Page 71 of Just a Plot Twist
My mouth clamps shut. After a deep breath in and out, I open my mouth. “That’s fair. I’m sorry.”
She clears her throat and shakes her head. “It’s okay. It’s given me stuff to think about.”
“You still want to come on Thursday?”
Her head dips. “Maybe,” she teases. “And guess what? I like that you moved to Denver for your father.” A light touch of heat rims her expression.
I don’t know why, but I reach out to give her a high five. She leans to the side as she makes a flourish with her hand to reach mine. The big slap between us makes us both smile.
And now, neither of us are letting go, like we just discovered the coolest thing, and it’s called holding hands.
Chapter 23
Claire
I drive up from Longdale after work to meet Benson at his place so we can drive together to Peter Schiller’s party, insisting that makes more sense than a long round trip for him. Elaine from Accounting pointed out that I was leaving at 5 o’clock on the dime. It’s a little weird that she was congratulating me on that—“You haven’t left at five since your first day!”—but I guess it’s something to celebrate.
The way my heart is rioting out of my chest in anticipation of seeing Benson again underscores the celebratory vibe.
When I arrive, he invites me in for a few minutes.
I like his townhome. He’s clean, but not in a “I have a clinical obsession with cleanliness” way. There’s gotta be at least twenty framed photos of Dax and Indie on the walls and surfaces of the great room. He’s got thissuper manly, dark brown leather sofa, but there’s a soft, creamy yellow afghan over one arm that his mom, Leila, made for him.
I don’t imagine the tenderness in his voice as he tells me that. He loved his mom deeply, that much is clear.
And be still my heart, Cinnamon! Within minutes of me coming in, she was already rubbing against my legs like a kitten. And when I bend down to pet her, she leaned into it, her tongue hanging out and her smooshed in face asking me to never, ever stop.
On the drive to Peter’s, I tell Benson the good news. “Inez had her twins Tuesday night! Iknewshe was in labor. Two little girls. They’re a few weeks early, but they’re healthy and should be able to come home soon.”
“That’s exciting. Congrats to her. I can’t imagine twins,” Benson says, his eyes on the road. “Looking after one baby at a time is hard enough.”
And then, suddenly, I’m back in that uneasy place. I’m out of my league. Benson has experienced having a newborn, twice, and I haven’t even come close to anything like that. I have a niece, though. Does that count?
We change the subject to Peter Schiller and the various movers and shakers who might be at the party. It’s like I’m preparing for some reconnaissance mission.
It’s a good thing I’m not the one driving because I can’t help glancing at him repeatedly. And to be fair, I’m not the only one doing the looking. I’ve caught his glance in my direction a few times. Does he like me in my light green sundress with the eyelet lace trim?
Benson Kilpack is just too handsome on a Thursday night for his own good. He looks good in a tux, and in business wear, and okay let’s face it, in sporty hiking clothes. So yeah, basically all the clothes he’s worn. But I’mnot prepared for the way he looks in his khaki shorts, high-end sandals, and black v-neck t-shirt.
What could have looked better than him in his tousled tux with the dangling tie licking his chest?
Nothing, I thought.
Well, I was wrong. Because handsome-man-going-to-an-upscale-BBQ Benson is so hot.
We arrive and follow the stringed lights around the back of Peter’s large, Tuscan-style home. Everything about the Schiller’s home is high end, and the backyard is no exception. It sprawls out from the three sides around the house, the pool, pickleball and basketball courts, dining sets, and various outdoor games expertly intertwined with shrubbery, trees, and flowers. The dipping sun still brightly warms us.
He maneuvers around the party with me like a total pro. He talks with people, introducing himself and shaking their hands without any fear. Yet he’s not one of those people who are loud and take up all the energy in a room. He doesn’t demand anything from anyone—just kindly takes up space in the most warm, gentle way. He’s a tech guy, but tonight, he’s like a generous, calm, and confident CEO.
I’m near him as we meander around the barbeque, near enough that people could gather that I’m his girlfriend, but not so close we can’t deny culpability. Itfeelslike a date.
The party is everything my grandparents’ extravaganza was not: casual and carefree, a summer suburban barbecue with the aroma of smoked meats in the air. There’s even a bounce house for the kids in attendance.
We lounge on a patio set, eating brisket and salads, followed by the chocolate-covered treats I keep getting all over me. Seriously, he tells me twicethat I have chocolate on my chin, and the second time, he uses a napkin to wipe it off.
Which is sweet, yet I feel a deep-seated sense of satisfaction whenhefinally gets a smudge of chocolate on his face, too.
I’m wiping it off for him when a couple walks towards us, smiling.
