Page 76 of Trailer Park Billionaire

“So I think it’s safe to say that my magic powers have finally kicked in. See, as a kid, I was always wondering when it would happen. My money was on my 18thbirthday, but I guess better late than muggle.” I sit up a little straighter. “And they were delicious too, which logically means I must be quite powerful.Of course, now the question is: am I going to use my new-found powers for good or evil? Or for something morally gray, like…” I think about it for a moment, glancing at Ben’s broody expression. “Like forcing you to be in a better mood.”

“You’re quite chatty today,” he grunts more than anything.

Shit.

That catches me on the wrong foot.

I am chatty.

And that isn’t me.

Why am I talking so much?

Especially knowing full well that the best course of action in any given situation is to just shut the fuck up.

So that’s what I do.

I stop talking.

He’s right.

And he’s grumpy.

And I’m wondering why.

I keep wondering even after he drops me off at the museum. Which is a problem. So, in order to get my mind off my grumpy partner in crime, I bury myself in work.

Restoring paintings is a delicate, time-consuming process. And—despite my unsuccessful attempts at using my magic powers to speed the process up—it’s the one thing I can actually control, the one place my hands always know exactly what to do.

By the end of the day, I’ve made some good progress and pocketed a few tools I might need for our little side project. Then, under the vigilant eyes of Elaine—who I notice peering out of her office window—I head outside, to where Ben is already waiting for me.

The second I see him, my brain does that thing again.

The thing where I picture him in my bed instead of in the parking lot. Although, I guess, I wouldn’t say no to the parking lot either.

I need therapy. Or a little bit of amnesia. Or that damn charger.

Ben Lyon, in all his insufferably charming glory, is leaning against a lamppost when I reach the lot. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his expensive-looking coat, his hair is ruffled just enough to look careless, but not enough to suggest he wasn’t in full control of it. Which seems to be the thing about Ben: everything about him screams effortless but controlled, from the way he dresses to the way he smiles and talks.

He greets me with a nod, looking a lot less grumpy than this morning. “Panda,” he says.

I try hard not to smile. One faux pas is more than enough for today.

Ben, like he always does, opens the door for me, gets in himself, and sets the RV in motion. The drive is mostly quiet, maybe still a little tense.

“I’d like to apologize for this morning,” he says eventually, when we pull into the parking space in front of our secret lair. “I let my emotions get the better of me and took out my foul mood on you. Which is very unprofessional. I beg for your forgiveness.”

I almost have to laugh at his sincerity. “It’s fine. Not a big deal,” I say as we walk up to our apartment. “Not like anything happened.”

Ben gently lays his hand in my neck, causing my body to tense all over. “That’s not true. I was being stupid. You were finally feeling comfortable enough to be yourself, and I just went…” He repeats the grunt from this morning, eliciting a small chuckle from me. “I want you to know that you can be you around me.” He pulls me close for a moment, then moves me to his side again, as if I weigh nothing. “I want you to be you.”

We stop in front of the door, Ben digging for the keys, then sliding them in. “I also want you to be safe, to feel safe,” he says,opens the door and waits for me to enter, “which is why I’m going to start sleeping in here.”

On the couch is his blanket, neatly folded on one side, his pillow on top, a suitcase next to it.

He continues, “And there will be no discussion. I need to do what’s best for?—”

“Alright,” I interrupt, sliding out of my coat, which Ben takes as if it was second nature, and hangs it on the rack. “What are we having for dinner?”