Page 7 of Hate It with You

I roll my eyes at him. When he goes to reach for a second donut, I grab an apple from the counter and set it in front of him. The eye roll he gives me is almost as good as mine. Then again, he did learn from the best.

“I don’t need much help, but I’m sure Sienna would love to see you,” I say, taking another sip of my tea and grabbing a donut myself. Chocolate with sprinkles. “I haven’t slept much, so I was going to shower and then get a start on the day. Opening is at noon, and there’s plenty of prep I need to do before then.”

Ben nods, getting up from his seat and stretching his arms overhead. His donut is gone, and the apple remains untouched. His metabolism is one I’d kill for. How he can maintain his slim figure despite eating as much sugar as he wants. Although I haven’t been in months, the gym has always been kind to my figure, keeping my thick curves toned as long as I lift heavy.

I guess our metabolism differences are a result of having different fathers. Though unlike Benny, I never knew mine.

“I can help, but first, let me take a nap. That plane was uncomfortable as hell. I had a fucking middle seat,” Ben says as he moves toward the living room. He stops, motioning a hand toward the ground.

“Where’s your couch?”

“I don’t have one yet. Sienna got our old one when I moved here.” I finish the last bite of my donut and continue, “You can take my bed if you need a nap. I won’t be using it this morning anyway.” I motion to the bedroom toward the left.

When he nods and turns toward the door, I notice how tired he looks. His short auburn hair is freshly cut, no doubt having visited his barber yesterday. Anything to keep up with those military regulations. The bags under his eyes reveal how tired he is from his plane ride. Knowing him, those will be gone by the morning, considering he has always been able to bounce back fast from a night of no sleep with only a short nap.

Our differences are stark, his father giving him very different genes than my father gave me. Our mother, on the other hand, passed down enough genes that we at least look like siblings. We both share our mother’s deep-blue eyes and her bright smile. Neither one of us has spoken to her in the past five years.

The thought reminds me of the very small slip of paper sitting on my nightstand. Moving as fast as I can at such an early hour, I rush past Ben to beat him to the bedroom, opening my nightstand drawer and shoving the note inside before he can see.

If he knew I got such a creepy note, he’d only be concerned. Ben worrying about me is the last thing I need. He needs to focus on whatever it is he’s doing for the military and on his own life. He’s done enough for me as it is.

“What was that?”

I turn around to Ben standing in the doorway, my hand on the nightstand drawer behind me. “Nothing.” I reply, “Just don’t open the nightstand.”

“Ew, I know better than to open someone’s nightstand drawer. Nothing good is ever found in those.” His response makes me let out a sigh of relief.

Ben falls face-first onto my bed, his feet hanging off as he kicks off his shoes. His eyes immediately close as I move toward my dresser that's opposite the bed, to get my clothes for the day. At least I had a mind to unpack some of my most worn clothing. The rest sit in boxes next to the closet doors to the left of the dresser. I’ll get to those eventually.

“I’m gonna shower and then head downstairs. Feel free to meet me whenever,” I tell Ben.

A mumbled agreement is all he gets out before he’s knocked out for good. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach as I head toward the bathroom, preparing for the day ahead.

A sense of relief flows through me now that Ben is here. As long as he doesn’t find the note, it’ll be nice visiting with my brother, whom I haven’t seen since the holidays.

If he finds the note, on the other hand, that’s a different story. He’d want to stay for good, and I don’t think I could live with myself if he put his life on hold to protect me.

No, I’ll be fine on my own. I have to be.

3

BETH

I’m sitting at my desk in the back room of my bookstore when Ben decides to join me after his five-hour nap. His heavy footsteps echo through the hallway as he stomps down the stairs toward the back door I’ve left open for him.

“Alright, I’m rested and ready to help,” Ben says, standing in the open doorway. He’s holding another donut, presumably the last, and I remind myself to send him on a lunch run later. With only two hours until opening, there’s no way my early breakfast will hold me over before then.

Standing from my desk, I slunk over to the storage shelves, my tiredness already taking hold of my body. Looking at my stock of books, I slide a small rolling cart toward me. Another item I got at a steep discount from a different bookstore since they were upgrading theirs.

“I’m not sure I need help with too much, but you can hang out if you want,” I say as I start to load up the cart with as many romance books from the shelves that’ll fit. That’s my store’s specialty: romance. I keep them in their stacks of subgenres as I place the books on the cart.

Ben finishes his donut before wiping his hand on his pant leg and grabbing a book off the shelf. Clearly he’s intent on ignoring my dismissal of his offer to help. This is usually what he does: I deny help, and he does it anyway. By that factor alone, you’d think he was the older one.

Once the cart is full, I push it through the door that leads out into the bookstore. The sunlight shines through the half-open blinds on the front windows, painting my bookstore in a warm hue perfect for a spring weekend opening.

I take a deep inhale, my senses becoming overloaded with the smell of the sweet vanilla-scented candle I lit an hour ago. It’s taken a candle a day and some serious deep cleaning to get rid of the old coffee smell, but I’m happy it’s finally gone.

“It looks great in here.” I shoot him a glance from the corner of my eye at his compliment. “I’m serious, it really does.” Ben chuckles, and my shoulders relax.