Chapter 11

I woke up when a beam of sunlight poked me vindictively in the eye. With a quiet groan, I batted it away in the hopes of getting it to stop shining so fucking brightly.

“Is he dead?” a little voice asked.

“He just moved,” another one replied.

I felt pretty dead, but I was moving, so I could only assume they were right. When I squinted my eyes open Rosie and Jane were standing creepily by my head, their big golden eyes wide. They were dressed in frankly the most adorable pajamas I’d ever seen. Looked like little Victorian dolls, all ruffly and sweet. Kinda like the twins from The Shining.

“Papa’s making breakfast,” Rosie explained.

I nodded, even though my brain was not online yet.

Coffee. I needed coffee.

“Papa’s making breakfast,” I agreed stupidly so that they’d stop staring at me like they wanted to poke me with a stick.

“Yes,” Rosie nodded emphatically. “With chips.”

“Chips?” I squinted, trying to figure out what the hell that meant. Potato chips? Tortilla chips?

Also where the hell was I?—

This was not the living room.

I wasn’t an idiot. And sure, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep—even though that was honestly the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me—but I did, somehow, remember that I’d come to Ben’s house.

I’d come to Ben’s house and I…

Oh.

We were supposed to have a drink. Dinner? Dr-inner.

Dammit.

How had I ended up here? In a…I glanced around through gritty eyes…bedroom.

A bedroom. With pale blue walls, and little to no decor, a watch on the nightstand that looked very familiar and also expensive. There was a lamp beside it that was still switched on, despite the morning sun rays, and a whole stack of well-worn books.

Ben’s room.

This was Ben’s room.

How the hell had I ended up in Ben’s room?

Panicked, I tried to sit up, but my body didn’t want to. It wanted to sink back into the blankets and pillows and soak up Ben’s scent now that I knew that was what the delicious smell was. Ahhhh, clean laundry. It smelled so lovely. Not like the mothballs at the inn, or the stench of man pits from the tour bus I had grown accustomed to occupying for great spans of time.

“Chips,” I repeated dumbly. “Detergent.” Damn. Probably some, “fabric softener.”

“Did we break him?” Jane asked, her voice wavering.

“You can’t break a person,” Rosie countered like she was an idiot. “Can you?”

“Does he not like chips?” Jane asked her, sounding distressed.

They were so smart. So fucking smart. Knew way more than four-year-olds should know. I could only assume it was because their dad was a genius. And also…patient enough to teach them.

“Girls,” Ben’s voice rumbled from the doorway, silencing their chatter. “I told you to let Robin sleep.” They made sounds in protest but those quickly died. Ben was probably making a sexy face. I wanted to see his sexy face. But…pillow and comfy…and oh my god, I hadn’t slept this well in…forever.

Had he slept in here too?

Somehow I doubted it.

Where had he slept?

“He was awake when we came in!” Rosie lied.

“No, he wasn’t,” Jane huffed in reply, sounding mollified. Rosie gasped in outrage like Jane had just sold her out to the cartel.

“It’s time to get dressed,” Ben’s voice quaked with laughter. “Grandma will be here in half an hour to pick you up for play practice. I expect you both to be ready in time for breakfast.” How bossy of him. God, he was so hot. “Do you need help?” His voice softened, and the little girls scrambled away, their little feet thumping with a chorus of “no’s!”

Bet he’s making an even sexier face now.

Bet he’s got his eyebrow twitching.

I should look?—

I should…

Sleep.

Yes.

Sleep.

Sleep was good.

If I’d been less exhausted I might’ve noticed that a third, heavier set of steps didn’t sound for a solid minute after the girls had left. That Ben was watching over me from the doorway, protective and sweet, and everything I’d never let myself dream I could have.

A little while later the front door opened and shut. I could hear its echo down the hallway, as well as quiet murmured voices. “Come along, angels,” Ben said gently as he herded his kids down the hall. “Grandma’s here.”

“Are those Robin Johnson’s shoes at the door?” Beatrice Montgomery’s voice was high and strained with surprise.

“Shhhh, I’ll explain later,” Ben urged.

I caught a few more snippets of conversation but nothing that made any sense. And by the time the front door shut I was dead to the world once again.

This time when I woke, it was because I smelled something heavenly.

Roasted coffee beans, thick and delicious. Buttery somethings—and was that…oh god. Yes. Bacon.

