Unhappy, I stare at Ben, take his face between my hands in turn. His skin is soft, the hint of blond stubble rough. He’s looking at me as if I’m the most important thing in the world. “It’s not a matter of not wanting you, petal. And, by the way, before you go all Noel and Liam Gallagher on my arse about having the best band in the world and the best boyfriend in the world and all of that fancy stuff, I worry that I’m not going to be enough for you. That my reality’s not enough for you. You want grand things, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I just don’t. I want a simple life, to bring up my daughter knowing she’s safe and loved. And—you and me—love isn’t enough. Is it?”
Of course I want him. Honestly, I don’t have the answer right now. It’s not a matter of wanting. But logically?How can we make this work, especially after the disaster we just escaped?
“You’re more than enough. Just the way you are right now.” Ben takes a hand, kisses my palm reverently. I reach out to trace his jaw. “With your little girl and everything.”
“I wish I could believe you,” I whisper, my voice raw, caught deep in my throat.
And so, in the end, we leave things like that, left hanging and messy and hurt too. Nobody ever said being vulnerable felt comfortable.
We sit up late in the kitchen over hot chocolates, still both chilled to our bones, far too weary for sex, and Ben still needing to do most of an all-nighter to get ready to go on his tour tomorrow. Leaving me the one behind, with all of these complicated feelings and thoughts, and uncertainty ahead, despite the feelings in my heart that I don’t dare trust.
Chapter Forty
With a grimace on another Saturday morning, I wipe down the steamer machine quickly before setting to make the latest round of coffees. Last night, I headed out with Jackson and Gillian to catch a gig, trying to keep myself busy and from obsessively thinking of Ben.
A couple of weeks have passed since the week of my gig and the disastrous engagement party at my parents’ home. At least Michael and Jenna were sympathetic when I called them the next day, and they apparently don’t hold any ill will for the scene. Michael said it livened things up.
At any rate, the January blahs are well entrenched. Ben’s been away on tour. He’s texted to ask me to join him on the road for a little while, but I had to remind him again of the many reasons why I can’t. Much as I would like to, how can I get away?
My online stalking of reviews, student radio interviews on YouTube, and bloggers prove that Halfpenny Rise are doing well—more than. And he’s a natural showman in interviews, all charm and sparkle, with sold-out venues wherever they go. They’re getting great buzz, which is fair, given that they really know how to put on a great show. So far, it looks like he’s making strides toward his New Year’s Day resolutions.
Halfpenny Rise first headed to Ireland to play Dublin, Cork, and Belfast, before crossing back to play their way through England, Wales, and Scotland over the next month, hitting up uni towns especially, where their fanbase is biggest. There’s increasingly serious talk of touring Europe in the summer. I can’t imagine that Posh Van will ever let them down, but even so, I keep thinking safe travels in their direction.
I place a caramel macchiato on the counter, calling out the order. That’s the last of the rush. I sigh, apparently looking forlorn enough that Jasmine pauses in her activities to check in with me.
“Pining,” she diagnoses succinctly. “If it’s not for the moors, it must be for a Scot.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m a riot,” Jasmine assures me. She tilts her head, appraising me ruthlessly. “Seriously, what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I wave a hand, then set to work vigorously wiping down counters. In the café, it’s steady with students.
Which is true. Nothing iswrong, exactly. But it’s not feeling right either. We’re in the deep depths of a January where’s it’s been raining steadily for three days. London’s been taken by fog. The temperature hovers above freezing, cold enough to guarantee a miserable walk in the rain, but not cold enough to snow. My fear did come true that when the snow melted, Ben would disappear.
“So where’s your boyfriend playing tonight?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, exactly. I mean, I guess he is. We’re kind of in an…undefined phase.” It’s strange to think of Ben as my boyfriend. Is he still my boyfriend? Did I have a boyfriend for only a couple of days before everything got wrecked and potentially unboyfriended?
“Undefined phase?”
“We’ve only been on a couple of dates.” It doesn’t sound convincing, even to my ears.
“Uh-huh. This has been going on for over a month. Maybe two. He’s your boyfriend. Didn’t you say you went to Brighton together for New Year’s? You don’t usually go on weekend getaways with a fuck buddy. Very romantic, by the way, a seaside holiday for two.”
“A month where we’ve mostly been apart, because of Christmas and now his tour,” I point out. Which is true. What’s a few days together before I was off for Christmas, and then a few days after, following our first official date in Brighton. I’m trying hard to be very rational and mature about this.
Jasmine studies me. “You know, there were whole days in there that you were…smiling and friendly to the customers. It was serious enough for me to think that I might need to stage an intervention.”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep going.” I wave Jasmine off. She’s relentless today.
“It’s really cute the way your whole face lights up if I say Ben Campbell.” She looks rather wicked as she drawls his name, and my face burns.
“It’s like an invocation. Be careful,” I warn. Even hearing his name still sparks a visceral response. Like my body’s allfuck you, brain, we want what we want, and to hell with the rest. “Who knows what saying his name might spark.”
“I’m not worried. I’m not the one who has it bad for him.”
Feeling vulnerable, I confess. “I took him to meet my family and it was a disaster.”
