Page 7 of After the Mountain Man

But I didn’t save him.

I did the opposite.

I drown my feels that’re bubbling up with another gulp of the ice water and set it down on a little table next to the couch, where a water-ring stain marks its home on the painted wood. Of course, he still never uses a coaster.

“Is it okay now for me to switch from water to wine?” I ask Bennett, sheepishly.

“I have good wine.” He seems relieved, too, as he gets up to pour us some glasses. There are so many questions, I don’t even know where to begin.

Wine will tell me.

“Why doesn’t she call you Dad? No, I know,” I keep talking as Bennett looks like he’s about to reply, “But you’re the only dad she’s ever—”

“She doesn’t ask,” he says. We both sip, sip, sip. It is good wine. A smooth, rich red. “It didn’t feel right. And then ‘Beebs’…just kind of stuck.”

Beebs. It fits him, I don’t know how or why, it simply does.

I gaze into my wine, curling my fingers tighter around the stem. There’s still a tan line on my ring finger. I notice Bennett noticing it.

“I called it off,” I tell him.

“Oh,” he says, like that explains everything.

“I wasn’t sure,” I also say, softly. “And I…” I gulp a swallow. “I know what it’s like to be sure,” I confess.

That smile could make me forget my own name, but then it falls off his face. “You don’t seem that bothered by it?” Bennett suggests.

Bothered by…which one?

My official response is a looong drink of wine. I drain the glass. I feel my inhibitions fall away. My vulnerabilities taking over. My heart taking over. My soul…trying so very hard to speak up for itself.

My nipples tingling, distractingly, at just the sight of him.

We almost went all the way—Bennett and me. But we never did. We were young and idealistic. We were dreamers. One of us turned those dreams into Real. Like the Velveteen Rabbit. The other one just floated. Floundered. Fell on her face—quite literally, in fact. Like, an hour ago.

God, but he’s sexy. Still. If it’s possible he’s even sexier than before. I wonder if he’s still a…

Don’t. Don’t even wonder about that, Kins.

As for me? My battery-operated boyfriend is my only release of that variety…as it has always been.

“A scorned fiancé isn’t going to show up at my door?” Bennett says, finishing his wine.

“Scorned? Please.” I roll my eyes. “Even if he could find this house…I still have my ring tan line and he already moved on…and on, and on.”

“And you decided not to marry this dude why?” Bennett chuckles, humorlessly. Shaking his head. “You sure can pick ’em, Kin.”

“I picked a good one, once.”

“Oh, yeah?” He lifts one thick eyebrow. “What ever happened to that guy?”

“Well, he moved on.” I let my eyes draw circles all about the beautiful house we’re sitting in. The one he imagined, designed, built. “Lived on,” I add, with pain in my throat.

“Not all the way,” he burrs. “I ain’t all the way moved on.” I know he’s tipsy, when he starts speaking like that. “I ain’t living all the way.”

“But Rynn—”

“Needs a mother.”

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