Rising like a re-animated corpse, I groggily thudded to the chilly wood floor. My shoes were off, which wasn’t surprising. I’d taken them off when I’d come inside last night, not wanting to be the kind of asshole who trekked mud into someone else’s house.

Despite having toddlers, Ben’s apartment was incredibly clean, and I didn’t want to…you know, ruin it?

What was surprising, however, were the socks I was wearing. Because they weren’t my socks. And they were unlike any socks I’d ever seen. Fuzzy and furry, thick as hell, the things went all the way up to my knees. I worried I’d slip, but when I took another step with a grimace, I realized the bottoms of the damn things had sticky pads.

Maybe that wasn’t the right name for them?

But that’s certainly what they felt like.

They were clearly idiot proof.

When I glanced down, my eyebrows shot up. My jacket was gone—that, I’d definitely not taken off—and in its place was another one of Ben’s giant-ass hoodies. It had some sort of logo on it, looked like it was for college or something. When I pulled the hem up to my nose to sniff at it, more of Ben’s delicious scent filled my lungs.

Damn.

Had Ben dressed me?

That was the only logical conclusion.

Groaning softly, I wandered out into the hallway, fabric still covering half my face.

I figured I’d tug it down before he saw me—but didn’t want to give it up so soon.

Only that didn’t end up working out because Ben was already standing at the other end of the hallway when I entered. And he got an eyeful of me molesting his hoodie.

“Good morning,” he said, eyes dancing. His eyebrow twitched, and my face went bright red.

“Nose was cold,” I lied, the hoodie still covering my face. Like a naughty kid, I yanked it down—only that sucked too because now my nose really was cold. And also my blush was even more obvious.

Ben’s eyebrow twitched again, almost like he was waiting for something.

It took me a second, but I got it. Grinning, because this felt really domestic and kinda amazing, I shrugged a shoulder. “Morning, Ben-nifer.” It was hard to look him in the eye, so I didn’t. Instead, I made eye contact with his shoulder—so broad—and the expensive-looking sweater that adorned it.

“How did you sleep?” Ben asked, voice even warmer. He did not acknowledge his new nickname.

“Um,” I licked my lips, my piercing slick against my tongue. “Good.”

“I’m glad.”

I forced myself to move, because I didn’t want to act like a total weirdo—even though I just had. “Sorry for, you know…invading your fortress or whatever.” Coffee. Damn. I really wanted that coffee. But I didn’t want to impose.

Mom had taught me better manners than this.

I was from the South.

Being polite was bred into me.

“I didn’t mind,” Ben’s voice crackled, bright as one of the Christmas fireplaces I used to watch in movies growing up. “I don’t mind,” he amended, lower this time.

“I’ll be right outta your hair,” I shrugged a shoulder. “Soon as I get your very warm…sock things off? And your hoodie.”

“Keep them.”

Right, okay. That was nice. But I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Ben hadn’t asked me to stay. He must’ve seen me wilt because before I could speak again, warm hands were latching on to my shoulders and steering me toward what looked like a bathroom.

“Shower,” Ben commanded. Only it was hard to pay attention to anything but his big-ass hands and how bossy they were—and how they were so fucking huge and strong and…fuck. My dick was perking up.

My dick was…

No way.

No way!

Elated, I glanced down at my crotch to confirm.

And yes. Yep. My dick was definitely at least somewhat hard.

“Shower,” I agreed, because there was no way I was wasting this opportunity, even if I was at Ben’s house. Especially because I was at Ben’s house.

“I’ll leave fresh warm clothes for you to change into.”

“Warm clothes,” I echoed again, shivering as Ben guided me toward the frankly fancy-ass shower he had. The bathroom was nice. As nice as his bedroom. The tile looked custom, and everything was homey and clean. It was one of those shower-bath combos. Probably for the kiddos. And a tub full of toys sat neatly in the corner as Ben leaned over me to turn the faucet on.

“I’ve got coffee and chocolate chip pancakes in the kitchen for when you’re finished.”

“Coffee and kitchens, yep,” I bobbed my head. “Love this plan. Ten out of ten.”

Ben rumbled out a laugh. I could literally feel it because his chest was brushing my back. “You are so fucking cute when you’re sleepy.”

