Page 16 of No Kind Words (Calston Cove #3)

“I apologise for the smell of wet dog.”

I open the doors of my Landrover. “Isla is a demon for the sea.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a nervous tremor in his voice. He gets into the passenger seat but doesn’t make eye contact as he buckles his seat belt.

“Your place or mine?”

“It doesn't matter.”

I shove the keys into the ignition and lean back in my seat, turning my head to face him. “Look, is it really this hard to talk to me? Do you hate me that much? I can drop you off at your home, or you can get out right now. I’m not going to force this. If I’ve got it all wrong, tell me now, and I won’t bother you again.”

He finally glances at me, and it looks a lot like fear staring back at me. “No, it’s okay. We should do this.”

“This isn’t easy for me either, you know.”

We drive back in silence. I’m trying to work out how to start or where to start. I expect he’s doing the same thing. I pull up alongside the cottage, and Ben looks surprised. “What?”

“Huh, oh, nothing. I didn’t know you’d moved in. I thought you were still staying at Ivan’s.”

“It’s only been a few days. You’ll have to excuse the boxes. Drew did an amazing job. That man has serious talent when it comes to seeing what a building can become.”

As I open the door, Isla and the injured dog bark enthusiastically. My lab reaches me first, but the girl is behind her, the bandaged leg causing her tardiness.

“You kept her?”

At the sound of Ben’s voice, the little dog woofs excitedly and wriggles her whole body as she directs her focus on the man who saved her. “She remembers me?”

The wonder in his words squeezes my heart.

“It looks like it, and I’m only fostering her while she still needs treatment.”

“You said you found her owner. Don’t they want her back?”

Ben crouches on the hallway floor and pets the little dog. “What breed is she?”

“I think she’s a labrador crossed with a Staffordshire bull terrier. And as for the owner, I have reason to believe he’s responsible for her injuries.”

This is going better than I could’ve hoped. The tension between us has vanished as his focus has switched to the dog. “What’s her name?”

“She doesn’t have one. I thought it would be best to wait for her new owner to name her.”

If I get my way, he’ll be taking her home with him.

Ben runs his hand softly over her face, smoothing the scar above her eye. The stitches came out a few days ago. She’ll never get the hair to grow back over the scars. “When is she ready to go?”

“Do you want her? I think she’ll do well with you. She obviously likes you.”

I join him on the floor.

“I do. I think we’ll be good together. I need to sort my life out a bit before I can take her, though. Work stuff. I pretty much spend all my time at the bakery.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Ben. She’s not going anywhere.”

I stand, wanting to shift the conversation to us. It’s the reason I want him here. “Can I get you a drink? I’m having one.”

Hesitantly he rises, but he nods and follows me into the large open-plan kitchen and living room. He looks around the space, a hint of a smile playing on his full lips. “Wow! This is impressive. There’s so much space.”

It’s the reaction I’m getting from everyone who’s visited. I couldn’t be happier here. Except maybe I could. Maybe I could have a future with Ben. I don’t think we’re going to fall into each other’s arms, declaring love and forever anytime soon, but being able to talk again is a starting point.

I grab a bottle of single malt whisky and two tumblers from a cupboard in the kitchen and approach him again. The dog has plastered herself against his leg, looking up with adoration. She definitely won’t be staying here with me. “Have a seat, Ben.”

He sits uncomfortably on the sofa. I take a seat in the large chair opposite him, splash a couple of fingers of the Scotch into the glasses, and hand one to him. Then wait.

Ben looks down at the amber liquid in the crystal glass, then takes a sip. “Look, I’m not sure what you want to hear or if you just have something on your chest you want to get out. But I want you to know I’ve missed you. I have never really got over the way we ended. Your silence hurt. However much I wanted to get away from here, I knew it was the only place you’d know where to find me.”

He takes another sip. “I don’t know what you want, Jethro, or should I call you Jet like everyone else?”

“Jethro is fine. It seems I’m the only one here who calls you Ben. Which do you prefer?”

“I don’t care. It’s just a name. It’s your turn to speak. You asked me here to do just that.”

He pets the dog’s head, sliding his fingers through the short, soft hair. He must be taking comfort—or perhaps strength—from the brave little animal.

“Do you want the whole story or just the whos and whys I’m here for now?”

“I want the truth, Jethro. I think you owe me that. Fifteen years of silence. Fifteen long years.”

I take a gulp of Scotch. I need to man up, but the memories of that time in the barn are all spoiled by the pain inflicted on me. The way my father treated me. The pain I endured was nothing compared to losing Ben. The fact that he never got in touch hurt me to the core. I was an eighteen-year-old kid. I looked up to him. He was much more of an adult than I was. “It was bad, really fucking bad. But after a long time, I recovered from the injuries. But the silence from you hurt the most. I thought you loved me. We had plans for the future.”

He's silent for a long time. “I had no way of contacting you. You left without a trace. I didn’t even know where you’d gone. You’re the one who broke us up, not me.”

“But the letter. I gave my mum a letter to give to you. She promised me she would.”

We stare at each other. Ben shakes his head. “I never got a letter. Didn’t she tell you I’d been to your house nearly every day? Whenever your dad was away from the farm, I would call. Did she tell you that? Shit, I even asked her if you had anything to pass on to me. She said no. To my face, Jethro. She said no to my face.”

“Would it have made a difference? Would you have left here and followed me to Scotland?”

If he says yes, he’s a liar. He wouldn’t have left his elderly parents.

“I want to say yes, but it would’ve had to be later. But we would have been together still. We would’ve had each other.”

“Do you really believe that? That a long-distance relationship would’ve lasted? I was in uni for six years, Ben. That’s a bloody long time. It was incredibly hard, so much harder than I expected. We would’ve been another statistic. I was so young, so na?ve. We both were.”

“And now? What do you think is going to happen now? What did you think would happen when you showed up again?”

He’s angry. Have I just dashed the dream he’s been carrying for all these years? That we would have a perfect life together, marriage, kids, the whole caboodle? “No one has seen or heard from you, Jethro. You didn’t come back for the funerals. You did nothing with the farmhouse as it disintegrated. Honestly? I thought you’d stay away for good.”

“So did I.”