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I frowned, wishing I’d ordered another drink. But I had made enough bad decisions for one night, coming to this event being the first one. I’d hoped one of us would meet someone new. Instead, I’d spent the entire night comparing every single guy in the White Mountains to Benny and wishing I were sitting across from him instead. But I couldn’t sleep with Ben again. Not if I wanted to maintain the facade that we should go back to being best friends.
“Hm.” He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. “You just wanted to crowbar Warren into that conversation?”
I snorted. “Yeah.”
“You weren’t jealous?”
“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?” I shifted on the stool. “Besides, you know I don’t get jealous.”
He nodded, unconvinced. “You seemed a little jealous.”
I sighed. “Not jealous. Bored. Are you ready to head out?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Where am I bringing you?”
* * *
Under the incredibly weak excuse of desperately wanting to see a moose with a broken leg, Ben drove back to his place.
It was far too late to even see the animal, and over the course of my friendship with Ben, I’d seen more moose than most New Englanders. But he dutifully set his car toward the rescue, just the same.
We passed under the ancient sign proclaiming, “Welcome to Clarks! Bears, Beers, Bathrooms!” The paint had peeled with age, the grizzly bears etched into the wood barely visible, even with the floodlights on the entrance.
I sighed, a wave of nostalgia washing over. I’d spent entire summers working the cash register at his grandparent’s roadside stop while Ben helped train the bears. The roadside attraction had felt as much as home to me as my own house. Or, actually, Ben’s parent’s house.
“Do you think we could pay someone to fix up the sign? It’s practically falling apart.”
Ben laughed. “Really, Thea?”
I’d always thought of the roadside attraction as a fun and kitschy oddity. Ben hadn’t fully agreed. He worried that his grandparent’s store capitalized on animal exploitation and as soon as they retired, he’d dismantled the place and turned it into a wildlife rescue. During the renovations, he bought up some good points. Sure, his grandparents had rescued the animals and true, most of the rescued animals couldn’t go back in the wild, but Benny hated watching them perform. Hated making them perform even more. I supported him, until he wanted to take down the sign.
“Really, Benny. I love that sign.”
Or rather, I loved the memories that I associated with the sign. The lazy summer days after my mom died, when I could dance to old music with Ben’s grandmother and help his grandfather fix up the rapidly decaying building without being reminded of what was missing back home. I liked the way I felt there: protected and loved.
He sighed, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll look into it.”
Comforted, I settled into the seat as Ben navigated the truck through the long, dark dirt road to his house, past the animal enclosures and administration buildings until we turned down his driveway, a narrow road with a string of lights running down each side. Ben had lived in his grandparent’s store for years while he found funding for the rescue. He drew a meager salary, nowhere enough for the endless hours he spent building the place up from three aging brown bears to a staff of five and over fifty animals at any given time.
He’d only built a house of his own in the last year. I’d talked him out of a tiny house. Well, me along with Emily. She had been living with him and hoped they’d start a family. My intention had been less selfish. Ben deserved more.
After Emily broke up with him, he let me design the place instead, his only caveat being that I had to keep the project on budget. And I had. Mostly.
The wooden cabin blended in with the surrounding woods, a cozy fireplace in the living room with an insert that could heat the entire house, and a large kitchen, since Ben loved to cook. I selfishly added two extra bedrooms to the floor plan, leaving my things in one and the other for company, though Ben rarely had company.
We walked into the house and I pulled off my heels, hanging up my coat and padding my way into the kitchen. I pulled open the fridge. “What do you have that’s snacky?”
“Still hungry?” he laughed, searching from over my shoulder. He reached over me and pulled a beer out of the top shelf. “Do you want one?”
I shook my head. “Nope, just something to eat. And maybe some water.”
“I can get that.”
He poured me a glass of water from the tap while I scoured his kitchen, spotting a casserole dish in the back of the fridge. I pulled it out, opening the top.
“It’s a buffalo chicken dip. I can heat some up,” Ben offered.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, rubbing the cloth casserole holder with my thumb.