He obviously hadn’t meant to say the words because he stiffened for a second. I did too—because how could I not? It was like we were in tune. When Ben relaxed, so did I. Hot water blasted on, a few droplets spattering the both of us as he held very still behind me.

“You’re always cute,” I countered because it was true, and also I wanted to level the playing field a bit. Didn’t want the poor guy to flounder.

Besides…he apparently thought I was cute.

And that was…yeah.

Damn.

Even my cheeks felt hot.

“Cute is not a word I often hear to describe me,” Ben laughed, rising back to his full impressive height. His chest wasn’t touching my back anymore, but I could feel how close he was. Feel the way his breath ruffled my hair.

“Bet you get sexy a lot,” I blurted like an idiot. “Hot.” That was worse somehow. “Gorgeous?”

“Says the man with eyes like sea glass and hair like snow.”

“I see you, writer man,” I joked. “You and your… metaphors .”

“Simile,” Ben corrected.

“Gesundheit.”

“Oh my god.” Ben laughed, this delighted chuckle that lit up the room. More water droplets hit my cheeks, and I had to fight not to twist around so I could see his face. Somehow that felt more intimate though, and I was having a hard time processing all of this already.

Ben’s proximity most certainly did not make my dick go down, that was for sure.

“Take your time,” Ben hummed, finally stepping out of my space. “You can grab a toothbrush from the basket beneath the counter.”

“Thanks,” I shivered, staring resolutely at the faucet.

“Use anything that’s in there,” Ben added, because he was psychic and somehow had known I was planning on using as little of anything I could—so as not to be a bother.

With his permission it was easier to relax.

His absence helped too as he retreated from the room and shut the door with a quiet click. Not thinking it through, I yanked his hoodie and my shirt over my head with one swift movement. Working on my pants next, despite his urging to take my time, I had no intention of dilly-dallying.

I’d get in, jerk off, and get out quicker than you could blink.

There were coffee and pancakes waiting for me.

With chips.

Chocolate ones.

I had my zipper undone, my naked upper body twisted toward the door when it slid open again. I froze, rigid, the root of my cock probably fucking visible—because I preferred going commando most days.

Ben stared at me from the doorway, his toffee-colored eyes wide as he took me in. A splotchy, ugly blush spread across his face as his gaze traveled across my bare shoulders and the tattoos there. His attention caught on my nipples—on the rings, probably—and he groaned .

“Did you forget something?” I asked because my mouth was faster than my brain.

“Clothes,” Ben replied immediately, his eyes somewhere around my belly button and the crows that framed my hip bones. He licked his lips, voice hoarse. “I told you I’d bring you clothes.”

“Oh.” He had. He totally had. I’d forgotten. Oh shit. And then, because the face he was making made me want to shove him into the doorframe and beg him to touch my dick, I spoke, “What about now?”

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

“Hmm?” Ben’s eyes were definitely on my hands now. On my zipper, and the way my happy trail crept upward.

“Are you scared now?”

Ben chuckled, eyes pinching shut as he shook his head. “Take the clothes, Robin,” he said gently, making no move to step all the way into the bathroom. “Please.”

I took the clothes.

They were warm, clean, and smelled like him, and I couldn’t help the way I clutched them close like they were precious, because they were. When Ben opened his eyes again, his pupils had blown out, wide and dark.

“I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Right,” I agreed, because he totally would. After I jerked off in his shower and tried not to die a slow painful death of embarrassment. “Yep.”

My pulse was thrumming.

Ben softened, like he could read how uncomfortable I was all over my face. “You’re gorgeous,” he told me like it was a fact. “You have to know that.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” Ben’s eyes danced. “Now do as you’re told.”

And with that, he left me to my own devices.

I locked the door with shaky hands, put the new clothes down, and twisted back toward the shower. Not before making a detour to glance at the mirror though.

It wasn’t that I was…necessarily insecure. I mean, I was. In a lot of ways. I knew I wasn’t a super palatable person? I spoke too fast and too brashly. I didn’t think things through. I ran. I always ran when things got hard.

But physically I knew I was…you know. Pretty okay? Symmetrical. Pleasing enough I’d never had trouble getting people to want to fuck me, or be fucked by me.

At least, I used to think that.

Until the sleepless nights caught up to me, and I kept forgetting to eat—and my ribs became Ribs with a capital R, and I stopped wanting to be naked in front of anyone at all, even myself.

