Page 48 of When Ben Loved Jace
Or maybe I’m doing mental gymnastics. To check myself, I told Allison in the morning everything that transpired the night before. She listened with bloodshot eyes and gave me the all clear.
“You’re fine. Frankly, I’d be more concerned if Jacedidn’twant you to see Tim. That would be way too controlling. I mean, you trust him even though he sails into a different port almost every night. He should trust you with this. Although you actually have to give Jace the chance, and that means telling him.”
“I will,” I assured her.
Just not yet, because I spoke to Jace in the afternoon and the subject didn’t come up. I simply wanted to focus on us instead of that precious time going to someone else. I also reconnected with him in my own way when visiting the trailer to check on Samson. I smelled Jace’s bathrobe, browsed his library to remind myself of his tastes, and wrote him a love note that he’ll find once he’s finally home again. By the time I depart to meet Tim for dinner, I feel recharged. And immunized.
Additional distance is created when I drive my junky car past ridiculously huge houses, each separated by so much property that I doubt any of the owners can see their neighbors. I feel out of place. Conspicuous. Then again, anyone passing me will probably assume I’m a maid, here to vacuum up rich people’s dust before returning to my hovel. Actually, I wonder how much that pays? If it’s more than slinging frozen yogurt, I’d be interested, since itwouldbe fun to snoop.
I finally reach the address Tim texted me and turn down a driveway that ends in a four-car garage. The attached house is boxy and modern, incorporating a mixture of materials and windows that are either unusually tall or wide. I check my appearance in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car. Not for his benefit, but to alleviate my own insecurity. I’m wearing a dress shirt and slacks, so I’m not exactly slumming it, but for all I know, millionaires might eat every meal in a tuxedo.
I suppose the butler will enlighten me. He’ll probably make me go around back to the servants’ entrance. Tim opens the massive front door before I have a chance to pull the rope or bang the gong or whatever it is they do around here.
“Hey!” he says, looking sharp in a black dress shirt that fits a reoccurring theme by being excessively tight. Actually, the clothes he owns are probably normal-sized. It’s his muscles that keep filling everything beyond capacity. The worn jeans are no different, but I keep my eyes above waist level.
Tim doesn’t pay me the same courtesy. “You look nice,” he says, his gaze traveling the length of my body before he grins. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come on in!”
I follow him inside, initially disappointed by how small the living room is, but as it turns out, it’s just some sort of reception area. A foyer maybe? I don’t know. I couldn’t be more out of my element. I gawk like a tourist as he leads me deeper into the house. The rooms we pass are spacious and filled with designer furniture. Adrien would love it here, although his home has the tightly controlled ambience of a museum. The vibe here is more welcoming. Possibly because of the abundance of antiques and art among all the pricey furniture.
“How many people live here?” I ask as we pass from one area to another. “And have you considered getting Segways so it doesn’t take so long to get around?”
Tim guffaws. “That’s a great idea. It’s just the three of us.”
“You, Eric, and…”
“You’ll see.”
He guides me to the back of the house. Through glass panes in a wooden door, I notice an illuminated swimming pool, but I get distracted by a scrabbling noise. The moment Tim opens the door, a stout creature with a wide smile and a wrinkled muzzle scurries inside to run circles around me in excitement.
“Who’s this?” I ask, getting down on my knees to the dog’s delight.
“Chinchilla,” Tim says proudly. “She’s my little princess.”
“Aren’t you adorable?” I coo while rubbing her short coat, which is predominantly white with tan patches.
Chinchilla squirms happily in response to this attention. Until recently, I’ve always been more partial to dogs. This one has a face that only a mother could love. “She’s a bulldog, right?” I ask when looking up.
“Yeah.” Tim squats to pet her. “An English Bulldog. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me.” He shoots a sidelong glance in my direction. “Or at least, she’s way up there on the list. When Eric surprised me with her, it was one of the happiest days of my life.”
“She’syours!” I say in surprise.
He shrugs. “More like the other way around. But yeah.”
I should have guessed from all the photos on his phone. It’s strange to think of him being responsible for another life. I’ve had a few house plants since moving out on my own. None of them survived.
“Come on,” Tim says, standing and patting his upper legs. “Let’s go see Eric.”
I assume he’s talking to Chinchilla, but we both respond. She soon pulls ahead of us, leading the way to a brightly lit kitchen with a large island in the center, one side lined by stools. The top is covered in white marble, matching the surrounding counters and complementing the gray cabinets and stainless steel appliances. Despite the pale shades, the kitchen doesn’t feel clinical, due to the explosions of color that come from fruit bowls, potted herbs, shelves filled with cookbooks, and ceramic ware in vibrant hues.
Chinchilla runs over to a man who is taking a bundle of carrots out of the refrigerator by their fresh green tufts. I recognize him from Tim’s phone. Eric glances down at the dog in surprise before noticing us. Then he smiles.
“These aren’t for you,” Eric says softly to Chinchilla. She harumphs and goes to a padded bed at one end of the island to settle down. After placing the carrots on the counter, Eric walks over to me and offers his hand. He’s short and thin like I am, his tidy appearance and graceful movements lending him an elegantair. His grip is gentle on my own. “Benjamin! It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so many nice things from Tim."
“Thanks,” I say. “But uh… It’s just Ben, if that’s all right.”
“Of course!” Eric responds, not blinking an eye. “I’ve always envied people who have the option. Eric doesn’t get any shorter or longer. I’ve been stuck with the same name my entire life. Did you go by Benjamin when you were younger?”
“No, Tim is the only one who ever called me that,” I explain. “It’s more of a um…”
