Page 25 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

“No, it’s okay. You’re welcome to ask me questions.” He hesitates. “The divorce happened quickly. I thought things between us were okay. Not great, but okay. Stable.”

He chews on his bottom lip, his expression hardening.

“Then, one day she comes to me in tears and says she needs some time to think and that she’s going to Sacramento to her parents’ place for the weekend.

She needed space. It was hard knowing something was incredibly wrong but not be able to help. ”

I nod and then watch as he gets on his knees and starts piling up the sand near my feet. There’s a lot I want to ask, like, why are you digging in the sand right now? And, what happened after that? But I wait.

Finally, he rewards me with the slightest of smiles, his hands forming a smooth hill.

“There, let’s get your foot propped up.” He removes the ice pack from my ankle and gingerly lifts my leg.

His grasp is strong, his skin warm, as he sets it down on the cool and soft, but sturdy hill.

He replaces the ice pack, which is still cold. “There. It’s elevated now.”

“Thank you.”

He nods and then sits back down across from me, leaning back on his elbows, his legs crossed at the ankles.

“Danica and I married young. We had it good for a while, but she was restless. Just a couple of years in, she started saying she regretted getting married so young.” He clears his throat, lost in thought.

“She’s a good mom, and she loves the kids,” he says.

“But she regretted not getting to do the things she wanted to do before she settled down. She was pulling away, looking ahead, wanting more. So much more than I could give her. It was maddening that I couldn’t figure out what I needed to do to help her feel good about us.

And I don’t think I handled it well. I withdrew from her, as well.

I asked her to go to couples therapy with me, to do a marriage retreat.

But she wasn’t interested.” The muscles in his jaw jump and clench.

“I went to therapy. She went to therapy. But she didn’t have a desire to come together and try. ”

I wait as his words settle. “Sounds rough. I’m sorry.

And I’m wholly inadequate right now to be talking about this.

” I swallow hard. It’s true confession time, but thinking this all out in my head makes me feel immature.

“Because, Benson, I’ve never had a serious relationship, so this is above my pay grade right now.

That doesn’t mean I don’t have empathy for what you went through. ”

He peers at me. “You haven’t dated much?”

I click my tongue. “Yeah, no.”

“That surprises me. ”

“I told you I work too much to have a social life.” I shrug. “That’s just how it has to be.”

“Well, you’re obviously attractive,” he starts off, looking uncomfortable as he squirms.

“Oh?” My brows go up and I lean in. My chest warms at his closeness. His nerves are kind of cute.

“Not that looks are everything, of course,” he assures. “But I assumed you have men lining up.”

“I’m flattered, Benson, but this is Longdale. There aren’t enough men to form a line! And I’m just me. I need to accomplish some more things before I settle down and have a family.”

The truth is, though, I do want a family. Desperately. I want a husband and kids.

I want all of it. The dinner around the table as a family. Mom. Dad. Kids. Going to the kids’ sports or dances or whatever they’re into.

“This is sort of embarrassing to say, but whenever I picture this nuclear family idea for myself, I’ve got my hair in a 1950s curl and set and I’m wearing an embroidered apron. And things are so…beautiful.”

My throat throbs at the desperate thought. “I always picture the things I never had. The mom and dad around the dinner table.” I attempt to swallow it all down. “So many women quit on their dreams to have families, though. I couldn’t do that to my grandparents and their legacy.”

Benson gives me a look.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but—”

“But you don’t believe me.” I huff and pull up my uninjured leg so that my knee is high. I hug my legs closer to me .

“No. I’m saying it’s okay to want both. Both a family and a career.”

“I know.” And I’m sounding defensive now.

“And it’s good to make sure you do the things you want to do. You shouldn’t give up so much just because society tells you that you have to.”

“Like Danica felt she did?”

He nods. “She said she was trapped in our life. I wasn’t a perfect husband by any means, but my marriage vows were important to me, and I never had any desire to break them.

” He meets my gaze, his brow low in a scowl.

“I didn’t break them. I was completely faithful to her.

” He works his jaw side to side, frowning.

“I never imagined I’d be in this position where I would lose her and still be scratching my head wondering what happened. ”

“That must be incredibly painful.” My brain is whirring.

I want to ask so many questions and say so many things, but my tongue is frozen.

