Page 36 of When Ben Loved Jace (He Loved Him #2)

I’m not feeling so hot the next morning.

My head throbs when I sit up and peer at the room around me.

I almost expect to see posters of sleek cars and swimsuit models.

Tim’s taste has gotten more refined since high school.

The furnishings are classy and modern, although the stairs leading up to the bed are unusual.

I assume those are for Chinchilla’s benefit.

Art covers the surrounding walls, none of it his own.

Not even the abstract painting he used to have hanging up.

That bothers me, but at the moment, not as much as my sandpaper tongue.

I get out of bed, surprised to discover that I’m naked.

I quickly review blurry memories of the night before.

We didn’t sleep together. I’m relieved, I guess, if only because I’d want to remember that clearly.

Tim stopped me before anything could happen.

In case I decided to get back together with Jace.

As if I needed any more evidence that Tim is innocent…

and that my ex-boyfriend is guilty. Is it fair to think of Jace in those terms now?

My head is too groggy to reach any conclusions.

In the attached bathroom, I drink from the faucet and make use of the facilities.

That gets me a little closer to feeling human again.

I decide to take a shower, standing beneath the hot stream with my eyes closed until the tight knot leaves my neck.

Then I smell Tim’s shampoo before using it and rub myself down with his body wash while thinking of the naked glimpses I caught last night.

I’m in much better shape after the shower.

I put on the underwear I was wearing yesterday but don’t want to walk down the hall wearing only that.

So I open dresser drawers, searching for a T-shirt, and let my hand delve beneath layers of clothes in search of sketchbooks.

Sure enough, I find some. I can’t help but laugh.

I decide to take one with me. I put on one of Tim’s shirts that actually has sleeves, which is of course baggy on me.

Then I trace my steps back to the guest room, where the rest of yesterday’s outfit is neatly folded on top of a made bed.

After shimmying into my shorts, I tuck the sketchbook under my waistband so it’s hidden and go downstairs.

Tim is in the kitchen, already showered and dressed.

“Good morning!” he says, getting up from the table .

“Hi,” I reply, already fighting the urge to smile.

Chinchilla rushes over in greeting.

“How are you doing?” Tim asks while assessing me.

“Not too bad.”

“Good! Do you drink coffee?”

“Oh god yes!”

“Have a seat. I was just about to make breakfast.”

The sketchbook presses against my back uncomfortably when I sit, but I don’t reveal it yet. I want to see his face. Not as a test or anything. I simply want to tease him about it.

Tim returns briefly to set a mug in front of me. Then he alternates between the stove and the refrigerator.

“When does Eric get back in town?” I ask.

“Not for a few days yet,” he replies while chopping. “It’s just me and you.”

He glances over his shoulder with a grin. I have the same reaction, because we were always at our best when it was just the two of us. Although… “I think you’re forgetting someone,” I say, nodding at his feet, where Chinchilla is looking exceedingly hopeful.

Tim laughs. “Maybe I should get a babysitter. She must really like you. I found her back in my bed when I got up. She usually follows me everywhere.”

“I didn’t notice, but it’s still nice. I didn’t want to sleep alone.”

Tim glances at me again, this time seeming conflicted. “You don’t make it easy to do the right thing.”

“I prefer to get results.”

He chuckles. “You almost got one last night.”

My body starts to react. In more than one way. The smell of fried onions is making me salivate. “I still can’t believe that you can cook.”

“A lot of things have changed,” he says, taking cutlery out of a drawer. He brings it to the table with a bottle of ketchup.

“But not everything,” I reply, revealing the sketchbook.

Tim stares. Then he shakes his head. “Obviously not. You still don’t respect anyone’s privacy.”

“Not yours, at least. Do you mind?”

“Knock yourself out.”

I slowly turn each page. Chinchilla features heavily. Many of the sketches are of her, but Eric makes frequent appearances as well, along with random people who all seem to be in public settings.

“Do you go out drawing a lot?”

“When the mood strikes me. Yeah. Or sometimes I just sketch from memory. That’s why all the ones of Eric are a little off.”

“You know,” I say leadingly, “there’s an easy fix for that.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve already got the best model a guy could ever want.”

I don’t think he means me. I pause on a drawing of Chinchilla with her head resting on her front paws, pure adoration filling her eyes. Tim painted it with watercolors. “This one is really beautiful,” I say, holding it up for him to see.

