“Aye. I did.” Ben gives me a wry look. “But I don’t want to interfere with your policy. I don’t expect an exemption from the ban. You probably have good reasons.”
I squeeze his fingers, warm in mine. “It’s a bit complicated,” I admit. “To be honest, it’s a lot complicated. But—it doesn’t have to do with any boyfriends, husbands, or lovers on the side. I swear.”
Ben nods, then dares to lift my hand to press against his lips. I push a finger into his warm mouth as he sucks. Heaven. Pedestrians skirt around us with grumbles and complaints, but neither of us move, caught up in each other.
“Huh.” Eventually, I reclaim my hand.
“I wish…well, never mind what I wish. But I had a grand time with you, and I wouldn’t be sorry for more. We’ll call it meaningless sex if you want. No strings.”
I trace his lips. They sear against my frozen fingers.
“Don’t say anything right now.” Ben looks intently at me, like his eyes can keep me quiet through sheer force of will. And I stay silent while he continues. “Think about it. I’ll give you my number and you can call me if you want anything like that. And if you don’t call, I get it’s policy, and not personal.” He smiles.
Gulping, I nod. And, at last, we exchange our numbers. “Maybe…we can keep doing this while the snow sticks around.”
That’s a few days, tops. No harm in that, right? An exemption to the dating ban when there’s snow.
Ben beams at me. “Let’s do that.”
“’Kay.” I give a tentative smile, my heart careening around.
“I know you need to get back to work, but I want to say that I feel better for having talked with you. Cheers for that,” Ben confesses.
“I’m sorry for doing such a shit thing, especially with your history with other men. I feel terrible.”
We gaze at each other. Hesitate. Do we hug? Kiss?
He turns to leave, to walk down the pavement, away from me, but it’s tearing me up inside.
“Wait!” I blurt, unable to let him go quite yet. There’s nothing chill about the desperation in my voice.
Ben turns back, looking worried. “What?”
“I can’t let you go without—well, without telling you more. Something…something important.”
He catches my hand, squeezing it. Our gazes lock. “Tell me. Whatever it is,” Ben whispers. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”
“I—well, the thing is, I left for a couple of reasons, but also because I didn’t think I deserved you. You’re brilliant and funny and successful—and fucking hot—and…it couldn’t be happening to me. It couldn’t be my life. I was convinced it had to be a mistake. That you made a mistake.” My eyes fill with unexpected tears at being vulnerable before Ben, out here on a Soho street while London life continues as usual around us. “Wanting me. Even for a night or two or, I guess, feeling that there may be something there. Like I’m not rubbish. That you like me just the way I am. Everything else in my life seems to have…conditions. But not you. And…I’m not used to being vulnerable in front of people. Especially about someone that—well, that I care about. Already.”
Ben traces my tears away, hot against the coolness of his fingers. Stricken, he catches my face between his hands. “Charlie…you deserve all of the brilliant, beautiful things. Every last one of them. No matter how complicated it is. I know I didn’t make a mistake. And I can tell this isn’t easy for you. And it’s okay. If you want to talk more, I’m here for it. For you.”
Light-headed, I can’t believe what he says. Can’t take it, really. How could he think those things?
But it thrills me to hear him say it, to say it like that, without a doubt in his eyes or his voice, while he holds me like I’m the most important thing in the universe in that moment. So I kiss him, and he kisses me with reverence, and some distant part of me that might give fucks notes that we’re probably making a spectacle on the street, but I don’t care. Not one bit. My family isn’t here to complain. And Jasmine can tease me all she wants later.
“It was the best night I’ve had in a very long time.” My arms around him, I force a steadying breath into my lungs. God. If this is what swooning feels like, no wonder the literary heroines I read about for uni had chaise longues everywhere to catch them when it came to matters of the heart. I can’t take it. I tremble.
“Ach, Charlie,” Ben manages. And his eyes are damp then too.
And we stand there, grinning at each other. I take his hand.
“Well, if you like, you can come over later.” Ben looks anxious, but he can’t stop smiling either.
Some part of me hesitates, just for a nanosecond.
Ben shifts from foot to foot, squeezing my hand with assurances, even in that simple gesture. “No strings—”
“OfcourseI’m coming over.”
