Page 63 of The Fear of Falling
Benson nods, finally turning his head to look at me. “Busier neighborhood, so neighbors won’t have to worry too much about increased traffic, sturdy and clean box housing the books to protect against damage, easy to find. I think that’s a great choice.”
“Great.” Except, that means we don’t have any good reasons to stay away from the office. I glance at my phone, not sure if I want the time to move faster or stop altogether. “It’s too early for lunch,” I mutter.
“Yeah,” Benson agrees. He doesn’t make any moves to return to the car, which I’m taking as a sign.
“But it’s nice out today.”
He glances at the sky. “Yep.”
“It would be a shame to be cooped up in the office all day.”
A smile plays on his lips as he shakes his head at me, like I’m the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. “What are you trying to say, Baldwin?”
“Want to walk around for a bit? I hear it’s good for clearing the head and making it easier to focus.” Mostly, I’m not ready for our conversations to end, and if we go back, I’m worried he’ll shut himself up in Eric’s office the rest of the day.
Sighing, he holds his elbow out for me to take.
“So, tell me,” I say and loop my arm through his before he changes his mind. “When you’ve been doing your own thing and aren’t listening to me blabber on, what have you been working on?”
“No one in the world thinks you blabber.”
“Eric does.”
“Well Eric can be an idiot. I love listening to you talk.”
The warmth that blossoms in my chest rivals the growing heat of the day. It’s September, but summer is still in full force. Yet Benson somehow makes me feel warmer than the sun ever could.
I lean into him, tightening my hold on his arm as we walk. “Thanks. But sometimes I wonder if you and Eric are really friends when you say things like that.”
He chuckles. “Idiotic tendencies aside, he’s one of the best guys I know.”
“Before yesterday, I would have said the same thing. But he’s been…” I don’t know the right word to describe how Eric has been acting ever since I got back from Italy.
“Different,” Benson mutters. “Yeah, I was wondering if that was the case.”
“Maybe he’ll be back to his calm and content self after the conference.”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound all that confident. “And to answer your question, I’ve been trying to build a solid business planwith standard operating procedures, working with Rogers on maximizing his investment, getting some tools set up so you and Eric have better performance metrics. Things like that. Anything that will make your job easier when I’m gone.”
Ah yes. When he’s gone. The reminder settles heavy in my stomach. I’m dreading that day, especially because I don’t know if he would want to stay in Utah even if he does agree to a relationship, and I’m not sure I could handle long distance. The couple of days in between leaving Italy and Benson showing up here were bad enough. Do I want to put my hope in a man who travels for a living? During my earlier questioning, I got the clear sense that he is rarely home.
And yet I don’t want to imagine a life without Benson in it now that I’ve gotten a taste of having him in my life.
“You’ve been able to do all that even when I keep talking to you?” I ask, trying to distract myself before I sink into a pit of despair. That’s being dramatic, but I don’t care. I’m going to let myself feel all the things because I’m tired of holding it in.
“I happen to be incredibly efficient,” Benson says. He pulls his hand out of his pocket, severing our connection and leaving me disappointed. But then his fingers lace with mine, and the disappointment fades. “And I meant what I said. I like talking to you.”
We round a corner as we fall into silence, walking hand in hand through a random neighborhood in South Jordan like we’ve done this a million times. It’s not nearly as exciting as Florence, but there’s a peace in walking side by side with another person.
My phone buzzes in my purse, interrupting that peace, and my watch shows an unknown number. Normally I would ignore it, but with Lynda out sick, I worry it might be business-related. Letting go of Benson’s hand, I dig into my purse and answer the call. “Hello?”
“Avery!” The familiar voice is louder than necessary, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Poppy?”
“You’re going to be at Kaden’s little party thing, right?”
“Uh, why?”
