I close my eyes and remember the look on his face when he gave me that book. We were so far away from okay at that point, but he knew that things would be okay someday. So he took those photos every day that we were apart, and now they’re here, for everyone to enjoy.
I scan the room until I find Ben. He’s across the room, but still easy to find. He’s in jeans, a gray cardigan and a tie. I love seeing him in his own casual version of dressy. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about him. He looks overwhelmed in the large crowd, even though he’s taller than the majority of it. He catches my eye and gives me a small, grateful smile. The same smile I’ve seen so many times. And it dawns on me that he didn’t change at all. That the same Ben is still standing right there. That he screwed up, because he’s human. He’d been my version of perfect for so long, I never considered that there’d be a time when he’d let me down, but it had to happen eventually, because nothing in life is that perfect. And that’s okay. Ben screwing up gave me the opportunity to prove that I could go through something and not fall apart.
Ben put everything on the line to be with me, even after my big fuck-up. He never stopped loving me, he just got confused, and maybe a little broken. And I guess everyone is allowed a second chance.
There is nothing standing in the way of Ben and me being happy but me. I’m not in a situation like Amalea where I have these horrible circumstances keeping me from the man I love. He’s right there.
He’s always been right there.
Twenty-five
QUINN
“Thanks for bringing me home,” I say. I’m standing in the doorway to our apartment. I could have had Ben bring me back to my car. I could have. But to be honest, I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him at the gallery. Tonight of all nights, I just couldn’t let him go.
“No problem. Thanks for showing up tonight. I really can’t imagine doing that without you being there.”
I stare back at him. I don’t know what to say to make things okay right now. All I know is that I don’t want it to be ten years from now, and have me sitting there wondering why I stayed angry, or hurt, or feeling guilty for so long without Ben. I don’t want to end up like Amalea, torturing myself over what could have been.
“Just let me know when you want to go get your car tomorrow, I can take you,” Ben says. “Thanks,” I say. Stupid girl.
“I love you,” he says. Before I can open my mouth to say it back, he continues. “I used to think I loved you because of the way you made me feel that first day we spent together in Savannah. But I don’t. I love you for the way you crinkle your nose when someone annoys the shit out of you, and you’re trying so damn hard to bite your tongue. I love you for never burning food. I love you for calling me out on my shit, and reminding me every day why I’m so damn lucky to call you mine. I love you for making my life whole.”
He gives me a small, warm smile, like he’s thinking the same thing that I am. That he doesn’t want this night to end yet.
“I think you should stay,” I say. I take the last few steps toward him.Close enough to see the stubble on his cheeks and neck. Close enough to smell the fresh, soapy scent that is Ben. Close enough to fall in love with him again.
“Are you sure?” Ben tiltshis head to the side like he’s not sure he’s heard me right.
I nod and link my arms around him, pressing myself into him. I’ve been aching for his touch for weeks.He doesn’t let me go, picking me up and carrying me into our apartment and the door shut behind us.
“I don’t think I’ll ever let you go again,” he says.
“Don’t,” I say.
He carries me to the couch.
“I love you, Ben,” I say. I know he’s going to say it, and I want to be the one to say it first this time. The words tumble out easily, just like they have a thousand times before, but I need him to know it. To understand that it’s real. That it’s forever.
I lace my arms around the back of his neck and he pulls me in, his lips warm on my ear. “I love you, too.”
His dark eyes are hazy with that unmistakable look he gives me when he wants me. And it feels amazing to be wanted.
“I never want to be away from you again,” he says. His words are a hot rush of breath on my neck, and the only words that need to be said.He lays back on the sofa and pulls me onto his lap. I tilt my hips up against him and I can feel that he’s instantly hard.
There’s not a minute of fumbling hesitation before we’re both tugging on each other’s clothes. I works on his sloppily knotted tie. He slides the zipper of the dress down my back, then runs his hands along the now bare skin. He slips them under the straps and lets them fall off of my shoulders.
We’re stripped bare. Everything out in the open. Everything lost and then found again. Every ounce of hurt and guilt replaced by the love that we’ve fought so hard for.
And for a moment, it feels like too much. Too much at stake again. I start to move to cover myself with my arms.
“Don’t,” he says, pulling them away from my chest. “You’re so beautiful.”
His lips are on my throat, and his hands slip under the black lace of my bra, cupping my breasts, tugging on my nipples. I can’t kiss him hard enough.
