Page 15 of Operation Sunshine
But he did notice. Every goddamn detail.
“Ben, come on!” Franco called, waving from a tomato stand. “These are the best tomatoes for sauces. Raj loves them.”
Ben clenched his jaw. He considered pretending he hadn’t heard.
I could turn around and walk straight back to the car.
Except Franco was already bounding back to him. He grabbed Ben’s forearm, his warm fingers curling around it in a firm grip.
“You look like someone just told you they cancelled tax season,” Franco teased. “What’s with the funeral face?”
Ben shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “I like structure, okay? A world that obeys certain rules. Nothing like this circus.”
“Ah, but thisisstructure.” Franco’s grin widened. “It’s justmessystructure. You’ll see.”
He kept his hand on Ben’s arm for a beat longer than necessary before letting go to bounce on his heels, already scanning the stalls like an excitable puppy sniffing a dozen new trails. Then suddenly he was back at Ben’s side, close enough that Ben caught the warmth radiating from his skin, the faint citrus scent of his shampoo.
“You need to lighten up a little, boss.” Franco’s voice was low with a hint of mischief.
Ben opened his mouth, but no words came out. Franco’s hand darted forward, landing lightly on Ben’s chest over his heart.
“Breathe,” Franco murmured, pressing lightly, doubtless feeling the hammering beneath.
Ben sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body going rigid. Franco let his fingers stay there for one heartbeat too long before sliding away, leaving an echo of warmth that made Ben’s knees threaten mutiny.
This was a mistake.
God, Ben was so jumpy.
Franco loved it.
He couldn’t help brushing his fingers along that solid chest, an excuse to tease, to touch, to remind himself this man wasn’t carved out of marble, even if he acted like it. He let his hand linger a fractionlonger than necessary, and Ben’s heartbeat had thundered beneath his fingertips, hot and frantic.
Franco felt it deep in his own gut, a bright coil of heat winding tighter every time Ben looked at him with that infuriated, half-wild stare. The man had two modes so far: tense as a coiled spring or glaring as if he might murder the next person who spoke too loudly. And Franco adored it.
He’d met enough people who pretended to be easy-going but were brittle underneath. Ben was honest in his discomfort, and Franco found that painfully endearing.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping as he steered them deeper into the vegetable stalls. “Do me a favour, grumpy pants. Try to see this as a game. Forget your precious list. What calls to you? What smells good?”
Grumpy pantsmight have been pushing it a bit, but Franco couldn’t resist the urge to shake this guy up a little.
How far can I push you, Mr. Corporate?
Ben’s brow furrowed. “Food doesn’t call to me, Franco. It sits on a shelf quietly, where it belongs until it’s eaten.”
Franco burst into laughter so loud a nearby vendor dropped a peach. He slapped Ben’s back, sending him stumbling forward a step.
“God, you’re impossible.” Franco smiled. “And yet somehow, still adorable.”
Ben froze, turning slowly. “Don’t call me that.”
Franco winked. “Noted. For now.”
Ben hated the way Franco said it, as if Ben was something small and sweet to tease, like a cat caught under a sunbeam.
Except it did more than annoy him.
It rattled him.
