Page 19

CHAPTER 18

B EN

Today’s been a damn good day so far and there’s still a few hours left for it to get even better. Still riding the high from a great morning fishing and then a few hours hanging out with my dad, I use the key Trina gave me to enter her house. I’ve got a bag of groceries in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other. If Trina decides not to give me the sixty days I asked for to convince her we should stay married, it won’t be for lack of trying on my part.

Damn, though, do I ever want her to give me a chance. I lost her once to a combination of my reputation, my own insecurities, and my ego. It’s not like I didn’t try to move on—well, after the first few years, anyway. I dated, but I never came close to feeling for another woman what I felt—and still feel—for Trina. If she gives me another chance, I’m giving it all I’ve got.

I busy myself putting the flowers in a pretty vase I picked up for her and add water, then pull out the pots and pans I need for dinner. When my gaze falls to the countertop, I can’t help but remember last night, and I smile. Thank God neither of us acted awkward this morning, because Christ, I have missed her body all these years. I’m praying there’s more in store for us in that department.

I’m not saying I’ve been a saint since we’ve been apart. But physical intimacy was usually the thing that killed any relationship I tried to have. Sex with anyone else inevitably was a disappointment compared to what it was like being with Trina. That and the fact that I couldn’t bring myself to kiss another woman—anywhere—because they weren’t her. That didn’t go over well with anyone I tried to date.

When I’ve put on my apron, I season the pork chops and let them sit for a few minutes while I slice potatoes and carrots for roasted vegetables. Since I like to let it simmer, I start the homemade gravy that goes over the chops, but when I’m about halfway through, I’m sure I’ve forgotten an ingredient. I wrack my brain but can’t think of it to save my life. I want this meal to be perfect, so I call the expert—my mom.

When she answers, I get right to business since I’m hoping to have everything ready for when Trina arrives home.

“Hey, Ma. I need help. Cooking help.”

“Okay. Perfect timing. Trina just dropped me off. What do you need?”

“I’m making your pork gravy, and I think I’m forgetting a key step.”

“Walk me through what you’ve done, and we’ll see what’s missing.”

It only takes me about fifteen seconds into telling her what I did before I feel like an idiot. “Oops. Never mind. I forgot that I have to pan sear the pork chops before they go in the oven and use those drippings.”

“Uh oh,” Mom says in a teasing tone. “Looks like someone might need to come back to cooking classes.” The joy is palpable in her voice. “You were my best student, so I won’t even charge you for a refresher class.”

I quickly put some oil in the pan and start working on the chops so I can get them in the oven and finish the gravy.

“I’m pretty sure I was your only student.” I laugh. “Plus, I wouldn’t mind coming back. Those are some of my favorite memories. Maybe we need to do a baking version next. I’m still shit at desserts.”

“First of all, watch your language.”

I can’t help but smirk that I’m thirty years old and my mom is still scolding me about my language.

“And second, you can come over anytime to learn how to bake. I had a blast teaching you. Speaking of baking, I had the best pie after the plarning group I went to with Trina today.”

“Let me guess, she took you to that little restaurant and she got the key lime pie, didn’t she?”

“Yes! I’m not usually a fan of key lime, but I took a bite of hers and it was pretty good. I got the cherry though. It was amazing. I bought a whole blueberry and a strawberry cream cheese one for family dinner tomorrow. Darren had the blueberry, and it looked so good I couldn’t resist.”

What the fuck?

“Darren? From plarning?” I strive to keep my voice even, but my insides are shaking with… with either jealousy or anger. Or maybe both.

“Yep. He and his grandmother joined us for lunch. Though I think I would have enjoyed it better if it were just me and Trina. I really like her, you know.” I smile at the affection that radiates through my mom’s voice when she talks about Trina.

I probably should get off the phone and focus on cooking, but I can’t seem to tell my mom that when I’m dying to know more about their lunch. I stay on the phone and multi-task, putting the chops and vegetables in the oven and working on the gravy.

I won’t pry, but I can’t say I’m not immensely disappointed that Trina would choose to have lunch with an ex while married to me, regardless of how our marriage came about. I guess I know what her answer to my sixty-day request is going to be, though.

“Well, if Trina wanted them there and invited them, I guess you didn’t have a choice, Ma.”

“Oh. Trina didn’t invite them. Darren invited himself, and I suspect he dragged his grandmother along. They were both very thirsty, if you ask me.”

“Thirsty? What does them being thirsty have anything to do with them needing to go to lunch with you? They could have gotten something to drink anywhere.”

At that, my mom bellows out a hearty laugh, and she takes several long seconds to stop laughing long enough to talk. “Ben, you’re getting to be such an old man. I don’t mean thirsty like they needed something to drink. I mean thirsty in that they both spent most of lunch trying to convince Trina to go on more dates with Darren. Don’t you know your slang?”

I’m torn between anger that Darren did that and amusement that my mom actually knows the slang meaning of the word ‘thirsty.’

“I guess not, Mom. Maybe when I come over for baking lessons, you can catch me up on what all the kids are saying these days.” I can’t help but chuckle out loud.

My mom’s amazing and I’m glad Trina got some time with her today. Especially since her own parents were so shitty to her and they don’t really have much of a relationship these days.

“Anyway, Trina was polite but when it got to the point it was ridiculous, she put them in their place and told them she makes her own decisions. When Darren made the excuse that she was hard to get over, she said, ‘It was three dates. You’ll be fine.’ So, you have nothing to worry about.”

Fuck yes! I couldn’t be happier that Trina didn’t invite them and didn’t agree to go out with him again.