Ben thought I was gorgeous though.

And for a second, I tried to see what he saw.

To see past the peppered scars I’d gotten from random accidents on set. To see past my protruding ribs. To see past the concave of my stomach, and the moles and freckles that my label always edited away.

I smoothed a hand over my chest and the nipple piercings I’d gotten when I was nineteen and sucked in a breath.

I looked tired.

I always did.

But I did look better than I had when I’d come to Belleville a week and a half ago. I’d had more sleep here than I had back home in months. Maybe my therapist was right? That getting away from the stress would help.

Maybe I hadn’t been lying when I’d said it was?

Either way.

The permanent bruises beneath my eyes were still there, but the hollows were less…saggy? And I looked…damn. Despite my nerves, I looked pretty happy.

And that was as unfamiliar as my dick deciding it wanted to play.

Which was to say, very unfamiliar.

That had been one of the first things that’d stopped “working”. My doctor said it was normal in cases like mine. That the libido would suffer. It was more than a little relieving to know that it maybe wasn’t so permanent.

I brushed my teeth three times because I was terrified of my breath stinking around Ben. And when I showered, I jerked off quickly—even though I really did want to drag it out. Ben had said to use whatever I wanted, so I did. I soaped up my hair with his shampoo—sandalwood, yum. I scrubbed myself with his body scrub. Used his conditioner to get my dick nice and slippery, to fuck my fist till I sobbed into my shoulder and spilled down the drain.

Yeah, it felt weird to do that in a shower where there was a bucket of toys in the corner.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

And I didn’t know when the next time I’d get an opportunity like this would be.

When I was dressed and drowning in Ben’s clothing, I felt quite a bit better. Water droplets slipped down the back of my neck from my wet hair as I made my way toward the kitchen and the scent of Heaven.

Ben was sitting at the table with his own plate in front of him. Beside him was an empty chair, and a second plate piled high—even higher than his own. Bacon, chocolate chip pancakes (not potato chips), and a giant mug with coffee called my name. A siren’s song.

It was like he’d timed everything perfectly so that it would be ready for when the shower shut off.

“Looks delicious,” I said eagerly, taking my seat with a happy thump. I wavered after a second thought, glancing at Ben to make sure I hadn’t been too loud. “Sorry.” I didn’t want to disturb his calm.

“Sorry for what?” Ben arched an eyebrow. “You complimented my food. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I sat down loud.”

“ You sat down loud, ” Ben echoed, like the words were in another language. He set his own coffee mug down, twisting to look at me with an expression I could only describe as fond. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with the way you sat down.”

“But the chair screeched.”

“Chairs do that sometimes.”

I was just trying to get over the fact that Ben had called me sweetheart and gorgeous all in one day.

“Mom didn’t like loud noises like that,” I tried to explain—because I was dumb, and my mouth wouldn’t stop running. “One time Miles sat down too heavy and oh my god! You wouldn’t believe the tongue-lashing he got later. It was at a party? She’d throw these parties. With her friends. Well…they weren’t really her friends? More like acquaintances that all pretended to be friends because their families had money. You know? Fake friends. Like in high school.”

Ben, to his credit, looked fascinated.

“Anyway. She didn’t like that. Said it was impolite.” I bobbed my head, cheeks hot. Then, because I’d been talking too long, I latched on to my coffee to shut myself up. Before I could bring it to my lips, however, Ben reached out and with one sexy-ass finger, pushed the rim gently till I set it down.

“It’s still too hot,” he hummed. “Wait a minute so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“I like a little pain,” I said, because again—my mouth hated me.

The grandfather clock ticked and Ben’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before opening again, something indecipherable flickering deep inside them.

“Good to know.” Ben cleared his throat and reached across the table. “Cream? Sugar?” Ben’s hand flexed, knuckles turning white as he grabbed the creamer.

“Yes please.”

He flashed me a little smile as he fixed my coffee up for me. “I didn’t know how you liked it.”

“I like it ninety percent sugar,” I told him. “The sweeter the better.”

“Also good to know.”

Ben let me drink only after he’d decided it wasn’t going to burn me. Which I appreciated, but also hated, because it meant my mouth kept running off without something to occupy it. I ended up shoveling pancakes in my mouth—then half-orgasming because holy shit these were good—just to shut myself up.

