I lean against him, comforted by his embrace.
Ben rubs my back, then breaks away to ready the tea. Watching him go through the familiar rituals of tea-making is soothing. Ben sets everything on a tray, including a bottle of whiskey, and leads us to the living room. He sets the tray down on the leather ottoman before turning on the gas fire. Taking me by the hand, he sits me on the sofa and wraps a blanket around my shoulders.
He gives me another appraising gaze. “Tea first. Then whiskey.”
“Spoken like a man who knows his priorities.”
Picking up the teapot, Ben pours and fixes the tea the way I like before passing a mug over, and then tends to his own. When he settles in beside me, he puts my feet in his lap, his hands over them for a long moment. Warm.
“Jesus, these are ice blocks, not feet.” He kneads them gently.
I laugh. “I have to deal with what nature gave me. I wasn’t missing your gig. Not for any reason. I had to come see you. To try to explain and to apologize for being a mess. Again. For that terrible text, for starters.”
He shakes his head, eyes crinkling with a smile. What does he see when he looks at me like that?
“Charlie,” Ben murmurs in his lilt.
“I love how you say that.” I shiver as he continues to massage my bare feet.
What do I need to do for Ben to keep saying my name like that? What if I become accustomed to this sort of thing? Or what if it all falls apart? I’ll be left haunted by the memories of Ben’s foot massages and so much more when this all ends—fucking hell, he’s good.
“It’s the least I can do, after turning you to ice on my account, literally leaving you out in the cold.” Ben shakes his head, his lip ring catching the light from the fire. “I should’ve thought about the weather more. But…I’m so glad you came out tonight. And you’re forgiven, for the record. I can tell you’re not used to having someone close.”
That’s undeniably true. I gulp. Nerves take over.
“Are you sure you didn’t want to be out tonight with your mates instead?” A flutter of anxiety cuts to the quick, and my mouth takes off before my brain can catch up.
“There’s no place I’d rather be right now than here with you.” Ben pretends to consider. There’s mischief in his eyes. “Well, it was either that or getting all my teeth pulled, so—”
I squawk my protest and swat at him, and he cracks up and so do I and we’re lost in gales of laughter. Eventually, we calm down and drink tea again. I wipe tears of mirth with the cuff of my shirt.
“Way to sell it, Mr. Campbell,” I say at last when I can speak again.
He grins. “We were in danger of getting too soppy. But I don’t mind that, actually. There’re worse things than telling someone you’re into that you’re into them. And I’m into you, Charlie. You’re fab.”
My breath catches. “Oh, don’t mess me about—”
“I’m not.” Ben provides assurances through a teasing kiss that, as usual, leaves me having an out of body experience. “Why do you think I’d mess you about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because I’ve messed you about?”
“I won’t mess you about,” Ben assures me. “I promise.”
“I just don’t want…I guess I don’t want to tell you too much about me. In case it’s too much. And because…well, I thought I’d just see you once or twice, and that would be it. Because my life’s complicated. But it’s been a few days now, and we’ve seen each other more than twice, and…I can’t forget you. I suppose I’ve got to come clean sooner or later at this point. And well, I…I like you too. I’m scared that if I tell you about me, about the things I’ve done, this will end. That you’ll change your mind when you know what my real life is like.”
He shifts and takes my hand, resting his other hand on my ankle. I peer at him over my tea, hands wrapped around the top of the mug. There’s kindness and curiosity in his smile. And those ever steady sea-blue eyes, dark and dramatic against the shock of bleached blond hair that falls over his forehead as he considers me.
“Charlie?”
“Yes?”
“You’re already more than enough.”
“How can you say that, not knowing about me?” My face warms. Something inside me twists, tangled between excitement and terror.
“Oh, I know a few things. That you make a mean latte. That you’re hilarious. That you fuck like a beast and have an unholy way with yarn. And I’m so curious about you. You’re wicked clever, for starters. And I know you’re a fab musician yourself. But I don’t want to push. I get the idea you’re holding things back. You said your life’s complicated. We’ll work it out, if that’s what you want. I mean, it’s what I want. I’ve been around long enough and have seen and heard some things.”
I fidget with my mug. “I have it in my head that after tonight you’ll be off visiting your family and mates in Scotland for Christmas, and then we’ll be back to our ordinary lives. You’ll be busy doing all the many things that you do. And you’ll forget about me. And I’ll be back to my usual, and whatever this is going on between us will just be a memory.”
