dive, not here.

“Sea view, but you’ll need to wait till tomorrow to see that. Meanwhile, you’ll just have to take my word for it,” he says lightly. “So, what do you think of my surprise?”

---