By the time my plate had been cleaned and my coffee was empty, I was a sleepy, happy pile of Ben’s clean laundry. Leaning back in my chair, I watched Ben through pleased slits as he moved to rise from his chair. He made a face. A new face. A face he hadn’t made before, and I frowned.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Ben rose to his full height with a hum and reached out for the dishes. But I beat him to it, slapping his hands away as I piled everything high and waddled my way toward the sink, careful not to drop anything.

“You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Ben was right behind me. “That’s not necessary.”

“Sure it’s not,” I agreed. “But it’s happening anyway.”

Ben laughed. He leaned against the counter to watch me for a minute. “You really don’t have to do that. You’re a guest.”

“A guest that stole your bed and spent the night without being invited?” I arched an eyebrow. “A guest that is currently wearing your clothing, again stolen, and used half your bottle of conditioner to—” Oh no.

Oh no.

Ben’s eyebrows shot up when my rambling screeched to a halt. “Used half my bottle of conditioner to what , Robin?” His voice was a quiet, amused rumble. There was heat in his eyes again, low and flickering.

My mouth clicked shut, further implicating myself.

“What did you do with it, Robin?”

“Ah hahahaha!” I twisted away from him. “Did I say something about conditioner? Because I didn’t mean to.” This was not going well. “I’ve never seen a bottle of conditioner in my life.”

God, how embarrassing.

Especially when it’d been his face I was picturing as I stroked myself off. That eyebrow twitch. He was probably bossy in bed too, wasn’t he? Super bossy. I licked my lips, staring at the soapy dishes blindly. “I mean?—”

“I’m going to get ready for work,” Ben said, cutting me some slack because he was an angel.

“Good plan,” I agreed, splashing around in the water for something to do. My ears burned. My cheeks burned. My everything burned. That was happening to me a lot lately.

“Try not to use the dish soap the same way you used my conditioner,” Ben teased. And then he was gone—leaving me to turn into a soapy, wrinkly-fingered puddle of embarrassment all on my own.

“He said what ?” Miles choked on his slice of pizza.

“He said, ‘don’t use the dish soap like you—’” I repeated only for Miles to start coughing so loud he interrupted me.

“No, no, I got that part. I was just…surprised.” Miles managed to not die somehow, though his face was red as he reached out for a glass of water. Bubs had left the dinner table and was upstairs playing with Jeremy. Who was apparently his, and I quote, “best friend in the whole world.” Miles said the kid practically lived at their house nowadays.

Miles and I were in the kitchen. The ceramic cow on the table mocked me as I fiddled with my dinner and the clock above the table ticked.

“I had no idea Ben was such a flirt,” Miles added, sounding just as surprised as he’d said he was.

“Well, I would hope not, considering the fact that you’re married to his brother,” I laughed, though my cheeks felt hot.

Today was a good day.

A really good day.

After eating breakfast with Ben he’d insisted I hang out with him before his first appointments of the day arrived. I’d sat on his couch and creepy-stalk-watched him while he did paperwork. And when his coffee had run low I’d offered to go get him more from the bakery across the street.

There was a cute kid in his early twenties manning the counter who looked vaguely familiar. He’d given me Ben’s coffee for free—and one for me and the receptionist, Lynda, and a whole container of chocolate croissants.

Chocolate croissants that Ben later insisted I take to Miles and Bubba, as he said he had more than enough sweets at home.

Best of all though was the fact that when I’d delivered said coffee to Ben—after what I could only assume was a rough appointment with an old man wearing flannel—he’d pulled me into a side hug, ruffled my hair with his big-ass hand, and murmured right against my ear, slow and sweet, “You’re such a good boy, Robin. Thank you.”

Suffice to say I’d been floating on that particular cloud all day.

Despite the fact that he’d had appointments in the other room, Ben had never shooed me back to the B&B and its creepy floral sheets. And I spent the rest of the day cat-napping on his couch and re-reading his books on my phone when he had appointments so that I’d have new, fresh ideas to bug him about every time he returned.

Whenever he’d push the door open I’d grin from whatever new position I’d taken on the couch and wave. And one memorable occasion, I even hid beneath his desk so I could pop out and say, “Boo!”

It was the best day ever.

