William regarded him for a moment, then turned back to peer at Cat. Looking between the two, he gave a wry grin, raised one eyebrow, and told her, “Good luck.” Before she had time to react, he walked out the door.
She looked up at Ben. She hadn’t heard anything from him since he’d left the bookstore the week before. She’d tried to give him space, knowing that everything she’d said was overwhelming. She still felt overwhelmed by it all. But last night she’d grown desperate, worried he’d decided she was insane, and that she’d never hear from him again. So she’d taken pictures of the two portraits of Eliza, as well as Eliza’s first letter, and emailed them to Ben.
He remained standing a few feet away from the booth. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No. No, not at all. I was wishing William well. I told him goodbye.”
Ben’s body language relaxed, although he still didn’t sit. “You broke up with him?”
“I guess so,” she said. “If you can count two dates as a relationship.”
“Well, they sounded like pretty phenomenal dates, from what you told me.”
“True. Almost the complete Cinderella fantasy,” she admitted, taking a small sip of her coffee. “But I’d prefer that most dates not end up with my mom in the hospital. The plane turning into a pumpkin would have been better.”
“Maybe. Although riding in a large orange gourd at thirty-thousand feet probably wouldn’t end well, either.”
Cat laughed. She gestured to the other side of the booth. “Join me?”
He settled in. “I feel like I’m taking Eliza’s spot,” he said, as he set his coat to his side.
Cat gawked at him.
“I mean here in the booth,” he amended, seeing her stunned expression. “No one could take her place in your life.”
“I love her,” Cat said after a minute. “Not love-love her,” she clarified.
Ben gave her an amused grin. “I knew what you meant. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Cat chortled. “You’re quoting Seinfeld, aren’t you?”
“I am the master of my own domain.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I loved that show,” she said, trying to gain control of herself, but the giggles continued to come. She knew at least half of them were from nervousness, from wanting Ben to stay, from wanting everything to work out. Somehow.
Ben watched her, a soft look on his face. “You’re really done with Mr. Rich Pants?”
“Yes.”
“But if what you told me is true—and believe me, I’m still struggling with it—then isn’t he your Mr. Perfect?”
Cat nodded. “He’s Mr. Perfect, alright.”
Ben stared at her in confusion.
“He’s just not Mr. Perfect-For-Me.”
He watched her for a long moment, and then stood up. Is he leaving? He’s not leaving, is he? Tell me he’s not leaving! But he offered his hand instead. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
Cat eyed the snow outside.
“Or do you have to go open the store?”
“No,” she said. “I decided yesterday I’m taking a week’s vacation. You know, mental health days. Although in my case, I may need years.”
“Come on, then.” He picked up her coat and handed it to her.
“In mid-January? It’s freezing outside.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t make you go far. There’s something I want to show you.”
Chapter 28
“The Rotunda? We’re going to the Rotunda?”
“Yes,” answered Ben, taking big strides. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Of course.” Cat struggled to keep up with him. “I haven’t been in there in a long time. Plus, it will be warm.” She pulled her coat more tightly around her. “It’s darn cold for Virginia right now.”
Reaching the south side Rotunda steps, he stopped for a moment to look down the expanse of the Lawn. “Isn’t it breathtaking?” he said.
She nodded. It truly was a gorgeous sight, one she’d taken for granted, having lived in Charlottesville for so long. “Yes.” Her teeth chattered. “Can we go in now?”
Smiling, he linked her arm in his and escorted her down the few steps to the entrance. Once inside, they strolled at leisure, taking in the various rooms. Ben was mostly silent, making an observation here and there about the furnishings, but she didn’t pressure him, figuring he’d eventually reveal why he had brought her here.
They climbed the curved stairwell to the Dome Room, passing by a few other tourists chatting with each other. At the top, he stopped and turned to the window. It was the same view as before they had come in, looking down the Lawn at the Pavilions and student rooms, with a glimpse of Old Cabell Hall at the far end. From up high, though, it was even more impressive, especially framed through the large white columns of the Rotunda’s back entryway.
“Wow,” Cat said.
“Yeah. Wow.” He took a deep breath. “This was my brother’s favorite view.”
She nodded. “I can see why.”
He dipped his chin in curt affirmation. A sheen of tears coated his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Ben,” was all she could think to say.
“I didn’t come to the New Year’s Eve ball, Cat, because I was with my family, marking the anniversary of my brother’s passing. He had cancer—an aggressive pancreatic cancer— and it was on New Year’s Day of last year that he lost the battle.”
He remained staring out the window, not looking at her, one single tear rolling down his cheek. “He was so young. Twenty-nine. He had his whole life ahead of him. But he’s gone.”
She slipped her hand in his and squeezed it. “I know some of that pain. I miss my dad every day.”
He pressed back in acknowledgment. After a moment, he went on. “Wash was an architect. He loved buildings. He had begun working for a big firm in Richmond the previous year, and was so excited.” He took in a deep breath, still gazing blankly down the Lawn. “But he couldn’t figure out why he was so tired. He was losing weight. And then...” He broke off, fighting back a sob. “Then he admitted he’d been having some abdominal pain for a while, but had been ignoring it.” Ben snorted. “That was Wash, never wanting to go to the doctor for anything. When my mother finally convinced him to go—badgered him into it with guilt, rather—the cancer had spread.”
