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The dogs set up a chorus of barking as Rachel came to the kitchen door with Fred, a light automatically flicking on outside as she raised her hand to knock. Ben opened it before her fist had touched the wood, and Rachel blinked at him, discomfited by his simple presence. He’d stripped off his outer layers, the boots and the overalls and the fleece-lined jacket, and was dressed in jeans and a Henley-style long johns shirt that hugged his biceps and muscled chest. His hair was rumpled and sticking up in front, and stubble glinted on his jaw and chin. He didn’t look surprised to see her, although Rachel hadn’t told him she was coming.
“Hey.” He stepped aside so she could come in through the door. “I just got in. Mum’s out tonight at the WI—you weren’t looking for her, were you?”
“No.” Was she imagining that lazily flirtatious note in his voice, the way she’d convinced herself she’d imagined it last time? Why would he be flirting with her after all these years, anyway? Just because he could?
“So it was me you came to see?” Ben asked, and now he definitely sounded flirtatious. Either that or she was losing her mind. Rachel bent down to unclip Fred’s lead, and also to hide her blush. She’d been in a state of near-constant embarrassment and anxiety since running into Ben on his tractor. She’d really thought this unhelpful awareness of him, of his body, his smell, even, would have abated by now. A lot.
“I wanted to talk to you about some stuff with my dad,” she said as she straightened, once she trusted her voice to sound level and her body not to respond to his, even if that shirt was obscenely tight. She could see the outline of hispecs, for heaven’s sake. It was very distracting.
“Okay.” Ben’s voice was easy and slow, but she thought a slightly guarded note had crept into it. He went over to the Aga and opened the door to peer inside. “Mum’s left me a lamb casserole,” he said over his shoulder. “You fancy some?”
A jolt went through her at the thought of sharing a meal together. Almost like a date. No.No.“That’s okay,” Rachel replied, “Harriet’s making supper.”
“Are you sure?” Ben asked, a note of challenge lilting his voice as he closed the door to the Aga and turned around to face her. Fred was sniffing around the table while the other dogs had settled into their usual places. “I’ve got that bottle of red already open, as well, from our dinner the other night.” He raised his eyebrow, a slow smile curling the edges of his mouth.
Rachel blinked as the image of them sharing a meal together developed details, tantalising ones. Wine, candlelight, murmuring voices…No, Rachel!“I didn’t know you drank wine,” she said, a bit stupidly, but her brain was buzzing, and it had become hard to think.
Ben shrugged expansively. “Sometimes I do.” Again with that lovely little quirk of a smile. “I assume you don’t just drink Kopparberg, anymore, do you? You did have a glass of wine the other night.”
For a second she pictured herself at that disco, bottle in hand, heart thumping. She felt like she was that girl again, and the realisation was alarming. “No,” she admitted after a moment. “Definitely no more Kopparberg Cider for me.”
Ben reached in the cupboard for two plates. “How about it, then?” He raised his eyebrows, the plates now in his hands, and Rachel felt a sudden, fizzy sort of recklessness take hold of her, buoy her spirits—and her bravery. The kitchen was so cosy and warm, the lamb casserole smelled wonderful, and a glass of wine actually sounded like heaven. And yes,Ben. He was the most tempting part of that scenario, for sure.
“All right,” she replied with what was meant to be a careless shrug but felt more like a nervous twitch. “I’ll just text Harriet to let her know not to wait.”
“Seems like you two are getting along,” Ben remarked as he set the table and Rachel slid her phone out of her pocket and thumbed a quick text:Eat without me. I’ll be back later.
“More than we used to,” Rachel replied, sliding her phone back in her pocket. “Although I don’t know how much that’s saying, really.” She paused, and then admitted quietly, “I didn’t actually know she’d never taken her A levels until recently. I can’t believe I hadn’t twigged that earlier.”
Ben shrugged as he reached for two wine glasses and poured them both generous measures. “Well, she never told you, did she?”
He spoke like someone who had known the truth for a while, and Rachel felt a little splinter of—what? Not jealousy, no, but not a good emotion, either. Something sharp and prickly that had lodged in her insides as she pictured Ben and Harriet in this very kitchen, eating a lamb casserole and sharing a bottle of wine along with their old secrets.Ben was always yours.But was he? Was he, really?
“No, she didn’t,” Rachel said after a moment, “but I never pressed her about her results or anything. She told me she’d changed her mind about university, and I left it at that. I should have realised there was more to it.”
Ben handed her a glass of wine, and as she took it her fingers brushed his, and a twang of awareness, oflonging, ricocheted right through her, far too strong for that barest of touches.Oh, help.That physical awareness really hadn’t abated at all. If anything, it was getting stronger by the second. “I’m glad we’ve talked about it now,” she continued, praying her voice sounded steady, “but it feels like I missed the boat more than I realised before. More than I let myself realise, I suppose.” She took a sip of wine, enjoying the velvety smoothness of it as it coated her throat, the way it instantly relaxed her, at least a little. “Anyway,” she said, wanting to move the topic on.
“Sounds as if you two have had some chats.” Ben’s gaze, his eyes glinting gold in the dim light of the kitchen, met hers for a moment that lingered on, neither of them looking away although Rachel felt that she should. “That has to be good.”
“Yes, I think so.” She finally broke his gaze and took another sip of her wine. This time, however, she choked, spluttering helplessly, her hand pressed to her mouth as her eyes streamed and, mortifyingly, she splattered Ben with drops as she continued to cough and wheeze.
He took her glass from her before she spilled it and then patted her back, firmly at first, no more than the usual medical necessity as she recovered her breath, and then with a slow, circular rubbing, his fingers tracing the knobs of her spine, in a way that made Rachel feel as if she were melting inside, turning boneless and watery.
“I’m all right,” she managed after a moment, her voice hoarse, and she stepped away on shaky legs, her whole body ablaze with sensation. Ben, seemingly unaffected, dropped his hand and then retrieved her wine glass, handing it back to her with a small smile.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice touched with both amusement and concern.
No.“Yes.” She took another sip, this time carefully, swallowed it slowly with a small sigh of relief. She’d been here five minutes and she felt like a wreck. She really, really needed to get a grip. Immediately, if not sooner, because this was meant to be a business chat, about her dad and the mortgage and the farm, not…
Not what it was. Except what was it? She had no idea if half of this, no,allof it, was in her head. The desperate, fevered imaginings of a lonely heart.Ugh.That made her feel so pathetic.
“Anyway,” she said again, this time a bit desperately. “About my dad.”
Chapter Twelve
“What about him?”Ben asked, his voice sounding mild—deceptively so, Rachel thought. She thought she detected a slight edge underneath the smooth tone, the easy manner, as he moved into the sitting room where a log fire was already burning comfortably, the room warm and welcoming and so very familiar.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d snuggled up on the sofa with Harriet and Ben to watch movies, a big bowl of buttery popcorn between them, Diana coming in to make sure they weren’t too scared byGhostbustersorThe Goonies, classics from their own parents’ childhoods. They’d taken off all the cushions and pillows more than once to make a huge den that had collapsed on top of them while they’d been helpless with giggles; Diana had never seemed to mind the mess. They’d had sleepovers, the three of them lined up like sausages in sleeping bags in front of the fire, passing out around midnight after declaring they wouldn’t sleep all night.
