“Ooh, what’d you do to me.” Gazing across the pillow, he’s all smiles, drowsy. “Some sort of Londoner spell, I ken.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s you. Or it’s the snow.” I hesitate, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I worry when it melts, you’ll disappear, too.”
“Aww, lovely. I’m going nowhere, I promise. We can keep seeing each other after the snow melts, you know. I’ll be back soon from Edinburgh, and we can catch up when you’re back from Wales.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Ben kisses me deeply and I soar somewhere over the sprawling city, like I’m looking down at us in Ben’s artful room of sage and skulls, taxidermy and graphic posters. It’s a secret haven in here, just us, the world outside kept away for another day.
“And Charlie?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to go on our first official date? When you’re back from your trip?”
“Like…like an almost boyfriend?” I dare ask.
It could be too much to hope for, but I’m feeling recklessly bold after our tryst, in the promise of a deepening intimacy.
“Exactly so. Starter pack,” Ben encourages, brushing his lips against mine.
I’m starting to see things from his perspective. I kiss back, pulling him so close for a moment his eyelashes tickle my cheek, till we settle back comfortably against the bed.
“When do you get back? Are you in London for New Year’s Eve?”
“I’m back by then, yeah.”
“Date night, then.” Ben’s terribly pleased with the idea. “We can do whatever we want. Or not.”
“Brilliant.”
We laugh, gazing at each other, our limbs entwined. Such a simple, fantastic thing.
Blood rushes in my ears, like I’ve come again, lying skin to skin. Some part of me coasts on sheer euphoria. The rest of my brain tries to absorb this magnificent idea of Ben—Ben—also wanting me like I want him so badly.
“I’d be thrilled. Like…that’s the best thing I could hope for…”
“You’re grand,” Ben murmurs affectionately. “For all the days.”
“You’re brilliant too. And then some.”
What strange new euphoria is this? I’m in some upside-down universe, where I have something good happen just for me. For us.
Ben grins and so do I. We lose ourselves in a kiss, amid the crinkle of cotton. Snow continues to fall beyond his window. I can’t wait for our first date, with Ben beside me and the world at our feet on New Year’s Eve.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The magic of Ben is soon dashed in the gray melt of slush on Christmas Eve. I’ve come to my parents’ home in Richmond, to the realm of well-heeled posh commuters. At least it’s beautiful here in the day. Dusk shelters the scrape of branches blown against the window, tap-tapping on the glass. The room darkens with the fading light. My novel’s set aside.
Everything’s muted here. Colors, unlike Ben’s world, are carefully managed, in case they do something dangerous. No fuchsia jumpers or multicolored scarves here. There are certainly no visible piercings or anything bold to challenge the norms of upper middle class respectability. The house is muffled in shades of beige and browns, from the wood floors to the tonal landscape painting hung over the sofa.
It’s like color knows better than to come here.
It would be so easy to drink something from the display of liquor bottles and decanters sparkling on the sideboard and keep going. Ordinarily, I’d have a pint, but here, everything I do is under scrutiny. I don’t want to give them any material to use against me.
“Want a whiskey?” Michael asks.
We occasionally find common ground on how frustrating our parents can be. But we’ve got that stereotypical birth order thing going on—Michael’s the first-born high-achiever, I’m the wild kid brother. Or I was. Now I’m a reformed Charlie.
