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Page 38 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)

Fifi

I didn’t mean to move so fast.

Ben barely had time to react before I was halfway to the pantry, flinging the door open with more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. The s’mores bin was half-empty, and the Graham crackers had collapsed sideways like they were even giving up. Marshmallows scattered on the shelf like little ghosts.

I focused on it.

On the bin. The crackers. The mess. Anything but the weight in my chest that hadn’t gone away, even after his apology. Even after he said all the right things with that rough, sincere voice of his.

Because that was the problem.

Ben Jensen always sounded like he meant it, even when he didn’t know if he could.

And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.

“You know you don’t actually have to restock this now, right?” he asked from behind me, his voice still warm, still teasing. “I could’ve just... bought you dinner.”

“I like a well-stocked pantry,” I said lightly, crouching to sort the chocolate bars.

“You also like bolting when things get emotional.”

That made me freeze.

For just a second.

He was right.

I stood slowly and turned to face him. “You’re not exactly known for lingering in vulnerable territory yourself.”

His lips pressed together like he knew I had him there. “Fair.”

We stood there in the pantry doorway, neither of us moving.

The air between us felt like it could crack.

I could feel him watching me. Not just the way a guy looked at a girl he’d kissed, though, sure, there was a little bit of that too, but like he was trying to read something I hadn’t even said out loud.

The worst part?

I wasn’t sure I could.

I swallowed hard and turned back to the shelves. “This thing, whatever it is, was never meant to be anything more than a blip.”

“Blip?” he repeated, quietly.

I hated the way the word tasted. Bitter. Dismissive. Unfair.

But if I didn’t start building the wall now, I was afraid I’d crumble the second he left.

“It’s not like you’re staying,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “And I’m not exactly a relocation kind of girl.”

He exhaled, a slow, heavy sound. “I know.”

“And I’ve worked hard for this place,” I added. “For my life. It’s not perfect. But it’s mine. And I can’t... I won’t let myself believe in something that isn’t real.”

“I didn’t mean for it to feel real,” he said softly. “But it does.”

My eyes burned.

Because same.

It felt terrifyingly real. Every glance. Every touch. Every quiet moment where his defenses dropped and he looked at me like I mattered.

But real didn’t always mean lasting.

“Ben,” I said, voice tight. “You’re going back. To Florida. To work. To your life. This was never going to be more than a summer story.”

“Is that what you want it to be?” he asked, still standing there, still watching like he wasn’t sure if he should step closer or leave.

And that was the problem.

I didn’t know.

I wanted him to say it didn’t matter and that he’d stay. That this connection we found in truck beds, quiet stairwells, and under starlit trees was worth throwing plans off course.

But that wasn’t fair.

Because I hadn’t said it either.

I turned back to the bin of marshmallows and whispered, “It’s just easier if we keep it that way.”

A long silence stretched between us.

Then he said, “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop caring.”

I closed my eyes.

That made it worse.

Because if he didn’t care, if this was a fling, I could tuck it into a drawer in my heart, move on, and chalk it up to a perfect summer detour—a beautiful what-if.

But he did care.

And I cared more than I wanted to admit.

I heard him shift behind me, the floorboard creaking.

“Fifi,” he said gently.

I turned just enough to meet his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I let the sadness show. Just a flicker. Just enough to say this is hurting me, too.

But I didn’t move toward him, and he didn’t move toward me.

Because neither of us had the answers.

And the distance between us, though only a few feet, felt like a thousand miles.

Finally, he nodded. “I’ll give you some space.”

He stepped away, walking backward like he wanted to say more, like he wasn’t sure he should leave but didn’t know how to stay.

Because the truth I hadn’t said out loud?

I didn’t want him to go.

But I didn’t know how to ask him to stay.

I felt his presence in the doorway. His body filled it, big, quiet, solid, and even without looking, I knew he was watching me. Not in that appreciative, distracted way he had when I caught him staring at my legs or my mouth.

No. This was different.

This was searching and hesitant.

I slammed the plastic bin of marshmallows shut louder than necessary and pretended I wasn’t unraveling one sharp-edged thought at a time.

“Do you organize the pantry every time something gets hard?” he asked, voice low.

I didn’t turn around. “Only when I’m trying not to say something I’ll regret.”

That gave him pause.

I could hear it in the silence that followed, how he shifted slightly, probably folding his arms across that unfair chest, probably deciding how much honesty he could get away with.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Fifi,” he said finally.

“I didn’t say you were,” I said too quickly. “I said I didn’t want to be played with. That’s different.”

“You’re not being played with.”

