Chapter 7

SEVEN

Ben

I perchin our secluded nook at Giovanni"s, the kind of place with more shadows than light, where whispers turn into secrets. The flicker of candlelight dances across Kate"s face, casting a glow on her honey-colored hair and those damn lips that could drive a saint to sin. She may be Hollywood"s darling, but here, with me, she"s just Kate—beautiful, slightly mysterious Kate.

Her luminous green eyes hold a twinkle. Maybe it"s intrigue or just the reflection of the candles. Either way, it"s got me hooked.

"Tell me about being a pilot," she says, that sparkle in her voice that sounds like an invitation to spill my guts.

"Being a pilot—it"s not all jet-setting and champagne." I take a deep breath, letting the memories flood in. "You"re locked in a cockpit, miles above everyone else. You see the sunrise over Tokyo, sunset over Paris. It"s beautiful, it"s lonely, it"s..." I trail off, searching for the right word.

"Isolating?" she offers, her voice dipping to a whisper that brushes against my soul.

"Exactly." My heart kicks up a notch because she gets it. "You touch down in these distant places, but they"re just stops on a route. You don"t belong anywhere."

"Sounds like you"re longing for something more...grounded?" Kate leans forward, the candlelight catching the softness in her eyes.

"Maybe I am. Maybe I"m looking for a reason to stay put." I reach across the table, my fingertips grazing the cool surface before retreating. The air between us is charged, every glance and half-smile loaded with the promise of what could be.

"Ben Caldwell, are you flirting with the idea of a home base?" She laughs softly, the sound wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

"It wouldn"t be the worst thing," I murmur, feeling the pull of something deeper, something that ties me down in the best way possible. "Especially with the right company."

My gaze falls on her, and she blushes. Her gaze holds mine, steady and sure, and for a moment, the world outside this cozy corner with its dim lights and whispered dreams fades away. It"s just me and Kate, two souls finding common ground at thirty thousand feet without ever leaving the ground.

Leaning back, I watch the empathy dance in Kate"s eyes as my words hang between us like a plane suspended mid-flight. A soft sigh escapes her lips, and she tilts her head to the side, those green orbs of hers shimmering with something that looks a hell of a lot like understanding.

"I get it, you know?" she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it slices through the buzz of the restaurant like the sharpest blade. "That itch for something real, something that sticks."

It"s my turn to listen, and damn if I"m not hooked on every word falling from those ruby red lips. She leans in closer now, as if sharing the world"s juiciest secret, and the air around us grows thick with anticipation.

"Being in the spotlight," she confesses, her tone laced with vulnerability that tugs at my heartstrings, "it"s like living under a microscope. Every move analyzed, every choice dissected. It"s exhausting trying to be what everyone expects."

I can"t help but lean in too, closing the gap between us until our breaths mingle in the candlelit space. The warmth from the flickering flame dances across her honey-colored locks, casting her in an ethereal glow that makes the rest of the room fade into obscurity.

"Pressure?" I offer the word like a lifeline, understanding more than I wish I did about living up to impossible standards.

"Understatement of the year," she quips, a sardonic laugh punctuating her words. Her gaze locks with mine, fierce and fiery, and I see it—the wild desire to break free from the chains of perfection.

"Every smile, every tear, it"s like they"re not even mine anymore. It"s all part of the show, part of the act." Her hands flutter in the air, painting pictures of a life scrutinized beyond reason.

"Damn, Kate," I breathe out, feeling a kinship I didn"t expect. "You"re not just playing a part on screen, are you? You"re doing it 24/7."

"Feels that way," she admits, a shadow crossing her stunning features for a fleeting second before she shakes it off with a grace only she could muster.

"Fuck "em," I say, the words slipping out easier than my next breath. "Let "em talk. You"re more than their headlines and hashtags."

A slow, genuine smile curves her lips, and it"s like watching the sun break free from behind the clouds—bright, beautiful, unstoppable. It"s then I realize, maybe we"re both looking for the same thing after all—a co-pilot in this crazy, turbulent ride called life.

I slide my fingers across the tablecloth, chasing the warm flicker of the candle"s flame as it dances in Kate"s glistening eyes. It"s like I"m watching a movie scene unfold, only there"s no script for this moment, no director yelling "cut" to save us from the raw punch of reality.

"Everyone thinks they know me, you know?" Her voice breaks, and it"s like I can feel the weight of a million gazes pressing down on her. "But they don"t see shit. They don"t see the half of it."

I lean forward, barely breathing, because damn if her teardrops aren"t about to spill like pearls off a snapped string. The last thing I want is for her to shatter right here in this dim, cozy corner that"s become our world for the night.

"Ben, it"s like...like I"m always dodging bullets." She swipes at her cheeks, trying to laugh it off, but her laugh"s got this jagged edge, like it"s been through a shredding machine. "Can"t step wrong, can"t look wrong. God forbid I feel wrong."