And the croissants made it even better! Miles had loved them. Bubba too. Even Trent had found them delightful. He’d snuck two with him as he’d run off to check on something at the farm. Apparently, he’d be vending at the Christmas market and he wanted to make sure the thing would go off without a hitch.

“You like him,” Miles observed, eyes dancing.

I shrugged a shoulder, “I like a lot of things.” I held up my pizza slice. “Like this pizza, for example. I like this pizza. In fact, I might even love this pizza.”

“Flatterer,” Miles laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’d made the pizza, so he should feel flattered. It was good-ass pizza. Cheesy with fluffy dough and all the toppings you could imagine.

And then, because I was a glutton for punishment, I added, “I should’ve said something snappy in reply, right? Something clever. Like…” I played it cool like I hadn’t been replaying that same interaction in my head over and over all day. “Fuck.” The thought left me. I’d had a perfect comeback all planned out earlier. “Dammit. I forgot.”

Miles snorted, reaching over to top off my glass of wine. He didn’t drink, but I did—and he’d made sure to have my favorite kind stocked for my visit. I liked dessert wine. The sweeter the better, and this particular brand was my favorite because it had a skull on it and tasted just like grape juice.

“Why don’t you ask him out?” Miles asked, because he was a nosy motherfucker.

“Because he’s a serious kinda guy, dude.” I glared at him, taking a sip of my overfilled wine, careful not to spill because I was still proudly wearing Ben’s hoodie. “He’s got kids. He’s got a life here. And my life is back in L.A.”

“You’re here for Christmas,” Miles wagged his eyebrows.

His eyes said, anything can happen.

“I’m here until Christmas,” I corrected, nipping that in the bud immediately. “Which is what…?” I blew out a breath, my bangs puffing up. “A month away?”

“More than a month.”

“Close enough.”

“A lot you can do in a month.”

“And break my own heart? No thank you.” I took a longer sip, my own thoughts spinning. “Look…it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I obviously have. A lot. I mean…Ben is Ben . Have you seen his smile? It’s like…angelic or some shit. And the hands. Man. He’s got big-ass hands. If you know what I mean.” I couldn’t help but leer.

“Right,” Miles agreed, looking more amused than he should.

“But he’s related to you?—”

“No, he ain’t,” Miles immediately deadpanned.

“ Kinda ,” I soldiered onward ignoring him and his sass. “And I’m not gonna fuck up what you’ve built here. You’re happy. He’s happy. I’m here temporarily. I’m not gonna be the Mento in your Coke bottle.”

“That’s a weird metaphor,” Miles snorted again, amused, though his eyes now carried a sadness to them, amusement dampened.

“Simile,” I corrected.

He laughed again, “Pretty sure it’d have to have the word “like” to be a simile.”

I frowned because that felt correct.

I wrote music for a living, so I was no stranger to poetry. Music was poetry. Just with vibrations and a whole lot of extra soul. It could make you feel things with no rhymes and no words at all. It’d been a long time since I wrote something that felt like that, raw and real and honest.

Back in the early days, that’d been all I’d written.

I’d been young and bitter then.

Now what I desired to create had changed, less angry—less brittle. The music in my heart was silky and sweet. Love songs and longing. My label didn’t want it. In fact, they’d half convinced me the world didn’t want it either.

Robin “Trashmouth” Johnson was supposed to be all bark and bite. There was no room for lace and loneliness. No room for regret and ache and love. No room for Christmas songs. No space for me to dream about coming home. Still though, a love song played silently along my fingertips every time I tapped against my leg. Because while they’d convinced me it wouldn’t happen, my heart was stubborn, and it didn’t want to listen.

I shrugged again.

“You know there’s such a thing as a long-distance relationship, right?” Miles hummed, taking another bite of his pizza.

“All of my relationships have been long distance,” I countered. Miles stared at me, confused. “You know.” I blinked. “Because I’m basically five feet tall.”

“Jesus Christ ,” Miles cackled, choking again. When he was somewhat controlled a few minutes later, he softened all over again. His sweater was wrinkled. Cow print, like always. There was a hickey on his neck—good for him—and he looked happier than I’d ever seen him.

“You fit in here,” I told him because it was true. “In your fancy lil kitchen. In this town. With these people who care about you. With your picket fence and your husband who adores you.”

Miles smiled, lips twitching up. “You do too,” he said, laying a large, warm hand across where mine rested on the dining table.

