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“You really wanna know?”
I give Ben a sidelong glance as I think to myself.
Five-o-clock shadow, perfectly mussed hair, dark eyes, and a muscular but not bulky physique? Oh, and strong hands.
“Yeah, lay it on me.”
“The guys I date are usually kind of like me.”
“Sweet and gorgeous with a talent for writing poetry?” Ben asks, flashing me that gorgeous grin of his.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and keep my eyes firmly trained on the road, feeling my cheeks color. John Mayer is still singing in the background,You look so good it hurts sometimes.
“Book nerds,” I reply simply.
Ben lets out a yelp of laughter that fills the whole car, making my stomach flutter. Having seen glimpses of his darker side, I love to hear him laugh.
“What about you?” I retort as I maneuver the car off the highway and into the city. “What’s your type? Supermodels with attitude problems?”
“Hey no!”
“I mean, one of your exes supposedly threw her phone at you.”
“I can’t comment on that,” Ben replies with a grin. “But I can tell you she’s got good aim,” he adds, rubbing his chest ruefully as if he’s just been hit.
“Here we are,” I announce as I pull up to a small strip mall with a string of shabby-looking buildings. “Where do you want to start? Harry’s Home Goods or Burt’s Beds?”
“Is this a small-town thing? To name your store after yourself?” Ben asks with a chuckle.
“Maybe it’s supposed to make it feel more personal,” I reply with a shrug.
“Let’s try Burt’s Beds first. Do you think we’ll meet the famous Burt?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
As we cross the parking lot to Burt’s Beds, a brisk breeze blows, lifting up the skirt of my dress slightly. Panicked, I quickly smash it back down, dropping my keys in the process.
“Ah ha, I saw your undies,” Ben teases me as he bends to pick up the keys for me.
“Shut up,” I grumble, while thanking myself for wearing a cute pair today—not one of my ratty old grandma panties.
“What’s that song the kids used to sing?I see London, I see France, I see Lacy’s underpants!” He dances around me in a circle as he chants the little tune, leaving me doubled over with laughter.
“You’re such a dope.”
“A dope who makes you laugh.”
“Fair enough. Now, get serious. We’ve got an important purchase to make,” I say, putting on my most serious face as we approach the store.
Ben opens the door for me, bowing low and ushering me inside as if he were some kind of old-time butler. But all the while, he’s still quietly humming the tune to that kids song,I see London, I see France…The bell on the door tinkles loudly, announcing our entrance and, within seconds, there’s an older guy—late 50s—approaching us. He’s wearing jeans and a checked shirt, despite the heat outside.
“Now that’s what I like to see!” He bellows at us as Ben straightens up from his exaggerated bow and steps in after me. “A real gentleman! Opening the door for his lady. Don’t see that a lot from the young folks these days.”
“I try my best, sir,” Ben replies with a grin.
“Nice to meet you folks, I’m Burt of Burt’s Beds,” the man extends a hand and shakes Ben’s vigorously before turning to me.
“Pleased to meet you, Burt!” Ben exclaims cheerily, shooting me a look. “We were hoping we’d have a chance to meet the legend himself.”
