Page 30 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)
Fifi
The sun was already stretching across the Honey Leaf Lodge’s porch by the time I slipped out the front door with sunglasses on my head and a ridiculous amount of anticipation in my chest.
It had only been a couple of nights since we slept together, and ever since then, he’d been hanging around the lodge more, but it was coupled with awkward encounters and confused glances…mostly on my part.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t stop thinking about falling asleep tangled in the back of my truck after fighting off a territorial beaver and having sex under the stars like we were teenagers in a country music video.
But something had shifted.
Ben wasn’t just a sexy guest anymore. He was a… presence. A hum beneath my skin. Someone I found myself watching out of the corner of my eye every time he came down for breakfast. And now that he wasn’t growling at the sunshine or ignoring my jokes?
I wanted more of him.
But he was leaving.
Which was why I’d maybe, sort of planned a lunch date.
Okay. Not a date-date. Just a hey-let’s-pretend-I’m-being-polite-inviting-a-guest-out-for-local-culture type of thing. Casual. Friendly. Fun.
Completely normal behavior for someone who had, in fact, kissed the guy’s face off against a tree and then nearly climbed him like a towering pine.
I found him out by the side of the lodge, crouched down and helping my mom collect a few overturned flowerpots after last night’s wind.
He looked up when he saw me, with sunglasses pushed into his hair, sleeves rolled up, and that quiet smile that he reserved just for me now.
Trouble. Absolute trouble.
“There you are,” I said, aiming for breezy. “I was about to put out a missing person alert.”
Ben rose to his full height and dusted his hands on his jeans. “I got recruited. Your mom’s very persuasive.”
“She has her ways,” I agreed, shooting him a grin. “But I come bearing a more tempting offer.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Lunch. In town. My treat. There’s a little café on the lakefront with good sandwiches and pie that might actually change your life.”
He raised a brow. “Is that a marketing tactic or a threat?”
“Only one way to find out.”
He looked at me for a long second. Then: “Give me five minutes to wash up.”
I gave him a mock salute and practically floated back toward the lodge.
Twenty minutes later, we were seated on the shaded deck of Little Fern Café, sipping iced teas and waiting on paninis. Buttercup Lake shimmered in the background, and birds chirped like they’d been hired for ambiance.
Ben looked more relaxed than I’d seen him all week. He leaned back in his chair, sunglasses hooked on the neck of his T-shirt, watching me with the kind of quiet focus that made it hard to remember how to chew.
“So,” I said, stabbing at the lemon wedge in my glass. “Are you having fun yet, or are you still contractually obligated to be grumpy?”
He chuckled, low and genuine. “I’m considering renegotiating my contract.”
“Oh good. Our guest satisfaction score depends heavily on mood improvement by week’s end.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” I said, leaning in. “Smiles are heavily incentivized. We offer cookies, scenic hikes, and occasional spontaneous kissing. All part of the package.”
Ben smirked. “Do all your guests get those perks?”
I gave him a look. “Only the ones who look like they chop wood recreationally.”
He shook his head with a soft laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re just slow to catch up.”
The server brought our food then, melty cheese and herbed turkey stacked on warm bread, accompanied by a side of kettle chips and a slice of berry pie.
We ate in easy silence for a few minutes. The kind that felt comfortable now. Familiar, even. Like we were a thing. A quiet little bubble of something that hadn’t existed just a few days ago.
But bubbles pop.
And I couldn’t ignore the small knot in my stomach that had formed sometime between my front porch and the first sip of tea.
Because for all the grins and sizzle, we hadn’t talked about what this was.
And if I didn’t ask soon, I was going to drive myself insane.
“So,” I said, poking at my crust with the side of my fork. “Can I ask you something?”
Ben glanced up, chewing slowly. “Sure.”
I hesitated. “What is this?”
He blinked.
I rushed to clarify. “Not in a define-the-relationship way…okay, maybe a little in that way. But just… I like you, and I think you like me, and it feels like more than a vacation fling, but maybe I’m just imagining it, and that’s fine too but—”
“Fifi,” he interrupted gently, setting down his fork.
I shut my mouth.
He wiped his hands and leaned forward, forearms on the table. “You’re not imagining it.”
My heart flipped.
“I don’t know what it is yet,” he admitted. “But I know it doesn’t feel casual. Not to me.”
I exhaled, trying not to melt. “Good.”
His smile tugged at one corner. “And here I thought you brought me here for the pie.”
“Oh, the pie was definitely part of it.”
“But?”
“But I kind of hoped I’d get to see you smile like that again.”
