Page 17

I WOKE UP with regrets.

Not because Ben was in my bed but because of what I said.

I can see forever with you.

What the hell did I say that for?

It was true—I meant every damn syllable—but it felt too soon, too much.

What if it freaked him out?

What if he saw it as pressure when I wanted him to know how I felt?

What if he acted like Byron had—telling me I was an idiot and that I was just a fling and…

Shit, I need to rethink everything.

“Why are you frowning?” Ben asked, poking at my cheek.

I grabbed his hand and kissed the palm.

“That’s my sexy pout,” I defended, making him laugh.

Crisis averted, and somehow, my regrets vanished.

We lazed around the cabin all day, making out on the couch, half-watching reruns of Parks and Recreation , only to pause for another round of kissing before one of us remembered the plotline.

I couldn’t keep my hands off him, and the way Ben kept leaning in to kiss me like he couldn’t get enough told me he felt the same.

I didn’t imagine the electric connection between us.

In between kisses, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

I groaned, leaning over to check it, and saw a message from Mom.

Mom: I see you have a visitor.

Dinner here tonight.

Bring Ben.

“Mom wants us over for dinner,” I said, glancing at him.

Ben propped himself up on his elbow, his hair messy and eyes still hazy from the kissing.

“I don’t have any clean clothes,” he said, his voice half-apologetic.

I thought for a second, then snapped my fingers.

“Wait—I have some of Haider’s stuff.”

Ben raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you have Haider’s clothes?”

“From when he decided to help with the sap collection a couple of years ago and fell on his ass in a huge mud puddle,” I said, already heading toward the closet.

“He left his wrecked clothes here and went home in swim shorts and a Farm T-shirt. Lucky for you, they’re clean.”

I pulled out a pair of skinny jeans and a bright purple button-down shirt, holding them up for Ben to inspect.

He gave me a look that was equal parts amusement and disbelief.

“Skinny jeans and a purple shirt? Really?”

I grinned.

“Hey, don’t knock it. We’ll throw one of my Stonebridge Maple Syrup sweatshirts over it, and you’ll look great.”

Ben sighed but took the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom to change.

“I look like I’m playing dress-up,” he said when he came out.

I couldn’t help but grin.

The jeans fit him well—maybe too well with the way they molded his ass—and the sweatshirt toned down the bright shirt underneath.

“Not bad,” I said.

“‘Not bad’?” Ben repeated, his eyebrow quirking as he glanced down at himself.

“There’s glitter on this shirt. Glitter, Sam.”

“Sexy, glittery Ben.” I slid my hands around his waist. “And you look good in anything.”

He snorted.

“Flattery won’t save you if your mom is pissed at me getting glitter everywhere.”

“She’ll love you no matter what,” I said confidently.

And I meant it.

We grabbed our coats and headed out, the cool evening air hitting our faces as we walked the short path to the big house.

The warm glow of the kitchen windows spilled onto the driveway, and I could already smell the comfort of Mom’s cooking.

Dinner was warm and lively, the kind of night that felt like home.

Mom had outdone herself with a pot roast and all the sides, and Dad kept up a steady stream of stories ranging from mildly interesting to downright baffling.

Ben had been a little shy at first, but by the time we sat down, he was laughing at Dad’s exaggerated hand gestures as he grumbled about this and that.

And everything was going so well until we were clearing the table.

“How long are you planning on staying in town, Ben?”

Ben paused mid-reach for the mashed potato bowl.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice careful.

“I have—”

“Mom, stop interrogating him,” I cut in, glaring at her.

She raised her hands in mock surrender, but the glint in her eyes told me she wasn’t done with her questions.

Ben smiled and stood.

“Can I help with the dishes?”

Mom’s eyebrows rose.

“Now, there is a gentleman.”

“I’m helping too,” I defended.

He followed her into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves, to help rinse plates while I dried.

It was… nice. Cozy. As if he’d always been here, fitting into the rhythm of my family with an ease I hadn’t expected.

Dad leaned in the doorway, his latest story veering into bizarre territory.

“And then, the cabbages were enormous, and he didn’t want to pay me for the whole lot. Typical!”

“No one is interested in the cabbage story,” Mom warned.

Ben chuckled at the exchange, but then his cell vibrated on the counter where he’d left it.

He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting, and something in his posture changed.

