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“Oh,” I said aloud.
“I’ll be busy for most of the day. Why don’t you plan on coming over around five?”
“Five. Sharp. Yes.”
One more kiss. Long and slow. My favorite.
Watched Bennett leave. He blew me a kiss when he got in his truck. Headlights backed out of the driveway.
Tomorrow was day three.
ChapterFifteen
NOTHINGLOOKEDDIFFERENTinside Bennett’s house. My eyes roamed the living room, the kitchen, the dining space. Itsmelleddifferent, but that was from the three candles scattered throughout the space.
What did he have delivered today?I wondered.
Bennett had hollered for me to let myself in. He moved with swift efficiency in the kitchen as he bade me hello. I sauntered in and dropped a twelve pack of seltzers on the peninsula countertop. If he wanted to drink alcohol, I figured we could dip into whatever supply he had. But something told me he wanted to stay sober on night three of his time off. I pulled out my wallet and keys and dropped them at the corner by the fruit basket. Like I was coming home from work. Like we shared this place.
A peck on the cheek and Bennett was back into the kitchen sorting through two bowls of sauces. He pulled a tray of two steaks from the oven, one of which had a wired thermometer attached to it. A cast-iron skillet on the stove smoked, the exhaust vent working overtime to keep the house cleared. Bennett called it “reverse sear,” whatever that meant. Dinner was ready in under ten minutes after stepping through the door.
I could really get used to this, I thought as Bennett navigated us to the dinner table. As always, he had some sort of jazz album on vinyl. I poured us two fancy glasses of raspberry and lime seltzer.
“Cheers, Benny,” I said and held up my glass.
“Cheers, Conny.”
Dinner passed with light, innocuous conversation. Between us, I could barely make out the invisible balloon of “are we gonna have sex tonight” swelling with each minute that passed. I noted that Bennett only ate half of his steak, each bite slow. He never quite met my gaze either, as if shying away from something. Or anticipating something?
After dinner, we got into a light domestic spat about who should clean. Bennett won and exiled me to the living room. I poured a second can of seltzer and meandered toward the record player. An idea sparked.
Tonightisthe night, I told myself. Of that, I became certain.
I flipped through his records until I found the one I wanted. Stopped the jazz. The record scratched and Bennett paused in the kitchen, his hands in the sink. I dropped on the new record, reset the needle, and let the music hit.
Rumoursby Fleetwood Mac. The band I avoided for twelve years. I loved their music, listened to everything they did on repeat that summer with Bennett. It was time to listen again.
I saw Bennett’s cheeks go red as he returned to the sink. That invisible balloon of what went unsaid just doubled. He knew I knew. Now all we had to do was get through the next stretch of time before he let me make love to him. A quiet and tender prelude to our song.
I sat on the end of the couch and propped my chin on my palm while I watched him. Was he stalling? Taking extra long on each dish?
The opening song of the album finished. “Dreams” started and Bennett wrapped up in the kitchen. He turned and zeroed in on me with those blues of his. My stomach flipped.
“Do you remember that night?” I asked of him.
He grabbed his water and came into the living room. “Which one?”
“Thenight.”The night I realized you were about to change my entire life. “In the back of Chris’s car. We were driving down Route 2.”
Bennett set his glass next to mine. Instead of sitting next to me, he straddled me. Licked his lips. “Hmm,” he said playfully, “you’ll have to give me more than that. There were a lot of nights driving around in Chris’s car.” He wrapped his hands around my neck. Our noses touched.
My hands went to his hips. Gripped hard. “You sang to me. Quietly. But you sang, just for me. To this song.”
He pulled a hand back and tapped his lips. “Something about selling your dreams, right?” I nodded. “Well, did you? Did you have any to sell me, Connor Clarke?”
I couldn’t hold back my growing erection. Just the night before, this position had taken on an entirely different meaning. “Only one.”
Bennett leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine. “Which dream is that?”