Ben pulls back for a second so that I can help him tug his shirt off over his head so that we both are skin on skin, and then his mouth is on me again. He pushes the scrap of lace of my panties out of the way and lets his fingers slide inside me.
“Ben,” I gasp. I’ve missed his touch more than I thought. I fist my hands in his hair and tug on it. His capable hands get to work until the room is spinning and I can’t string a coherent thought together.
“I need you,” I say. The three words come out like a beg.
He pulls away long enough to grab a condom and my breath is rushing out so fast and uneven, it’s hard to know if I’m exploding into a million pieces because I’m crashing towards terror or bliss.
I lay back onto the sofa as Ben steadies himself above me, not letting any of his weight push onto me. But I want him to. I pull him down toward me and he locks eyes with me again.
“I love you, baby,” he says. And then he’s inside of me, and we are in that perfect rhythm that ours. But it’s not close enough this time. I wrap my legs around his waist. I pull him in closer. I rise up to meet him. It’s scratching and tugging and kissing until I taste tin. It’s a desperate attempt to make up for lost time and to show each other how much we’ve been missing each other.
“You feel so damn amazing,” Ben says. He pulls me onto his lap again and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sending me over the edge.
I try to match his breathing to steady my own as he slides in and out of me. And it’s the perfect antidote because we’re in this together. Everything. Together.
“I missed, you,” I say, falling limp against his chest. Relaxed. Loved. Home.
And later, falling asleep on Ben, with his hands tangled in my hair—in our bed— in this home that we’ve made together, I know that this reunion was more than worth the wait.
EPILOUGE
“Is this one of those typical female, ‘I don’t know what to wear to the party’ things?” Ben says, surveying the pile of dresses I’ve laid out across our bed.
“No, it’s an ‘I don’t know what to wear to watch my brother get engaged kind of thing,’” I say. “I mean, who knows what he’s got planned, right? He could have given us more of a heads up. Details, Carter, details are helpful,” I mumble.
“Easy there, tiger, it’s not a big deal. I’m sure it’s going to be low-key.”
“I just can’t believe it’s happening so fast, I mean, I thought Syd would be the first person I knew to run off and get married.”
“Well, they aren’t technically married yet. She may not even say yes,” Ben jokes.
“Oh, she’ll definitely say yes.” I kick off the black heels I’d been wearing around the room while I try on dresses. “Holy shit, how did it not dawn on me before that
Shayna is going to be my sister.” I say the last word like it’s a dirty word.
“She’s not half-bad, admit it.”
“Never.” I joke. “It’s at the Four Seasons, for Christ’s sake. Who is Carter trying to impress?”
“Shayna’s family,” Ben chuckles.
“True. “ I agree. I toss aside the red dress that is definitely out of the running. “I just can’t decide.”
“Anything you wear will be fine.”
I hold up the navy dress that I bought in Italy and stare in the mirror, as Ben walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in the crook of my neck.
“You smell good,” I tell him.
He takes the dress from my hands and tosses it back onto the bed.
“Tell you what,” he says, rubbing his calloused hand across my chest, “You try them on, and I’ll take the ones I don’t like off of you.”
I turn to face him and he pushes my robe off of my shoulders. “You know what else is typical of parties? Being fashionably late,” Ben growls, pulling me onto the bed with him.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I squirm away from him. “We can’t do this right now. We cannot be late to this party.”
“Yes we can,” he says.
“No! My parents are going to be there, too, and I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of showing up late and looking like the asshole of the family.”
“Quinn, who cares what they think?”
I consider this for a minute, while I nip at his ear and neck. I’m not even remotely helping the situation, I know.
“Okay, okay,” Ben shrugs me off. “Could we be late for this?”
He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a box.
A box that looks like it contains jewelry.
A jewelry box that looks like it contains a ring.
“Ben, we can’t do this. Not today. This is my brother’s day and…” I love Ben. I do. I love him with every single cell inside my body. I want him forever. But we aren’t nearly ready for this.
“Shhh…” he says. He covers my lips with his index finger. “It’s okay. It’s not what you think.”
“Huh?” I ask. I didn’t want it to be, but the fact that I assumedthat it was an engagement ring leaves me a little embarrassed and flustered. I start picking at the polish on my right hand, but Ben takes my hand to stop me.
“You just painted them, Quinn. Why are you nervous? It’s just me.”
He hands me the box and I rub my hand across the smooth, velvet exterior. Ben’s right, I shouldn’t have been picking at my nails. The silver polish I’d just applied an hour ago is now missing from my middle finger. I trace the gold band around the middle where the box will croak open, but I’m too nervous to do it.