It wasn’t immediate—at first, he kept up the easy rhythm of washing and rinsing, but he grew quieter, his responses to Dad’s next story more subdued.

I noticed it halfway through a new tale about tractors and frosted windows.

“Excuse me,” Ben murmured, setting down the plate he’d been holding.

His voice was calm, but the way he left the kitchen, heading straight for the back door without even grabbing his coat, made my chest tighten.

I watched the door swing shut behind him, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable.

“Sam?” Mom’s voice broke through my thoughts.

I forced a smile. “Sorry. What?”

“Go check on him,” she said, her knowing gaze locking on mine.

“Take his coat.”

The cold, crisp night air bit my cheeks as I stepped outside.

Ben stood at the edge of the yard, his back to me, arms wrapped around himself.

His shoulders were tense, and his breath puffed white in the moonlight.

“Hey,” I called in a gentle voice, not wanting to startle him.

“You okay?”

He didn’t turn, but his voice reached me, low and tight.

“I just needed some air.”

“Without a coat again?” I stepped closer and laid his coat over his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice calm, though it took effort to keep it that way.

Ben shook his head, his shoulders tight with tension.

“It’s nothing.”

Nothing.

That damned word again.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react as I wanted to—with frustration.

Because it wasn’t nothing .

I could see how Ben avoided my eyes and held himself as if the world’s weight pressed down on him.

But I couldn’t push him.

Ben was skittish as though any sudden movement might send him running.

He didn’t talk about Boston unless he had to, and even then, getting anything out of him was like pulling teeth.

I knew better than to push too hard, to strip away too many layers at once.

If I did—if I asked one question too many—he might shut down completely.

Or worse, he might walk away.

And that scared the hell out of me.

I understood why he kept quiet.

The NDA he’d signed wasn’t just a formality—it was a lock on his past. He could never say what it covered, but I had my suspicions.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments, I could see the stress in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes darkened when certain topics came up.

Keeping it all inside was the only choice, but I could see what it was doing to him and how it weighed on him.

He needed someone to listen, someone to remind him he wasn’t alone.

And I wanted to be that person, even if I had to wait until he was able to let me in.

The thought of him walking away and shutting me out for good made my chest tighten.

I wasn’t sure I’d know how to bring him back if I pushed too far.

I wanted him to trust me and let me in, but how could I do that if I couldn’t ask the questions clawing at my insides?

The frustration churned with the fear, leaving me standing there, unsure of what to do or what was right.

So, I swallowed the words I wanted to say and buried them deep like I always did with Ben.

“Okay,” I said, hoping he’d hear it as reassurance.

The fear twisted in my stomach, sharp and unrelenting.

I hated feeling this helpless as though I was standing on the edge of something I couldn’t control.

But I couldn’t lose him, not when I’d barely gotten close enough to touch the walls he kept around himself.

So, I swallowed my frustration, even as it burned in my throat, and nodded as if I believed him.

“Okay,” I said quietly, though it wasn’t.

Not for me. Not for us.

But what else could I do?

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” I hesitated, then rested a hand on his arm.

“Ben, talk to me.”

For a long moment, he said nothing and stared out into the darkness.

Finally, he whispered, “It was a message from my… from Boston. Just… a reminder that I need to go back.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and my heart ached.

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

Was he lying?

I’d seen a man lie to me before—Byron—but Ben didn’t look as if he was lying, he looked sad.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said, his tone sharper than I expected.

His gaze shifted almost immediately, regret flashing across his face.

“Sorry. That was… I just… don’t want the real world to mess us up.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, stepping closer.

But he only shook his head, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Nothing. Let’s go back inside.”

“Ben, is there anything you want to tell me?” I couldn’t keep the edge of worry out of my voice.

“Is this the trouble you said would find you?”

He stiffened, his hands faltering where they’d been resting lightly on my shoulders.

“What do you mean?” he asked too casually, his tone giving him away.

“Are you…” The ghost of Byron loomed large in my mind, his promises and lies replaying on a loop.

I hated that doubt could creep in, but I couldn’t ignore the pit in my stomach.

“My ex did this, had secrets, and hell, is this your ex wanting you back? Or a family you have that—”

“No,” he said, too fast. “I’m single, I wouldn’t do that to you…”

“But you are holding back on me.”

He was frustrated.