“You know I don’t.” My voice broke and I hated that it did. I was Miles’s big brother. It’d always been my job to be strong, but lately I wasn’t sure I could do it anymore. Like my battery had simply run out.

“You wanna know what I think?” Miles asked.

“No, but I think you’re about to tell me anyway.”

“I think…” Miles didn’t remove his hand, and it burned. “I think that you’re scared to be in love. That you’re ready to run the second anyone gives you a reason to, whether it's a good reason or not.”

“Scared?” I huffed, eyes rolling. “I’m not scared .”

“I think you are.” His voice remained the same smooth Southern drawl that felt like home, and I hated that the sound of it alone was enough to make my eyes burn. “I know because I was scared too. Hell, sometimes I still am.”

I remembered the text he’d sent me. The long one from over a year ago. The text that had come through just when I’d needed it. That had reminded me that there was a place for me here, even if it was temporary, that somewhere out there I had a home—even if it was only borrowed.

“We had a fucked up childhood,” Miles continued, voice quiet, like if he spoke too loud he was worried he’d scare me off. “I don’t think I really realized that till I moved here and saw how many people didn’t . Like Trent, for example—I mean—his mama and dad loved each other.” His eyes were wide like that was a goddamn miracle.

I nodded, because it was.

“They were good to their kids,” Miles added. “Left ’em wanting for nothing.”

“Right.” I didn’t get the point of this. But it did give me some fun insight into Ben’s childhood and what that might’ve been like.

When I thought of my childhood all I felt was untethered. So many memories, bitter sweet.

I thought of hands shaking as I picked Miles up from school. I thought of staying up late pricking my fingers till they bled while I sewed his Halloween costumes. I thought of begging for scraps of attention with my heart on my sleeve and tears in my eyes—and being sent away, like feeling the way I did was shameful.

I thought of pretty smiles and expectations.

A reputation to uphold.

“I think because of our mom, sometimes it’s hard for both of us to realize that love, real love, has no stipulations.” Miles sucked in a breath and his eyes burned holes into mine. “It doesn’t come with strings attached. And it follows you, no matter how far you run. It’s messy and sweet, and if you let it, it fills in all your cracks and crevices.”

I had dozens of those, so many I wasn’t sure even a love like he said existed could fill them.

My heart ached for Miles. It ached for me too. Because while I hated to admit it, there were years of heartbreak I still hadn’t parsed my way through. Things I hadn’t let myself process or even really feel angry about, even though I knew the second I did it might help.

I’d simply been too busy holding up the fort to acknowledge what I’d been through.

Miles didn’t know the half of it.

He didn’t know about my dad and the way he’d tricked me.

Didn’t know about what he’d done.

Didn’t know about the nights I’d spent on the streets in L.A. before I’d made it, praying to the stars that I could make it big enough my baby brother and his kid would never want for anything.

“I don’t love Ben Montgomery,” I told him, because that was what he was hinting at.

“No,” Miles agreed. “But you could. If you weren’t scared of him. If you weren’t ready to bolt the second he said the wrong thing.”

“I’m not scared of him either,” I glared at him, my pizza growing cold and my wine mocking me. I kinda wanted to chug it, because a buzz might make this conversation go by easier. We didn’t normally get all deep like this. But apparently it was just that kinda night. I didn’t acknowledge his words about running, because it was too close to hitting the nail on the head. “He’s the least scary person ever. Man’s a giant teddy bear.”

Miles stared at me for a beat, processing my words. A shit-eating grin split across his face. “A teddy bear?” He blinked. “You think Ben Montgomery is a teddy bear? Serious, grumpy, cold Ben.”

My cheeks went hot all over again. “Fuck off.” I flipped him off and his grin softened. “He’s none of those things.” Okay, so maybe he was some of those things.

“Maybe not to you,” Miles waggled his eyebrows, then sobered. “When you’re tired of running, this is a pretty good place to stop.”

“You have croissants,” I nodded toward the now-empty box on the counter.

“We do,” Miles agreed, and then his tone lightened. “And for the record,” Miles added. “Belleville’s big enough for the both of us.” It was almost like he’d read my mind. The way I’d wondered if there was room for two damaged Johnsons, just a few short days ago. Serious moment now over, Miles’s eyes danced again. “Even considering all our baggage.”

“Amen,” I raised my wine glass in a salute and chugged.