“I just, I don’t want to screw anything up. I want to say the right thing and…”
“Just open it.”
I take a deep breath and pry the tiny box open.
Inside, as Ben promised, is not a ring.
It’s a scrap of white paper, tucked in the crease of the box where a ring would normally go. Ben’s slanty chicken scratch is pressed deep into the paper because he always presses too hard when he’s concentrating.
I promise.
“What’s this?” Iask.
Ben smiles and pushes the hair back out of my face.
“I can’t promise that I’ll ever be able to give you the big house, or the best Damascus knives or that I’ll ever be able to tell the difference between a Coeur à la Crème mold and a soufflé dish. I can’t promise that I’ll never piss you off, or that I’ll never let you down again. I can’t promise to always say the right things, or even to pretend that you always say the right things. But I can promise, and I do promise, that I’ll wake up every single day and try like hell. I promise you that I’ll give you everything in me.”
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck perk up in the best way, like when a cool breeze catches you on a miserably hot Southern day, and I know, holding that box with Ben’s promise that it was all worth it. All of it. Every miss-step, every person who tried to threaten the love that we have, every harsh word and round of makeup sex. Every single touch in the middle of the night, every single thing that went wrong or right brought us to this exact place.
To this lesson.
I finally understand that life isn’t about holding all of the pieces neatly together. Life is about picking up the pieces. And love is about finding a way to make those pieces fit together, even if they’re all jaggedy and mismatched. And that’s what brought Ben and I to this moment— to this mad, crazy love.
To this promise.
That beautiful things can last, if you let them bend and change with you.
Acknowledgments
Hugethanks go out to so many people:
First, my husband Chris, thanks for running the show while I write. I literally could not do it without you. Any of it. Love you.
My kids! I love you, Hailey, Liam, Finnian & Britta. I don’t spend as much time with you as I’d like, but I promise, it’s all for you. I’m so honored to be your mom.
To Liz Reinhardt, to call you my best friend seems inadequate, because you’re more like my hetero-life-mate. Thanks for keeping me on track when I got sidetracked and just wanted to peruse where to order sfogliatelle online. Thanks for annihilating my apostrophes, and schooling me on the oxford comma repeatedly. I owe you A’s weight in Grappa. In Italy. I love you.
To Jolene Perry, who plucked Grounding Quinn out of obscurity back in 2011, when I was a very newly self-published author (before self-publishing was acceptable) and became my (and Quinn and Ben’s) biggest cheerleader, writing partner, fashion consultant, and friend. Thank you.
To readers like Fred LeBaron, Kelly Moorhouse, and Carly Noonan, who not only ‘got’ Quinn, but embraced her from the start. Thank you for your enthusiasm and willingness to see past her tough outer-shell and love her despite her flaws. I adore you all to pieces!
Thanks to my rock star cover artist, Sarah Hansen who has also become a dear friend and my book soul mate.
To Ron Pope, for the title inspiration, and for writing beautiful music and sharing your amazing gift. And special thanks to Blair for making things happen!
Big shout out to my agents, Jane Dystel and especially tothe lovely Lauren Abramo, both of Dystel and Goderich, who put up with my inane questions and are some of the smartest people I know! So lucky to have you in my corner!
Thanks to our favorite traveling mates, Phil, Judy, Chris, Ian, Skye, Mark, Susan and Lu-Lu, and, of course, our tour guide Davide, for leaving Chris and I with such incredible memories of Italy that I had to include it in a book.
Last and never least, thank you to the ladies of FP. My cohorts, colleagues, and friends that I am so honored to call such. Thanks for being there every single day to inspire, make me laugh, tell me I’m ridiculous, offer a shoulder, build me up— but always keeping me grounded and keeping things real.
About the Author
Steph Campbell grew up in Southern California, but now calls Southwest Louisiana home. She has one husband, four children and a serious nail polish obsession.
Other Novels by Steph are:
DELICATE (YA)
GROUNDING QUINN (Mature YA)
MY HEART FOR YOURS (co-written with Jolene Perry) New Adult Romance
LENGTHS (co-written with Liz Reinhardt) New Adult Romance
A TOAST TO THE GOOD TIMES (co-written with Liz Reinhardt)New Adult Romance
Steph blogs at stephcampbell.blogspot.com, stop by and say hello!
www.facebook.com/authorstephcampbell
@stephcampbell_
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