“I signed NDAs—”

“I get that—”

“And I’m not like your ex!”

“I don’t want to argue.”

“I don’t either.”

“I never said you were like my ex, but—”

“You mean so much to me,” he said, and it felt like such a small thing compared to me expressing my desire for forever with him.

Then he cradled my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine, and I kissed him back, allowing the warmth of his touch to ease some of the tension that had built in my chest.

He’s not Byron.

I trust him.

His forehead rested against mine when he pulled back, and his voice was a whisper.

“Please, don’t let my mood ruin tonight. I’m happy. You’re happy. Can’t that be enough right now?”

“But whoever messaged you—”

“Ignore it. Please.”

His words were a plea, and I felt the crack in my resolve.

I wanted to press him, to ask all the questions swirling in my head, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Not when he stared at me as if I was the only thing holding him together.

“Okay,” I said and brushed a strand of hair back from his face.

“If it helps, I can imagine being with you forever, Sam Caldwell.”

The words were quiet, but they were enough to fill my heart with happiness and make me want to kiss his smile.

Ben released a shaky breath, his head against my shoulder as I held him.

The cold faded into the background, replaced by his warmth in my arms. Whatever was waiting for him in Boston could wait a little longer.

For now, he was here, and that was all that mattered.

And maybe if we both want forever, he’ll stay, and we can have a life here.

AFTER DINNER, WE returned to my cabin and curled up on the sofa, the fire crackling in the hearth.

Ben held me close, his arm draped over my shoulders, and I rested my head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a soothing rhythm melting away my tension.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble.

“Yeah,” I murmured, tilting my head to look at him.

“Better than okay.”

“I like you here,” I murmured.

“I like being here,” Ben said.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that always made my chest feel tight.

Then he dipped his head and kissed me, soft and unhurried, as if we had all the time in the world.

His lips were warm, and he tasted of the wine we’d shared with dinner.

I melted into him, letting the kiss deepen, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck.

By the time we moved apart, my breath was coming in short gasps, and Ben’s eyes were darker, filled with something that made my stomach flip.

“I should go,” he murmured.

“Stay the night again?”

He stared at me for the longest time and tugged me to my feet.

“Take me to bed.”

We climbed into bed, and as I draped an arm over him, I felt the tension ease from his body like a sigh.

The world outside didn’t matter, and for tonight, this was everything.

Just us. The way he nestled against me, his head resting on my chest, felt natural, as though he belonged there.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on my skin, sending shivers through me despite his warmth.

I nuzzled closer, breathing in his familiar scent.

Our lips met in a slow, deep kiss that made my toes curl.

We took our time undressing each other, savoring every touch and caress, and we moved unhurriedly, eyes locked, breaths mingling.

The pleasure built gradually, like a slow-burning fire.

I cradled his face in my hands as we rocked, memorizing every detail—the flecks of gold in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.

I gasped as waves of bliss washed over me, and he followed soon after with a stifled groan.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, his body half-draped over mine as we caught our breath.

I ran my hand through his hair, relishing the silky texture against my palm.

We didn’t speak, didn’t need to.

The quiet intimacy of the moment said everything.

I felt the steady thump of his heartbeat against my chest, slowing to match my own.

His thumb brushed my cheekbone in a feather-light caress.

As the afterglow faded, a pleasant lethargy settled over us.

I nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing in the musky scent of his skin.

He cradled me closer, strong arms enveloping me in a bubble of warmth and safety.

“This is perfect,” he murmured, his voice heavy with contentment.

I hummed in agreement, letting my fingers comb through his hair.

“It is.”

He drifted off like that, stayed close, his warmth soaking into me as if he could melt the lingering chill in my soul.

The room settled into a comfortable silence that didn’t need filling.

His breathing slowed, matching the rhythm of mine, and I could feel him growing drowsy, his body sinking into mine with every passing moment.

I didn’t want to move, and I didn’t want this to end.

“Ben?” I whispered, keeping my voice low in the darkness.

He made a small sound, a sleepy hum barely reaching my ears.

“Hmm?”

“I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“Pancakes for breakfast?” I asked.

“Bacon and maple syrup?”

“Of course.” I kissed his forehead, his hair silky beneath my lips, and whispered, “Goodnight, Ben.”

His murmur of “Goodnight” was the last thing I heard before his breathing deepened.

I want this forever.