Ben looked down, shaking his head. When he looked back up, something warmer sat behind his gaze. Something real.
“Keep this up,” he said, voice low, “and I won’t ever leave.”
I grinned and popped a chip in my mouth. “Good thing I already have the next place picked out.”
“Is it in the woods?”
I laughed and shook my head.
“No, not like that.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been courted with roasted turkey and berry pie before,” Ben said, taking another bite of his sandwich and giving me that half-smile that somehow melted my bones and lit my entire face on fire at the same time.
I raised a brow. “Courted? Big word, lumberjack.”
He shrugged, all calm confidence and golden forearms from where he’d rolled his sleeves up like some walking outdoorsy daydream. “I call it like I see it.”
“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to eat carbs in the sun and pretend it was work.”
“You keep calling it work, but you’re the one who insisted on getting here fifteen minutes early to snag this table with the best view.”
“That’s because the west-facing tables get full sun by noon,” I said, gesturing like a professional tour guide. “Rookie mistake. You’d have been sweating through your plaid and dripping from your beard.”
“That sounds really unsexy.” Ben looked down at his shirt. “But this is technically cotton-blend. Moisture-wicking.”
“Wow, you really do read those tags.”
“Only the important ones. Breathability matters when a woman with pie is seducing you.”
“That is not how seduction works,” I managed.
“No?” he asked innocently. “Because it’s working.”
I gave him a look, cheeks burning. “Do they not have subtlety in Florida?”
“We have humidity and sarcasm. You get used to both.”
The sun filtered through the café’s hanging planters, casting leaf shadows on the table, and for a second, it felt like time slowed down, just enough to notice the way he looked at me when I wasn’t trying to be funny.
Like I’d surprised him. Like maybe he was still trying to figure out how this happened so fast, but he wasn’t ready to let go of it either.
“So,” he said, brushing a crumb from the edge of his plate, “what are you doing tomorrow?”
I blinked. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He leaned back, relaxed, eyes shaded and unreadable. “You already dazzled me with carbs and lakeside views. Thought I’d try my hand at scheduling a follow-up.”
It hit me then, how badly I wanted to say yes. How much I’d love another day like this. But I also knew what tomorrow looked like.
I made a face. “Ugh. Tomorrow’s the start of the Summerberry Festival.”
Ben tilted his head. “That sounds… vaguely made up.”
“It’s very real and extremely chaotic,” I said, setting my napkin on my empty plate. “All the lodge staff is pulled into it.”
“So, the whole family?” he teased.
“Right. Except for my dad. He’s up in Alaska. Anyway, I’m on booth duty from dawn till dinner. Plus, we’re hosting two craft vendors and coordinating snack delivery.”
“Sounds like a logistical nightmare.”
I gave him a tight smile. “It is. But people love it. Tourists go wild for local jams and painted rocks.”
He chuckled. “So that’s a no for tomorrow.”
“I’ll be covered in glitter and rhubarb by noon.”
“Oddly specific.”
“Learned from experience.”
Ben nodded like he was filing the entire thing away. “Okay. Day after?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Day after tomorrow,” he repeated, casually. “Are you free?”
I tried not to smile too hard. “I think so.”
“Great. I want to take you somewhere.”
Now I did smile. “Oh yeah? Secret waterfall? More surprise picnics?”
He leaned closer, voice low. “You’ll have to wait and see. But it involves fewer angry beavers.”
“Excellent,” I said. “I’ve exceeded my wildlife drama quota for the month.”
He grinned, that slow, deep-dimpled one that made my stomach swoop in a way that felt both exciting and wildly inconvenient.
Because I knew better than to fall for a man who didn’t live here. I knew the clock was ticking on this thing, no matter how good it felt. But right now? Sitting here with sunshine and iced tea and a guy who looked at me like I was the best kind of trouble?
It felt good.
It felt easy.
And it felt like something I didn’t want to lose.
“Deal,” I said. “I’ll pencil you in.”
He gave me a look. “Just pencil?”
“I have commitment issues when it comes to pens.”
Ben laughed, and I decided right then that I wanted to make him laugh more often. Every day, if I could.
He walked me back to my truck, hands in his pockets, not touching me but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
At the door, he paused.
I glanced up. “What?”
“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”
I blinked. “Did you inhale pie fumes or something?”
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just thought you should hear it.”
I smiled, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ll see you after the rhubarb apocalypse.”
He stepped back but didn’t take his eyes off me. “Looking forward to it.”
And somehow, even with everything unspoken still hovering between us, I knew he meant it.