My hands tightened on the edge of the shelf. “Then what am I, Ben? Because we’re sure not acting like this is just two people on vacation anymore.”

He didn’t answer right away. That made it worse.

I turned to face him, arms crossed over my chest, heart hammering like it wanted out.

“I’m not asking for some lifetime commitment,” I said, voice shaking slightly. “I’m not even asking for a promise. I just—” I stopped, jaw tightening. “I just want to know if I’m the only one wondering how the hell this got so real so fast.”

He stepped forward. “You’re not.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m the only one brave enough to admit it?”

He looked at me then, really looked as if he wanted to come closer, but didn’t know if he was still allowed.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said softly.

My breath caught. “Then why does it feel like you’re already leaving?”

He looked down at his hands. “Because I don’t know how to stay.”

There it was.

A truth, raw and bare, and somehow it still didn’t feel like enough.

I swallowed hard. “Is there someone back home?”

“What?”

“Is there someone waiting for you?”

His eyes flew to mine.

“Fifi—”

“Just say it,” I whispered, suddenly breathless. “Are you married? Engaged?”

And for one long, excruciating second—

He didn’t say anything at all.

He didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Not even with a half-hearted no, or a laugh, or a “what the hell, Fifi?” that would’ve at least cracked the tension hanging between us like a loaded wire.

Instead, his whole expression shifted.

The soft, open lines I’d glimpsed just moments ago snapped taut like someone had pulled a thread too tight. His eyes, those blue eyes that had spent the past few days tracing the shape of my smile, turned into something I couldn’t even recognize.

Hurt.

Guilt.

Something defensive that flashed so fast, I couldn’t pin it down.

His jaw clenched.

His nostrils flared.

And for a second, I thought he was going to yell. Not at me, exactly, but at the world. At whatever storm was clearly spinning behind his ribs.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t swear or laugh or reassure me.

He just… turned.

Spun on his heel without a single word and walked out of the pantry like the floor wasn’t tilting under us both.

The door swung shut behind him with a quiet click.

And then everything was still.

I stared at the spot where he’d been standing, my chest tight and hollow all at once, as if someone had just rung me out like an old dishrag and left me to dry on the pantry floor.

Slowly, as if my limbs no longer belonged to me, I slid down the wall.

My back hit the wood paneling with a thud. My legs folded against my chest. My hands curled into fists I couldn’t unclench.

I don’t know how long I sat there.

Minutes.

Maybe years.

The cookies I’d helped Violet prep earlier were probably done by now, perfectly golden on the cooling rack, sweet little lies in paper wrappers.

Guests would be milling around the lodge for the afternoon.

My mom would be humming in the kitchen.

Millie would be somewhere not-so-sneakily plotting someone’s romantic fate in the woods.

And me?

I was sitting on a pantry floor, reeling from a question I never should’ve had to ask.

Are you married?

It had come out in a panic. A sharp, blurted thing. But it had been sitting in my chest for days now, buried beneath his clipped responses, the ghost of that phone call, the way he pulled back just when I started leaning in.

I hadn’t wanted it to be true.

Hell, maybe it wasn’t true.

Maybe it was something else entirely. Some old wound. Some part of him too broken or ashamed to say out loud.

But if it wasn’t true, why hadn’t he said so?

Why had he left?

And why had I let him so far under my skin that the silence he left behind hurt more than any answer ever could?

A summer fling.

That’s all this was ever going to be.

And I was the idiot who tried to turn it into a fairytale.

Because it felt like one, didn’t it?

The surprise guest. The reluctant grump. The firelight kisses, awkward banter, and near-death encounter with an angry beaver. It had all the pieces of a fairytale.

But real life?

Real life didn’t come with guaranteed happy endings.

Real life came with questions left hanging in the air, and the ache of wanting more from someone who couldn’t give it.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

I wasn’t going to cry.

Not here. Not now.

But damn if my heart didn’t feel like it had been wrapped in barbed wire and given a long, slow twist.

There was a knock on the pantry door.

Soft.

Hesitant.

For one split second, hope flared again—sharp and painful.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Violet’s voice, muffled and sweet. “Fifi? You okay?”

I drew a shaky breath and called back, “Yeah. Just... restocking the heartbreak shelf.”

She didn’t push.

Didn’t open the door.

Bless her for that.

I wasn’t ready for anyone to see me like this.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

I tilted my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.

I had guests to greet.

Rooms to clean.

A heart to patch back together.

And whatever Ben Jensen’s silence meant?

I’d have to survive it.

Because he’d made his choice loud and clear—

And I was done begging for the words he wouldn’t say.

And I was hoping I didn’t just earn our lodge a one star.