Then Ben’s expression softens. He’s pale under his freckles, with shadows beneath his eyes. “I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. Why you’d leave in the morning without saying anything. Or…even leaving a note.”
He’s tearing me up inside.
“It’s my fault, believe me. Not yours, Ben. It wasn’t anything you did—please believe me.”
Ben hesitates, then nods at last. It’s obvious I’m a mess, wringing my hands and staring at him as we stand together in slush and ice.
“You’re all right?” he asks, assessing. Worried now as his expression relaxes a little.
I nod hurriedly. “I’ll be fine. This is normal enough for me. Which I guess isn’t normal. I mean, you’re not normal, you’re something else, too. I mean—ofcourseyou’re normal—oh fuck, why am I still talking? Again. Shit.”
My mouth has ideas of its own, while my brain shut off around five minutes ago. Despite acting like an arse, I’m not getting the dressing down I’ve earned.
Tentatively, he reaches out to take my hand. I draw a slow, deep breath as I gaze at him. He’s calming. I don’t have any right to this calm after how I’ve acted, but I’m grateful.
Around us, cars pass in the sleet. It’s a wintry gray day where the sun can’t win the battle to shine. Overhead, the uniform cloud blankets London. Graying snow sits in heaps where it’s been piled to the margins of the pavements to let pedestrians walk, salt and grit thrown down for traction.
A small smile crosses Ben’s lips. “I could tell you were in a bit of a state when you woke in the night.”
“Mmm,” I concede, shrugging a shoulder in acknowledgment. “It’s probably permanent, that state.”
He goes quiet again. “Then, I thought, if you’re not just off somewhere having a meltdown, you must’ve regretted being with me. Since you didn’t leave a note or your number. You were just…gone. I mean, you said you had work, but I thought you’d wake me, so clearly you thought it was a mistake—”
“No! Oh God, no. I had a brilliant time with you, believe me. That couldn’t be further from the truth—no regrets about you. At all.”
His smile broadens. “Thought so.”
“What?” I’m unable to suppress my smile. “You just wanted to hear me say that, didn’t you? And let me do all of—well, that.”
I wave my hand in a gesture intended to encompass emoting in the street but it’s probably coming across as a random, though hopefully endearing, set of flails.
“Kind of.” He tilts his head. “Then I thought another thing. Probably silly, since we’ve just met, and I suppose technically it was a hookup and all, but this feels important—but then I thought…maybe you have a boyfriend at home to get back to.”
“What?” I gawp, my eyebrows lifting. “Boyfriend? Jesus, no. No. Definitely no boyfriend—I don’t date. Actually—fuck it. The truth is that I have a dating ban. For the greater good. Public safety. God, what a thought, a boyfriend.”
Me having a boyfriend is as likely as me turning into a unicorn. That’s an idea far more foreign than feelings.
He chuckles, and I could be wrong, but I swear there’s a moment where he looks disappointed when I bring up the ban, a fleeting troubled expression across his face. Probably most people our age don’t have dating bans, but there we are. It’s my way to stand out in the world.
“All right then. I just needed to check.” He hesitates. “I once dated a married man for months before I realized he was married and then later I wondered how I’d missed all the clues. Max. That’s another story for another time, maybe.”
“Fucking hell.” I shake my head. “Well, rest assured, no boyfriend. Not even close.”
Ben squeezes my fingers and I shiver, from cold or who knows what. But we’re standing out here and he’s the only thing to register in my consciousness at this moment.
And then I know I’m going to say something else rather out there, especially for a one-night hookup. “I’m sorry, Ben. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Taking off like I did wasn’t brilliant, and I should have woken you up properly or left a note or my number. Something.”
People continue to go up and down the pavement around us with bags of Christmas shopping. And it’s also still freezing out here, and I shudder with cold. The day’s dull and the streetlamps have come on. The neighboring shops have their Christmas lights on.
“You’re forgiven.”
And we stare intently at each other. Probably neither one of us is breathing. Quite possibly, we may suffocate and need some serious mouth-to-mouth to recover.
“I missed you, Charlie. Even after one night.”
Did he actually just say that? So simply, like it didn’t cost him his spleen to say it?
“You did?” I ask. Something in me melts. I make myself take in a deep breath, make my shoulders relax.
