I stared at my reflection, jaw tight, refusing to acknowledge the guilt twisting low in my stomach.
Rhys didn't want me. Not really. He wanted me in dark hallways and empty spaces where no one could see, where he could kiss me breathless and then vanish like I'd imagined the whole thing. He wanted me enough to pin my wrists above my head, enough to make me forget my own name—but not enough to stay. Not enough to choose me.
Ben was safe. Normal. He asked me to dinner like a regular person, smiled at me like I wasn't something broken he needed to fix or avoid. He didn't look at me like touching me might destroy us both.
I grabbed my jacket from the chair, checked my phone one last time.
No messages.
This was moving forward. This was choosing myself.
This wasn't betrayal. It couldn't be.
I quickly straightened my hair, getting rid of some of the frizz, but not all. Frowned. Considered hairspray, but decided against it.
The knock came five minutes early.
I grabbed my bag and pulled open the door to find Ben standing there with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. His hair looked freshly washed, still damp at the edges, and he'd swapped his usual work hoodie for a button-down beneath the jacket.
He was trying. Really trying.
"Hey." His grin was wide, boyish, a little nervous. "You look great."
Heat crept up my neck. "Thanks. You too."
He did. Clean-cut, approachable, exactly the kind of guy I should want. The kind who wouldn't kiss me like the world was ending and then disappear into the night without a word.
"Ready?" He stepped back, gesturing toward the parking lot.
I locked the door behind me and followed him down the narrow hallway, acutely aware of the silence between us. Not uncomfortable exactly, just... present. He filled it with small talk about traffic and the restaurant he'd picked, his voice carrying that eager edge of someone who wanted everything to go perfectly.
His car was older but clean, parked under one of the few working streetlights. He moved ahead of me and pulled open the passenger door before I could reach for the handle myself.
I froze for half a second. "Oh. Thank you."
"No problem." He waited until I slid inside before closing it gently, then jogged around to the driver's side.
The gesture was sweet. Thoughtful. Normal. And I hated that my brain immediately conjured Rhys—dark eyes and controlled stillness, the way he moved through space like he owned it without ever demanding anything.
Ben slid into the driver's seat, still smiling, still trying so damn hard to make this easy for me. I forced myself to smile back. He turned the key, and the engine coughed to life, warm air blasting from the vents a moment later. He fiddled with the heat dial, glancing over apologetically.
"Takes a minute to warm up. Sorry."
"It's fine." I buckled my seatbelt, tucking my hands between my knees. "Really."
He pulled out of the parking lot with careful precision, checking his mirrors twice before merging onto the main road. The radio played something soft and forgettable—pop station background noise that filled the silence without demanding attention.
"So," he started, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel in time with the music. "Have you tried Italian around here? There's this place downtown that's supposed to be amazing. Family-owned, been there forever."
"I haven't really explored much yet." The admission felt smaller than it should have. "Haven't had time, I guess."
"Right, yeah. You've been working nonstop since you started." He shot me a quick look, warm and understanding. "Jenna runs a tight ship."
"She does." A genuine smile tugged at my mouth. "But she's good at what she does. I've learned a lot already."
"She likes you, you know. Said you pick things up fast."
Heat crept into my cheeks. "She said that?"
