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"I'm fine," I say. "I'll warm up in a minute."
Ben gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. "It's ok to admit you're cold." He swipes his sweater back up and puts it on over my head, kissing me on my hair as I push my arms through the sleeves.
I grudgingly have to admit I already feel better. Normally I'd be salty about being treated like a fragile little flower, but the grin on Ben's face and the look in his eyes makes it obvious that he's enjoying taking care of me.
"Thank you," I tell him.
"Happy to," he replies, and I believe him.
He pours me a cup of coffee and brings it to me with cream and sugar. I add a teaspoon of sugar and dump a ton of half and half into my cup. He watches me and smiles a little half smile before making his cup light on the creamer and a little sugar.
"Are you memorizing how I like my coffee?" I ask him. I cross my legs and lean back, huffing the coffee fumes and loving the way they mix with the smell of Ben's shirt.
"Maybe. How do you like your eggs?"
"Scrambled."
"Bacon or sausage?"
"Do I have to choose?"
"I knew I liked you for a reason." Ben moves easily in the kitchen, happy to cook.
"I've never had a man make me breakfast. Do you do this a lot?" I joke awkwardly. The words just pop out of nowhere. Why did I say that? Why can't I just have one day with Ben where I don't say something stupid?
"Make a woman breakfast? No ma'am. I've never cooked for a woman before. Unless you count my mother or sister." He grins, locking eyes with me until the bacon pops and he has to jump back.
"I'm sorry, I have to ask because I just don't understand. How the hell are you still single?"
Ben's dimple goes so deep that I swear you could use it for a rock-climbing grip.
"That's an easy one. I don't go out much. I dated around a bit, but nothing serious. There was nobody I really wanted before you."
"So you don't go around fingering random women on kitchen counters?" I ask with an arched brow.
Ben chokes on a sip of coffee and coughs, thumping a fist against his chest before answering. "God, no! Just you."
That shouldn't make me as happy as it does, but my chest constricts, my heart thumping, so pleased at being the only one he wants.
If he was anyone else, I'd struggle to believe him. I think about the way he bandaged my head so carefully and the way he consistently puts me first, both in bed and out of it. He's made a real and visible effort to take care of me, and that lights a tiny spark of hope in a part of me that has been dark for a long fucking time. I know I don't trust easily, but for the first time in my life, I truly feel like I can put my faith in someone besides my siblings and my grandmother.
Jesus, this is a lot to process before coffee.
"Where did you get your photos?" I ask him, gesturing at the prints that cover his walls.
Ben grins at one of the photos as he plates our breakfast on two plain white plates. "My sister, Ella, is a photographer. She sends me a print from each assignment. You'll like her. She's a free spirit and much like your grandmother, she has the mouth of a drunken sailor."
Ben puts a plate piled with fluffy scrambled eggs, sausage and crispy bacon in front of me before leaning down to kiss me sweetly.
I may not know where this is going, but I want more of it.