She let go of his hand and enfolded him instead in a hug, mindless of the glances from passing strangers. Ben grabbed her, clinging to her much as she had clung to him in the bookstore when she was pouring out her grief over Eliza. He didn’t say anything more, just held her. Finally, he stepped back.
“Thank you.” He reached for her hand again. “But I didn’t bring you here to express my grief, deep as it still is.” He led her over to one of the rows of chairs in the middle of the room and encouraged her to sit down. He took a place next to her.
“My family,” he said, “is not a religious one. Sometimes we’d go to the Lutheran service when we visited the grandparents on the holidays. But that was it.”
He broke off for a minute, casting her a brief glance. Cat smiled in encouragement, and he went on. “My brother went so far as to declare himself an atheist.” He paused again. “But on the night before he died, New Year’s Eve, I was alone with him in his room. He’d been slipping in and out of consciousness for most of the previous few days and was more out than in that day. We knew the time was near. But late that night—maybe around eleven-thirty, I don’t know—his eyes flew open. When he saw me, the most beatific smile spread across his face and he said, ‘Ben, I saw God. I saw God.’”
Ben turned to Cat as if to gauge her reaction. She put her arm around the back of his chair, stroking his shoulder.
“I didn’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what I believe myself. But he was utterly convinced, Cat. He said his pain was gone, and that God was calling him home. He told me Grandma forgave me for stealing that twenty dollars from her cookie jar when I was thirteen. No one else knew t
hat. No one. I didn’t even think my grandmother knew it.”
He glanced at her again, and then went back to staring at the floor. “He closed his eyes at that point, but said with conviction, ‘I’m at peace. It’s okay to let me go. God is with me.’ It was the last thing I heard him say. When he lapsed into unconsciousness again, I paced the room. I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know what to think. The next morning he passed away. He was smiling when he died, Cat.”
She rubbed his back, unsure of what to say.
“My brother changed his entire sense of reality, or at least my entire sense of reality, in one day. I still struggle with it. I’m a computer scientist, for Pete’s sake. My brain thinks in blacks and whites. I expect logical explanations for everything. It’s hard for me to accept things that I can’t understand. But my brother...”
He broke off. “When you told me your story, everything in my brain screamed, ‘She’s nuts. This woman is nuts.’ It still does,” he admitted with a wry grin. “A part of me said, ‘If my brother the atheist can have a Paul on the road to Damascus moment ...’ But the rest of me, the rational side of me, couldn’t accept it.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Then you sent me that email, with those pictures. I’d accuse you of Photoshopping them, but given your, um, Luddite tendencies, I knew that wasn’t remotely likely. I knew you had to be telling the truth.”
Cat moved her hand from his shoulder and laced her fingers through his. “I’m so sorry, Ben, for the loss of your brother. I can tell you loved him very much.”
His eyes welled up again at her words, but no tears fell. They sat in silence for a while longer, watching people come and go.
At length, Cat whispered, “I’m so glad you came back.”
“Me, too.” He stood up and reached for her hand, drawing her up with him. “I don’t suppose I could buy you a cup of coffee? You know, like a normal, regular interaction between two non-crazy people?”
“Coffee? You’re a man after my own heart.” Realizing what she’d said, she bit her lip. “Um, I didn’t, I mean ...”
“It’s fine, Cat. Unlike Jack Nicholson, I can handle the truth.”
The tender look on his face made Cat melt. She’d nearly missed this, this connection with Ben. If she hadn’t tried again, if he hadn’t returned …
She knew there were no guarantees. She knew they were only at the beginning, although she hoped it was the beginning of something big, something long-lasting. But she was okay with that. The not knowing wasn’t nearly as terrifying as it would have been just a few months ago.
Images of Grayson, William, even Derrick, danced briefly across her mind. She was grateful to them, for what they’d taught her, and for what they’d brought her. They’d brought her clarity on what she really wanted. Guilt hit her in the gut over William, but she set it aside. She knew how she could make it up to him. Now was not about William. It was about Ben. Ben, who was running his fingers gently through her hair.
She laced her own fingers through his thick chestnut hair and drew his mouth down to hers. This time, there was no hesitation. He engulfed her in a fierce embrace, his lips meeting hers eagerly. She ran her hands around behind his neck, holding him to her. This kiss felt magical. Not magical in the sense of the medieval manuscript. Not even in the sense of the surprised passion they’d shared under the mistletoe. But in the sense of connectedness, of completeness, of the sheer rightness of it.
After a moment, they broke off. He set his forehead against hers, and they stood that way, savoring each other. She couldn’t have said if there were others in the Dome Room with them; to her, it was as if they were in a place all their own.
“Coffee,” he murmured. “Before we make a bigger spectacle of ourselves by making out right here on the floor of the Rotunda.” His mouth quirked up in a suggestive grin.
“Whatever would Thomas Jefferson think?”
“Eh, I’m pretty sure he’d root me on. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d engaged in scandalous behavior a time or two in this building.”