"Kate," I say, and it"s a whisper because anything louder might just scare both of us. "You"re human, not some damn porcelain doll up on a shelf."

She bites her lip, and it"s a cherry-red plea for help if I"ve ever seen one. "It"s exhausting. Keeping up appearances, smiling when all I wanna do is hide away and?—"

"Hey, hey," I interrupt, reaching out and taking her hand—smooth, delicate, a stark contrast to my calloused pilot"s grip. "Screw "em all, remember? You get to be you, Kate. Not the tabloid fantasy or the studio"s golden girl. Just...Kate."

Her hand trembles in mine, but she doesn"t pull away. No, she clings to me like I"m the lifeline in this sea of bullshit she"s drowning in. "I"m scared," she confesses, and it"s a punch straight to the heart because she"s looking at me like I might have the answers.

"Of what?" I ask, thumb stroking over her knuckles because it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"Of losing myself. Of never finding someone who gets me, who wants me for more than the fa?ade."

"Look at me, Kate." My voice is firm, but gentle, like the way you"d talk someone down from a ledge. "I see you. Not the glitz, not the glam. I see the firecracker with dreams bigger than the sky and the guts to chase "em. And I"m not going anywhere."

"Promise?" There"s a hopeful lilt to her words, the sweetest damn sound I"ve heard in a long time.

"Cross my heart." I squeeze her hand, and it"s not just reassurance I"m offering—it"s an anchor, a pledge, a silent vow that I"m with her in this fight.

"Thank you," she whispers, and the warmth that fills me could light up the darkest night sky. Because somehow, in this crazy, messed-up world, we"ve found each other. And I"ll be damned if I let go now.

"Okay, my turn," I say, breaking the charged silence. Her hand is still in mine, and it"s like a live wire, every bit of her energy crackling through me. "I"ve got this fear, right? That the sky is all I"ll ever have. It"s vast and beautiful, but damn, it"s empty too. No roots, just wings. And maybe that"s all anyone will see—the guy who can"t stay put."

She tilts her head, those emerald eyes of hers locking onto mine with an intensity that could rival the sun. "You want to belong somewhere?" she asks, her voice a soft melody over the clinks and murmurs of the restaurant.

"More than anything," I confess, feeling the weight lift as the words leave my mouth. It"s not something I admit, not even to myself. But with Kate, it"s different. She gets it—gets me—in ways I never thought possible.

"Your turn again." I nudge her playfully, eager to keep this exchange going, to dive deeper into the world of Kate Woodbridge.

"Okay, here"s one—I dream of a day when I can walk down the street, and no one knows my name. When I can make mistakes without them ending up on the front page." She laughs, but there"s a wistfulness to it that tugs at my heartstrings.

I nod as I rub circles on her palms with my thumbs.

"It"s freedom, Ben. To be anonymous again, to discover who I am without the scripts and the cameras. It"s terrifying, but it"s my dream."

"Then we"ll chase that dream together," I tell her, meaning every word. "We"ll find that quiet street where you can trip over your own feet, and the only headline it"ll make is in my journal."

Her laughter rings out, genuine and carefree, and it"s music to my ears. We"re two kindred spirits, navigating the turbulence of our lives, finding comfort in the storm.

"Ben, do you ever wonder if—" she starts, but the rest of the restaurant has fallen away. All I hear is her voice, all I see is her face, and nothing else matters. The candlelight flickers between us, casting dancing shadows that echo the fluttering in my chest.

"Every damn day," I reply, knowing exactly what she"s asking. "I wonder about the what-ifs, the might-have-beens. But today? Right now? I"m wondering how I got so lucky to be sitting across from someone as extraordinary as you."

"Flatterer," she accuses, but the blush creeping up her cheeks tells me she loves it.

"Truth-teller," I counter with a grin, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze.

"Ben Caldwell, are you always this intense?" she teases, but her grip on my hand says she"s not looking for an out.

"Only when it comes to things—or people—I care about," I admit, and it feels like I"m standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into something life-changing.

"Scary," she whispers, her gaze never leaving mine.

"Terrifying," I agree, "but worth it."

And as the last vestiges of the restaurant"s ambiance fade, leaving us in a bubble of our private universe, I realize that this—this moment, this connection—is everything I never knew I needed.

Then, the world blurs, and it"s just snapshots of us. Us laughing over shared desserts, our forks dueling for the last bite of chocolate decadence. Us walking through moonlit streets, her head resting on my shoulder as if it"s her favorite pillow. Us, tangled in high thread-count sheets that still aren"t as soft as her skin, whispering secrets and dreams until the dawn light peeks through the curtains.

With every touch, every look, every word, we weave ourselves closer, threads in a tapestry of trust and raw desire. It"s the kind of connection that doesn"t need grand gestures. A brush of fingers speaks volumes, and a kiss... Well, let"s just say fireworks have nothing on us.