Page 69 of Operation Sunshine
That truth scared him more than anything.
Franco shifted enough to drag the sheet higher across his hip. His eyes cracked open, hazy but warm, and he turned his head to find Ben watching him, the soft light of the bedside lamp spilling into the room and illuminating Franco’s features.
“You’re staring,” Franco murmured, his voice like sandpaper.
Ben’s throat tightened. He forced a smirk. “You drool in your sleep. Just taking stock.”
A low laugh, hoarse and wrecked, spilled out of Franco. “Liar.” He stretched, feline-like and seemingly unbothered before settling again, close enough that their legs brushed. He peered at Ben, studying him, his eyelids heavy but his gaze sharp in a way that made Ben’s stomach clench. “You don’t have to look at me as if I’m about to disappear,” he said quietly.
The words landed with surgical precision, robbing Ben of air. He didn’t reply.Couldn’treply, because if he spoke, the truth might slip out.
I’m terrified of losing this before I even know what this is.
Instead, he reached for the lamp, flicked it off, and let the darkness settle between them.
The dark was safer, quieter.
Franco wasn’t done, it appeared. He slid his hand across the sheets, found Ben’s, and laced their fingers together.
“Goodnight, Ben,” Franco whispered.
Ben closed his eyes, the weight of that touch far heavier than any spreadsheet or staff plan.
Goodnight should’ve meant temporary. It should’ve meant an ending.
What if this is only the beginning?
The thought terrified him. Beginnings preceded middles. Middles led to endings. And Ben had no idea how to survive Franco’s ending.
Chapter Nineteen
Ben woke to the smell of coffee. For a moment he thought he’d dreamed it, until the faint clatter of pans and the low hum of someone talking to themselves carried down the hall. He smiled to himself.
Franco.
Ben sat up, dragging a hand over his face. The sheets were still warm from where Franco had been. He could picture him already, barefoot, probably shirtless, his hair doing its wild morning thing as he commandeered Ben’s kitchen as if it was his own.
When he finally walked into the kitchen, the sight matched the image perfectly. Franco stood at the stove in one of Ben’s shirts, the sleeves pushed up, a spatula in one hand, accompanied by thehissof the frying pan. Bacon, toast and coffee were lined up on the counter as though he was orchestrating breakfast service for two.
Franco glanced over his shoulder, his grin blooming at the sight of Ben. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”
Ben leaned against the doorway, feigning gruffness even as his chest tightened. “You’re raiding my fridge.”
Franco snorted. “You had exactly three eggs and a questionablebag of spinach. Not much of a challenge.” Franco flipped the eggs with practiced ease. “You need to grocery shop more, boss.”
The casualbossshould’ve stung. Instead, it curled around Ben like something warm and familiar.
He crossed the kitchen, stealing a piece of bacon off the plate. “I usually eat at the restaurant.” Franco swatted at him with the spatula but let him keep the bacon. “And if there’s nothing in the fridge, that’s because I made breakfast for someone recently.”
“Breakfast at home is sacred. It’s the one meal that can set the tone for your whole day.”
Ben poured himself coffee, not bothering to hide his smile. “Is that so?”
“Of course.” Franco slid eggs onto a plate with a flourish. “Dinner is for family, lunch is for work, but breakfast…” He turned then, plate in hand, his expression softening as he looked at Ben. “Breakfast is for someone you actually want to wake up with.”
The words lingered in the small kitchen. For a beat, neither spoke.
Then Franco broke the silence, setting the plate down with mock ceremony. “Eat, before I change my mind and keep it all to myself.”