“For shame, Benjamin Franklin Cooper, suggesting such a thing of one of your illustrious colleagues.”
He poked her. She laughed.
Linking her fingers through his, they walked down the stairs together.
“Let me see if I get this right.” Ben turned to the barista. “Vente latte, skim milk, with a shot of butterscotch. Unless you want something else, of course,” he added hastily, looking back at Cat.
“No, no.” Her lips turned up in a grin. “That’s exactly right. How did you know that?”
“I, well. I’ve watched you with Eliza for some time in here.”
“Like a stalker?” She started humming Somebody’s Watching Me.
Panic crossed his face. “Well, uh, no, I mean...”
“I’m teasing, Ben. I’m flattered you know my order.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “How do you know that Rockwell song? I thought I was the only one who still loved all those cheesy seventies and eighties hits.”
“Are you kidding?” She retorted, leading him to her usual booth. “Wildfire? The Piña Colada Song? I’m so there.”
As she sat down, she started singing Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl). Ben joined in on the chorus, their voices blending in harmony together. Several customers frowned at them, but Cat didn’t care.
Ben set his coffee down, reaching for her hand across the table. “I have to ask. You’ve never written about me, right? Because I’d still like that smaller nose.”
Her cheeks burned.
His eyes grew wide. “You have written about me. I thought you said I wasn’t one of your characters?”
“You aren’t! You aren’t,” she reassured him. “But I did write about you once, to test it.”
Ben’s face relaxed, and his eyes took on a teasing gleam. “Did it work? Did I used to have blond hair or something?”
She fidgeted with the handle of her coffee mug. “Uh, no.”
“Good. Blond isn’t my color. But that red on your cheeks has me dying to know. What did you write?”
She took a quick sip of coffee, avoiding his eyes. “It was after the mistletoe night. I wanted to make sure it was real, that you were real. I needed to test if I could, uh, write you the way I wanted.” She stopped, but Ben waited, saying nothing. “So I wrote a scene in which you walked into the bookstore and declared you were madly in love with me and couldn’t live without me.”
“Oh, great,” he said. Her eyes flew to his, which were crinkled in amusement. “So now when I do do that, you won’t believe me.”
“Yes, I will. I mean, no. I mean ...” She broke off, flummoxed by the turn of the conversation.
Ben laughed heartily. “It’s all right, Cat. I’m touched that you’d try. More than touched, actually.” His thumb rubbed over her fingers. “But why didn’t you go for the nose?” he added, lightening the mood.
“I like your nose.”
“That would make one of us. I’ve tried to convince myself that if I had a smaller schnoz, the ladies would flock to me.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Cat smirked. “You know what they say: big nose, big hands, big ...”
Now it was Ben’s turn to flush. “Ms. Schreiber,” he said with mock severity. “Are you alluding to, well, to what I think you’re alluding?”
“A lady never tells.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “But as long as we’re playing this game, what should I change about me?”
“Nothing.”
“What?” she burst out. “You’re kidding. I’d kill to have Eliza’s looks.”
“Eliza’s beautiful,” Ben admitted. “But you’re pretty much what I’ve always wanted.”
“What?” Cat said, stunned.
“You are. You’re gorgeous, for one thing. But more importantly, you’re funny. You’re intelligent. You’re loyal. I’ve envied your relationship with Eliza; the closest I ever came to that was with Wash.” He swallowed. “You’re em
otionally expressive in ways I’m not.”
“God, I know,” she broke in. “I wish I could control that better.”
“I don’t. It’s refreshing, at least to me.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “I’ve felt drawn to you, since the day I first saw you in the bookstore.”
“You have?” Cat’s eyes went wide. She pulled her hands back from the table. For a moment, she panicked. Oh God, what if she really had written about him at some point years ago? What if? No, she told herself sternly. You wrote that scene in the bookstore and it didn’t happen. You did not create Ben Cooper.
Eliza had told her after the Grayson-Amy debacle that it was possible for a man to be interested in her, to want her, to love her for exactly who she was, not because she’d written him that way. “I promise,” her friend had said.
Cat took another sip of coffee, fighting to accept that Ben was exactly who he was—not one of her creations—and that he was into her.
She suddenly realized what he had said. “Wait. The first time we saw each other was in the coffee shop.”
He ran his hands along the tops of his thighs, exhaling. “Not exactly.”
“What?”
“It was earlier in the fall. My sister brought Alice to the Treasure Trove for some sort of story thing. I met them there, as we had plans to go to lunch.”
Alice? Alice had come to Story Hour? No wonder the girl had looked familiar.
“You didn’t notice me when I came in, because you were so involved with the kids. You had an eye patch across your eye, and a stuffed parrot on your shoulder, and you were reading in a rather impressive pirate accent. Something about whether or not pirates ever took baths.” He reached for her hand again, clasping it in his, resting both on the top of the table. “I was hooked. I wanted to know more about this woman. It’s not every day you meet an adult wearing a stuffed parrot as a fashion accessory.”
Cat ran her thumb over his. “Eliza always said you were interested in me. I didn’t believe her, especially since you were with a woman the very first time I saw you.”
The Magic of Love Series Page 26
