Page 48 of Holly Freakin' Hughes

Andall I could do was get back intoOl' Rusty and headover to Ben's, in hopes that I could forget another moment in Reade’s parkinglot.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

HOLLY

When I pulled up toBen’s house, my nerves switched into highgear and although I hadn't forgotten about whatever the hell had just happenedwith Brandon, I was hoping that Ben could help me with that.

Theranch-style home wasn’t the most inviting from the outside. The lawn appeareddry and dead in the hazy glow of the light hanging next to the front door.There was little landscaping to speak of with the exception of a few low-lyingshrubs that could’ve passed for tumbleweeds. But it was well lit inside, andwhile uninviting from its exterior, it wasn’t scary, and I got out of the vanto walk up the cracked concrete of the driveway, shivering at the constanttickle of the broken-through weeds against my ankles.

Estherwould have a stroke out here.

Standingoutside the door, I inhaled and exhaled slowly before knocking, making aconscious effort to clear my brain of anything but excitement for the nightahead. I told myself that Brandon didn’t want me, Brandon was only a friend,and with a final deep breath, I knocked.

Asif he had been waiting right on the other side, the door flew open. There togreet me was Ben and three large tail-wagging Labrador Retrievers—two black andone yellow. The three beasts pushed past Ben, tripping up his legs as theyrushed toward me; pushing against me with their huffing black noses andslobbering mouths.

Oneof them—the biggest of the black dogs—jumped up to rest his heavy paws againstmy chest. A thick tongue lapped out of his wide mouth to slurp over my face. Myeyes squeezed shut through the sloppy assault, hovering somewhere betweenamusement and panic.

Afterregaining his balance, Ben grabbed the dog by the collar and gently pulled himback to the ground. “Jesus, Rocky, that’s not how we make friends,” Ben toldthe dog, crouching next to the excited animal, mushing his snout affectionatelywith his hands before standing to flash me a genuine grin.

“Hey,I’m sorry about that. We don’t get too many strangers around here. I hopeyou’re not afraid of dogs,” he said, apparently noticing the way I clutched myhands to my chest in an attempt to guard myself from the watering mouths of hishellhounds.

“O-oh,no, I, uh, I-I …” I closed my eyes, taking a deep controlled breath. I openedthem again to Ben scratching the ears of the dog named Rocky, and I smiledthen. “Let me try that again. No, I’m not afraid of dogs. I just wasn’t reallyexpecting that to be the first kiss I got tonight, but you know … here weare.”

“Rockyjust has a thing for the ladies, but here—let me make it up to you.” And beforeI knew what was happening, he was standing and snaking an arm around my waist.He pulled me into him to press his lips firmly against mine for all of a coupleseconds before backing away with a dimpled grin. “Better?”

“Much,”I said with a relaxed smile.

Brandonwho?

“Ithought you might’ve gotten lost,” he said, releasing his arm from my waist andstepping aside.

Iwalked into the house, petting the dogs as I went. “Oh, Liz wouldn’t stoptalking about work stuff,” I lied, and took a look around the living room,taking note of the Barbie’s and kitchen play set that seemed to be part of thedécor.

Hecaught my gaze. “I bet Liz’s living room looks a lot like this,” he said withan apologetic smile.

“Comeswith the territory,” I laughed politely.

Myeyes scanned the rest of the room, they fell upon pictures of his littlegirl—some current, and some of her as an infant—and then pictures of who Icould only assume was his late wife; a young woman with a slight bone structureand stick-straight blonde hair. She was beautiful with a catching smile, andone of the rare people I would’ve considered perfect.

Hehad caught me looking, and as he scratched his head anxiously, he said, “Ah,yeah, that was Cassie. Sorry about all the pictures. I keep them around so thatKaylee can feel like her Mom is still with us.” He faltered a little, and thenadded, “And, uh, me too.” He diverted his eyes from me, ashamed of theconfession.

“Oh,of course,” I said, immediately taken aback by the apology.

“Anyway,”he quickly changed the subject, placing a hand at the small of my back, thetips of his fingers lightly grazing against the upper slope of my butt. Ashiver of excitement trailed through my body as he led me towards the kitchen,the dogs following us every step of the way. There on the table was the famedcrockpot, a basket of sliced garlic bread, and a bottle of wine with a candleflickering in the center of it all. “I hope you like pasta. Sauce and meatballsare two of the things I cook best.”

“Thankyou. This is … great,” I said, breathless with sudden emotion.

Itwas more than great. Here I thought I was heading over for a night ofmeaningless sex, and instead I was presented with an endearing romanticgesture.

Benpulled out a chair, inviting me to sit before dimming the lights and roundingthe table to his own chair, and we began our meal.

Thefood was delicious, and he had been right—he really could cook a mean sauce andmeatball. The conversation, however, wasn’t what I would call lively or evencomfortable, but I chalked it all up to being in his home. I questioned ifperhaps the setting had been almosttoointimate, and maybe that was thereason why so many people opted to run away to the disconnected confines ofhotel rooms.

“So,um, see any cool animals this week?” I asked, glancing up briefly from myplate.

Benchopped a meatball with the side of his fork, then poked at the piecesdistractedly. “Hmm … Yeah, I guess so. A, uh, a lady came in with a Chinook.Never seen one before, so that was cool.”

Imade an attempt at being remotely interested. “Oh, what’s a Chinook?”

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