Page 111 of Operation Sunshine
Dan patted his arm. “Be happy, hon.” Then he walked away, hips swaying a little.
When Franco finally stepped through the barrier, his bag clutched in one hand, pulling the handle of his suitcase with the other, Ben didn’t move at first. They stood there, staring at each other, Franco waiting for two months of distance to fold in on itself.
Then he closed the gap, dropped his bag to the ground, let go of his case, and threw his arms around Ben.
The embrace was fierce and bone-deep, and Franco clung to Ben as though his body was finally catching up with what his heart had known all along. Ben’s arms locked tight around him, his hand cupping the back of Franco’s head in that familiar grounding touch he’d come to love.
“I missed you,” Franco whispered against Ben’s neck, his throat raw, his eyes burning.
“God, Franco,” Ben murmured, his voice low and thick. “You have no idea.”
Franco pulled back and smiled. “Thank you for the upgrade. Business class was a good call. I managed a few hours’ sleep here and there. And the crew looked after me like royalty.”
“I wanted you to be comfortable,” Ben said simply. “You deserved it.”
Franco fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, withdrew the folded slip of paper, and pressed it into Ben’s palm. Ben opened it and frowned.
“Who is Dan, and why is he giving you his phone number?” He blinked. “That flight attendant just now? Was that him?”
Despite his fatigue, Franco smirked. “Yeah. He gave it to me right before we landed. Cute guy.” Something flickered in Ben’s eyes before Franco laughed softly, brushing his knuckles down Ben’scheek. “Relax. One, he’s far too young for me. And two…” His voice dropped low. “My heart is already taken.”
Ben swallowed, his eyes shining in the harsh airport light. Without a word, he pulled Franco close again.
Back where I belong.
Ben hadn’t been sure how he’d react when he saw Franco again. He’d pictured it a hundred ways: running, kissing, maybe breaking down in the middle of Arrivals. But when Franco walked through those sliding doors, rumpled from travel, weary-eyed, yet so achingly beautiful, everything in Ben stilled.
This was it.
His man. His lover.
The long weeks of waiting, the silence, the ache of missing him, all of it melted away the second Franco’s arms wrapped around him. He pressed his face into Franco’s shoulder, breathing him in, that familiar mix of cologne and something indefinably Franco. The scent alone nearly undid him.
Then Franco’s words slid straight into the hollow place inside him that had been empty since September.
My heart is already taken.
Ben’s throat tightened, and he cupped Franco’s face, kissing him softly. It wasn’t a frantic kiss: it was sure, steady, a promise sealed in the press of lips. People passed by, some smiling, some pretending not to stare, but Ben didn’t care.
He had Franco back. That was all that mattered.
“Come on,” he murmured, after they broke apart. “Let’s get you home.”
The city was quiet by the time they pulled up outside Ben’s flat, the summer night warm and scented faintly of jasmine. Ben was amazed Franco’s weary legs could carry him up the stairs, but at last they were inside. Franco dropped his bag by the couch along with his suitcase and sighed with relief. Ben poured them each a glass of water, then guided Franco toward the bedroom.
Franco chuckled. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
He snorted. “It’s already ten-thirty, and you must be exhausted. So we’re going to sleep.”
Franco reached for Ben, tugging him onto the bed beside him. They didn’t rush, didn’t undress further than slipping out of shirts. They simply curled into each other, touching, kissing softly, Franco’s fingertips tracing the contours of Ben’s frame. Ben let himself sink into the warmth of Franco’s body, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath his palm.
“You’re really here,” he whispered.
Franco kissed his temple, his arm wrapped tight around him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m home.”
There was no urgency, no heat demanding more. Nothing but tenderness, the quiet sensuality of being skin to skin, of rediscovering that closeness they’d both craved. Ben stroked Franco’s hair until his eyes slipped closed, and Franco drifted into sleep.
He’s safe, anchored, exactly where he belongs.