Finally, I manage, “You’ve been through so much and I…

haven’t. You and I are totally different.

I’ve never been on more than a handful of dates with any one guy. I’ve never even told a guy I love him.”

Wow. There aren’t many people I’ve admitted that to. Inadequacy wells up inside of me and I trap my bottom lip between my teeth.

He gives me a sweet smile. “It’s good to have some caution there. If you’re not feeling it, don’t say it. Nothing wrong with being intentional.”

“I’ve only ever kissed two guys.” I consider his reaction and he’s…well, he’s surprised by that.

“Their names were Chad and Tad.”

He harrumphs. “Chad and Tad?”

“Yep. I won’t go into details, but—”

“Please don’t. ”

Is that…a touch of animosity in his reaction? Does he not like thinking about me kissing other men?

Whatever it is, it’s interesting.

“But, dating them wasn’t exactly the most enjoyable experience.”

Now I’m certain his expression darkens.

“They weren’t big jerks or anything. I just didn’t…feel it, you know? And then I got super involved with the community and dating wasn’t a priority.”

“Makes sense if it wasn’t a great experience in the past.”

“And again, it’s Longdale.” I lift a shoulder. “Not a lot of options.” I straighten my bent leg and smooth my dress out. “But enough about me. How many years were you married?”

“Seventeen.” His expression hardens. He sits up straight and draws his knees to his chest, his feet planted off the blanket, in the sand.

I whistle. “That’s a long time.” I reach over and tug on his hand. He lets go of his knee and we lace our fingers together. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” His voice is strained, but I don’t sense any bitterness there. “I mean, I’m sorry for the pain it’s caused the children, and it was difficult. But I’ve learned so much about myself that I actually value what happened in many ways. I appreciate a lot more about life than I used to.”

“Do you have any regrets?”

He straightens and looks out to the waves of the lake, licking the sand a few yards away. “Regrets? Sure. I guess my biggest one is I was so flattened out by the shock and grief of her leaving so quickly that I didn’t fight for her. I do regret that.”

His gaze is in the sand, his jaw hard .

“But there’s a silver lining because honestly, if Danica hadn’t left,” he continues, looking at me. “I doubt I would have met my biological father. And now look. I have this great life and family here.”

“It’s cool that something that once felt impossibly hard could have brought you so many good things, too,” I say.

The look in his eyes is searching and open, and then he breaks away and looks up at the stars. We try to figure out the constellations and other mysteries of the night sky, but when we exhaust all the meager knowledge we have on the subject, we start talking about other things.

And it’s all so natural, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

It’s past midnight when I tell him I’d better get home.

“Sure. I’ll take you back to get your car. Are you looking forward to Sunday and having the day off?” he asks.

“Yes and no. It’s nice to rest. It’s bad for my brain, though, because I get restless.

Inez, the current city manager, is leaving soon to have her twins, and, with having some complications, she hasn’t been able to do a lot.

I’ve been taking care of so many parts of her job that it’s like I’m working two jobs right now.

It would be nice to just have one, officially. ” I smile. “Specifically hers.”

He tilts his head to one side and peers at me. “You like working for Longdale.” It’s as if he likes that about me.

“It’s home. I mean Longdale is home, but also work is home, too. I want the city manager position. Rich McClain? He moved away from Longdale for several years. Not that that matters, exactly. But I’ve lived and breathed Longdale since birth.”

“You’re a much more qualified candidate than that Rich guy. ”

“I am, he works with the city’s water, so he doesn’t have the experience that I have. But he’s super tight with Mayor Whitten. They sometimes act like Rich has the job already.”

He nods in solidarity. “Rich is the worst.”

“Right? He’s annoying.”

The edges of his eyes crinkle. “You’re going to get the job.”

I’m gutted, desperate. “Maybe, but he does good work. The mayor has mentioned off the cuff that he thinks Rich and I are the top contenders.” I shrug. “One thing I do know? Rich doesn’t have a Longdale memorabilia collection, so there’s at least one thing in my favor.”

“Longdale memorabilia collection? Like your keychains?” His gaze is glowing, like he likes that about me.

My mouth curves into a smile. “And books and posters and t-shirts I’ve found at yard sales and whatnot. If it’s got the word ‘Longdale’ on it, I probably own some version of it.”

He begins to laugh, shaking his head slowly.

