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Trixie weaves between my legs, crying for her own breakfast. Tossing the blanket on the breakfast bar, I scoop Trixie up, hug her to my chest like a football, fetch her bowl, and head for the laundry room behind the kitchen. “Has Pepper eaten?”
“Yeah, she’s good.”
One scoop of kibble in her bowl and Trixie wriggles to get down. I set her on the floor and carry her food out to the living room. Bolting in front of me, her string of meows is one unending cry. Setting her food down, I scratch behind her ears as she devours the small bits.
“Save some for later, silly girl.”
In the kitchen, I snag the pancake mix and bowl and get to work on the batter. Travis cracks eggs in another bowl and scrambles them. We move in tandem, as if we’ve been cooking together for years instead of days. And as he finishes cooking the last of the pancakes, I slip on boots, swipe up the blanket, bundle myself in it, and head outside to get Ben.
Hair whips across my face as I step past the eaves of the cabin. Tugging the blanket higher and tighter, I take the stairs one at a time. Snow crunches under my boots, the occasional flake landing on my face or the blanket as I cross the lawn to the still-roaring fire. My heart bangs faster, harder in the confines of my rib cage as I eliminate the distance between me and a broody Ben.
His fingers stop fumbling with the stick in his hands when I sidle up to him. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t gift me his soft smile. Doesn’t acknowledge my presence in any customary way. He simply stares at the fire, jaw tight and posture rigid.
Rather than spark a one-sided conversation, I tip one of the other chairs sideways and shake off the snow. Then I drag it closer to his chair until the arms touch. Dropping into the seat, I draw my knees to my chest, drape the blanket around them, and rest my chin on my knees.
Silence stretches the seconds to feel like hours as neither of us speaks. Ben goes back to breaking apart sticks while I zone out watching the flames dance.
Peeking at Ben in my periphery, I fight the urge to apologize. Unsure what it is he’s upset about, I don’t want to apologize for the wrong thing. Maybe he didn’t hear me and Travis the past two nights. Maybe he just feels out of place in this messed-up situation.
Without a doubt, Ben wants more than friendship with me. Seeing me share simple intimacy with Travis—holding hands, playful shoves, kisses to my cheek and temple and forehead—after his confession has to be salt rubbed in his splintering heart.
I don’t want to hurt Ben. But I don’t want to lie to him either.
Travis and I still have yet to define our relationship with titles or proclamations, and maybe that is because we both have pasts to unravel. Wounds that are still fresh mentally. Invisible scars that need extra care. Our hurt may not be the same, but we understand and respect each other nonetheless.
Which is why this is so difficult.
In my own way, I love Travis. And I love Ben.
But could I ever bein lovewith either of them? I want to say yes. I want to believe, after all these years, it is possible to dismantle the brick wall I built around my heart. I want to believe it is possible to fall in love and not worry about losing that person.
Bicep pressing against his, I lean into him. Rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. Breathe in his leather and soap scent. Curve my lips up into an almost imperceptible smile as his rigid frame softens, as he gives me his weight in return.
“You know I love you, Benji,” I whisper as I open my eyes, the words floating away in a white puff.
The stick in his hand drops to his lap, then falls to the ground. A shudder ripples from his chest, his frame visibly shaking as the small wave of aftershocks passes through the length of his limbs and absorbs into mine.
He rests his cheek on my crown and sighs. “Yeah, sparkles, I know.” On a ragged inhale, he lays his hand next to mine, his little finger lightly stroking mine. “Love you too.”
We sit like this—motionless, mute, lost in thought—for hour-long minutes, our cloudy breaths mingling.
In another life, one where my dad didn’t die and I stayed in Smoky Creek, Ben and I would be more than this. More than two best friends reconnecting after years apart. More than two people with an unclear future. In that other life, I have no doubt Ben and I would have dated. He would have been my first kiss, my first romantic love, my first everything. And I would have been his. We may have had arguments and heartbreak, but we would have mended those wounds.
If that other life existed, Ben would be the one pulling me into his arms and pressing me to his chest. Ben would kiss me breathless, and I’d kiss him with equal fervor. If that other life existed, I would tell Ben I love him in a way that saysI am in love with you.
My eyes fall shut as a shiver rolls up my spine.
In another life…
I brush the side of his finger with mine. “Hungry?”
With a turn of his head, he presses his lips to my hair, holding them there. “Mmm.”
Inching back, I lift my head and meet his gaze. The vivid turquoise of his irises invades my vision, the heat of his breath hits my lips in soft, short puffs. I swallow at his proximity, my heart rattling my rib cage with desperate fists. I lick my lips, then tuck them between my teeth. Such a simple move, but not one that will keep me from making a move. It certainly won’t quash the desire simmering beneath the surface. The urge, the impulse, theneedclawing up my neck and heating my cheeks. The compulsion screaming at the top of its lungs to lean back into Ben, to get sucked back into his gravity once more. To exist in his orbit and cave to this attraction between us. To kiss him again and surrender to this muddled mess in my head and heart.
Closer.
One centimeter.