“Thanks. That’s when she was still a puppy.”

I turn the page and am surprised to see myself. Tim had drawn me in the past, and painted me, but that was back in high school. This sketchbook is much newer. “How long have you had her now?”

“Gosh,” Tim says on his way over with two plates. “Must be getting close to two years now.”

He was still thinking of me then, years after we’d split up and nearly as long before we’d meet again. I close the sketchbook, my heart racing. He missed hearing me sing. I missed his art.

“You’re so talented,” I tell him.

Tim smiles while setting breakfast in front of me. “You always were my biggest cheerleader.”

“ No, ” I say, picking up a fork and jabbing it at him. “That was Krista. She was a literal cheerleader.”

He laughs. “Then you’ve always been my greatest champion.”

I thaw again, because it’s true. “You have a gift. I think you should share it with the world, but that’s a personal choice. At the very least, let Eric inside. He deserves that much.”

Tim sits on the other side of the table and nods solemnly without promising anything.

I dedicate myself to appreciating his culinary art instead.

The food looks amazing! Diced sweet potatoes have been roasted with onions, the eggs only lightly scrambled with yolks that are still soft.

Some sort of crumbly cheese sprinkled over it all—feta maybe—adds a delicious pungency.

“I made it a little greasier than usual,” Tim says, seeming pleased with the way I’m shoving bite after bite into my mouth. “ That always makes me feel better when I’m hungover.”

I’m actually doing pretty good, but I’ll take my medicine anyway. “Mmmm!” is the only review I can give him currently.

We both dig in, the food rapidly vanishing from our plates.

“So uh…” Tim pinches off a piece of pan-toasted bread and hand-feeds it to Chinchilla. “How are you feeling about everything else this morning?”

My chewing slows as I finally allow myself to explore the issue.

I could forgive Jace. But at the moment, I don’t really want to.

Of course, that’s only half of the equation.

I swallow and take a swig of coffee, buying time, because I don’t want to promise anything I can’t follow through on.

But having seen his art again, and all the ways that Tim has changed…

“Maybe it’s for the best,” I answer at last.

“You sure about that?” Tim asks. “You were in a lot of pain.”

“Was I?” I say as if it’s all a distant memory.

He searches my eyes, his own filled with relief, like I’ve granted him redemption. Then he stands. “Let’s make it official then.”

He rushes from the room and returns with Aaron’s note, which he takes to the stove. “Fuck all this bullshit,” he says, turning on one of the burners. “Bad endings can lead to good beginnings. Right?”

I hesitate, because part of me still feels a little uncertain.

About what, exactly? I’m not sure, but I am eager to put all the ugliness behind me, so I nod.

A corner of the note touches flame. The rest burns so quickly that Tim hisses and drops it in the sink before washing the ashes down the drain.

I’m glad to see it go. I don’t want to wonder anymore.

“All right!” Tim says, returning to the table and hunkering down in front of his plate. “What are we gonna do with all this free time?”

“I should probably go home,” I say. “If only to get some fresh clothes.”

“Nah. You’re about the same size as Eric. You can borrow whatever you want from his closet. He’s a sharp dresser.”

“Including his underwear?”

Tim pulls out his phone. “We’ll have some delivered. Order whatever you want. Emergency same-day delivery panties.”

I laugh and give in, willingly, because I don’t really want to leave.

Even for a little bit. I send Allison a quick text, saying that I’m fine and that I won’t be home for a few days.

Then I turn off my phone. She probably already knows where I am.

I don’t need to hear her opinion. I’ll explain everything later. For now… It’s just me and him.

After we finish eating, we go up to Eric’s bedroom, which has a massive walk-in closet.

I have fun trying on different outfits, parading each in front of Tim, who sits on the bed to watch.

Once I’ve found clothes that I like, he hooks me up with some essentials, such as deodorant and a toothbrush, none of which have been used.

Eric seems to buy things in bulk. We could withstand a siege in this massive house.

I almost wish we had reason to. The concerns of the outside world grow distant regardless.

I don’t have any pending responsibilities.

I’d already taken the week off work to get my thesis done.

I haven’t felt this free since the lazy summers of my childhood.

We’re standing in the backyard under the sun so Chinchilla can do her business when Tim makes a suggestion that pairs nicely with that vibe.

“Wanna go swimming?”