“What? Do you think I’m a nerd?”

“No. It’s admirable, that’s all.” He shifts in the sand and folds forward a little so he’s closer to me.

He holds out both hands and I curl my legs in a cross-legged position so I can grasp them.

He stares into my eyes. “If Rich McClain doesn’t have a Longdale memorabilia collection, and he’s not you, then he’s not good enough, and you deserve this job,” he says with a grin.

And then he sobers. “I can feel your protectiveness of this town in your very soul.”

I swallow hard, then give a nervous laugh. How does he know that? “Well, I suppose you’re right. It’s sort of in the job description, in a way. ”

His head tilts to one side as his mouth curves in a slight smile. “It’s more than just a job for you, though. It’s part of what makes you you .”

“It’s true. I could be happy working here for the rest of my career. The ideal scenario? A family and a job with the city, maybe not full time.” I stop to draw in a gentle breath. “I’ve spent so long pretending I don’t care about getting married that this is bizarre saying these things to you.”

“I get that it’s hard to be vulnerable like that, especially—”

“Especially when I don’t have anyone? Exactly.” I give up a hollow laugh. “Might as well say I don’t want it in case that makes it hurt less that I don’t have it.” I let go of one of his hands. I need to breathe again. He squeezes the one he’s still holding.

“ Does it make it hurt less?” His whisper is so low, I barely hear him.

“What do you think?” I ask, my gaze locking into his.

“I think there’s a strong feeling inside all of us to be deeply connected with another soul, and anything less than that’s going to be…just…”

“Not quite right,” I say.

He presses his lips together, then sighs. “That’s exactly it. Not quite right. So then what? How do we make it through that?”

“No clue.” I shrug.

“I might have some thoughts.” His smile is gentle, teasing, and his hand squeezes mine.

“Of course you do.” I roll my eyes. If I play it off, I might make it through this conversation in one piece.

“Not like that. Although…” His gaze whisks up and down me so quickly I’m not sure it happened. “All I’m saying is, I kinda like you. You’re not bad. ”

“Not bad?” I giggle. “I guess if that’s the nicest thing you can say to me, I’ll have to live with it.”

He lets go of my hand, sits up on his knees and leans towards me.

Then he eases behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, crossing them, enveloping me in his embrace.

He sits down fully behind me now, his legs slightly bent as he places them on either side of mine.

He’s spooning me as we’re sitting up. I wish I could see his face, his eyes.

But this will have to do, for now. His body warms mine, and I gaze out over the lake, the moon casting a glowing shadow over the water.

His breath fans out against my neck as he whispers in my ear.

“That’s not the nicest thing I can say to you.

I have catalogues in my head of all the things I want to say to you.

” His lips softly brush against my neck —did he even mean to do it?

“Your laugh makes my insides buzz like fizzy soda pop. Your beauty jolts me awake, like I’ve been asleep my whole life and you’re waking me up.

Everything about you makes me want to know more…

” Another brush of his mouth, then: “…and more and more.”

His hands rest against my hips, gently, yet there’s a pulsing need there, at his touch.

Have mercy on my soul.

I turn my head to look back at him. His face is so close to mine that I hitch a breath. My skin tingles—my lungs are tight. If he were to lean forward a bit more, and if I were to turn my head a bit more, we’d be lip to lip.

Somehow, his untied bowtie is lying across my shoulder, hanging down until it reaches the neckline of my dress. I give it a little tug, the silk of it gliding between my fingers. He’s shifted just enough that I can rest my head against his solid, strong chest .

“Right back at ya.” It comes out of me as a whisper, because I suddenly can’t talk normally.

I’ve never felt this way. Which makes my limbs tingle again. But now, I don’t like what I just said.

Right back at ya?

I am so out of my league here. This man was married for nearly two decades and I’m trying to make sultry talk with him all the sudden.

I’m immature next to this experienced, exciting man.

And my goodness, he is a man.

I shift slightly to turn to face him, and in the process, I bang my sore ankle into my other foot. You know the ball of the joint?

Yeah, that. And it hurts.

I turn to face him, out of breath like we’ve been frolicking in the sand. Another giggle escapes and I slap a hand over my mouth.

My stomach does a neat little flip, a burst of nerves. And in a move lacking in forethought and good judgment, I remove my hand to speak.