“Me, worry? I don’t know what you’re talk?—”

“Benjamin Ryan. You can fool many people, but you can never fool your mother. I know how you feel—how you’ve always felt—about that girl. I don’t know the details of why you two broke up all those years ago and what about it made her not speak to you for years, but she’s talking to you now, and there’s something in her eyes when I mention you. Something similar to the look in your eyes when she’s come up in conversation over the years. So, I know you were worried, but you don’t have any competition from Darren. Now, I’ve got to go. Your dad is taking me out for dinner. I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too, Mom. And… thank you.”

* * *

TRINA

When I open the door to my house and smell the absolutely amazing odors filling the space, I’m pleasantly surprised. I place my tote bags on the foyer table and walk to the kitchen, carrying the pie I bought for dessert.

As I enter the kitchen, I’m treated to a different sweet treat when Ben is squatting to check on something in the oven. Jesus, the muscles in the man’s calves and backs of his thighs are a sight to see. I’m almost disappointed when he stands, places the glass baking dish on the oven, and turns around to face me. Almost, but not quite, because while Ben’s sculpted ass and legs are yummy to look at, his smile has always been what gets me. Right now, he’s grinning like it’s his job.

I hold up the pie, then move to the counter and set it down. “My contribution to dinner, which smells mouth-watering, by the way.”

“Key Lime?” he asks.

“Nope. Peach, since it’s your favorite.”

His eyes widen in surprise.“You remember peach is my favorite? Even though when we went to that restaurant a few weeks ago, I got Boston creme pie?”

I shrug. “You’re not the only one who remembers stuff.” I glance down at his apron and can’t stop myself from laughing. “Really? The man who says he hasn’t kissed another woman in almost a decade has a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron?” I cock my head to the side.

“Well, my old one was plain gray. This is new.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. Bought it today. Hoping to send subliminal messages to you.” He winks at me and the right side of his mouth lifts in a flirty smile that warms my heart—and other parts of me. “We’ve got”—he glances at the timer on the oven—“ten more minutes until the food is done. How about it?” He points to his apron.

I roll my eyes at him and take the couple of quick steps to where he’s standing, lift onto the balls of my feet, and give him a chaste peck on the lips. When I go to step back, he swoops in and wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me to him as a dramatic pout spreads across his face.

“That’s all you got? Just a teaser kiss?”

I smirk. “It’s no fun when you want more and the other person holds out, is it?” Unable to resist, I slip my hands under the sides of his shirt and wrap them around his waist.

“Is this about last night? You can’t possibly think I didn’t want more. Fuck, did I—actually do I—want more. But I’m trying to be respectful, and I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.” He takes his hand that isn’t around my waist and runs it down the side of my head, stroking my hair with his long fingers, and resting his hand on the side of my neck.

I swallow the lump in my throat, wondering if he can tell how much his words affect me.

“While that’s very chivalrous of you, I’m a big girl and I know what I want. Plus,”—I lift my eyes to his, so I don’t miss his reaction—“it’s hardly realistic not to make sure we’re physically compatible if we’re going to stay married for at least sixty days to give this a chance.”

Ben’s face lights up and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a wide smile on his handsome face or such a glimmer in his eyes. My heart races in my chest as I wait for him to say something.

“Yeah?” he asks, and I nod. “You decided. When? Last night?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Laughter erupts from me at that. “Last night was great, but I’m not so fickle that I let a good orgasm make major decisions for me. I?—”

“Just good? It seemed a hell of a lot more than good the way you were grinding on my face.”

I pinch what little skin I can grasp from his trim side, and he yelps and pulls away from my hand.

“That’s what you get. No, not last night and not because of last night. I actually decided before the events in the kitchen, while we were out for pizza.”

Ben’s face contorts in a frown, and his eyebrows move closer together in confusion. “A pizza date convinced you?”

“Not the date itself.” My face heats and I’m sure I’m blushing. I’m not good at this emotional stuff. “When I realized how much you paid attention and remembered things I like, even after all these years. It made me feel… seen, I guess.”

In my embarrassment, I try to turn my head to look away, but Ben moves his hand from my neck to grasp me by the chin. He gently angles my head, giving me no choice but to look at him.

He says nothing, just pierces me with his eyes, then places a tender kiss on my forehead. From there, he moves painfully slow—painful because I want more—and places a kiss on my temple, then my cheek, then the side of my mouth until finally he brings his lips to cover mine.

At first, his kisses on my lips are barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. But then he slides a hand to the back of my head, guiding me closer to him at the same time his tongue brushes across my lower lip.

I need more, so I allow my mouth to fall open and whimper as our tongues meet in a sensual dance. Before I know it, my hands are moving up his side to grip his back below his shoulder blades and his hand that isn’t on the back of my head moves to grip my ass.

Then, like a blaring cockblock, the beeping of the oven timer goes off. I groan as Ben tries to pull back from our make-out session and I attempt to tug him closer. He chuckles with his lips still touching mine. “We’re not done, just taking an intermission to eat.” He disentangles himself from me and moves to pull the food out of the oven.

Ten minutes later, we carry our plates to the dining room table where I find Ben has a bottle of wine and a gorgeous bouquet of wildflowers in the prettiest mosaic vase that I’m sure he chose special.

I set my plate down on the table and lean over to smell the flowers. “You did all this? The food smells amazing. And wildflowers are my fav—” I stop talking and need a few seconds before I can continue. I whisper my next words. “They’re my favorite. But then, I’m guessing you already knew that.”