by Ally Blake
“How did this go from muffins to a battle?” she asked.
Ben gave her a measured look, and said, “Clancy. That’s how.”
“I know you guys had issues, but Clancy was good to me. She didn’t take advantage of me. We found one another at the perfect time in our lives and I’d not change a single second of it. Not even those final weeks.”
“Do you have any idea how sweet you are?” said Ben, turning to face her.
“Pfft. I’m not sweet. I’m tough. I’m smart. I choose my actions. I choose my responses. I’m in charge.”
He tossed the tea towel to the bench and held out both hands as if about to hold her by the upper arms, but instead he hovered, just out of reach. “Why didn’t you get the alarm on the house sorted?”
“What does that—?”
“The alarm. When I asked you to send Damon details of the alarm company so we could get it connected, why did you resist?”
“Because it was unnecessary. I was fine!”
“I’ve done a lot of walking since I’ve been back and this area is riddled with graffiti. I’ve seen baggies beside bins in the park. Sirens whiz by three times a night.”
“That’s life in the big city.”
“The back door doesn’t lock properly.”
“No one knows that, except you.”
Ben shook his head, ever so slightly, a glint of something warm, and tender, yet serious, behind his bottomless dark eyes. Like-like-like-like pulsed through Nora’s head like an anthem.
“I know you are no pushover, Nora, but that doesn’t mean you have to act as if you’re indestructible. That if you own up to even a modicum of fragility, you’ll be hit from all sides by a fleet of Mack trucks.”
If only he knew he was the Mack truck. That she was struck, and continued to be struck, every day she knew him.
“Can’t a girl simply like muffins?” she asked, grateful to find words that didn’t make her look like the puddle she’d become.
As if he knew she needed a little extra fortification, he laid his hands on her, resting, warm and secure on her upper arms. Then he pulled her in, his arms sliding around her shoulders. Hers—oh, so naturally—slid around his back.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Nora. I just want you to know that you deserve more than people in your past might have led you to believe you deserve.”
“I know.”
“Promise me you’ll learn to say no.”
“No.”
His laughter rolled through her like a summer storm, fast and invigorating.
Nora tilted her head so the side of her face pressed up against Ben’s chest. She’d have pressed deeper, pressed till all of herself was up against all of him if it were physically possible.
Because while it was something she’d spent her entire adult life telling herself she’d never crave, never need, never find, she knew what like-like-like-like meant. And now she’d felt it, now it was a part of her, she knew she had to hold on to it as tightly as she could, soaking up every skerrick, until it was taken away.
When Ben lifted his arm, she might have whimpered just a little. When he used a finger to tilt her face, when he smiled down at her before laying his mouth over hers, the whimper turned into a sigh.
* * *
Later, as she lay back in Ben’s arms in her big, soft bed, her leg curled over his, her fingers making tracks through the hair on his chest as he checked his phone for work emails, her mind tracked back over the conversations of the day.
Little Red Riding Hood amongst other things. Ben lounging in the doorway. Ben tensing any time talk strayed to his relationship with Clancy. Ben intimating that he thought Clancy might have taken advantage of her good nature.
He cared. He felt protective towards her. That much was clear.
But some bigger part of the conversation felt undone. As if she’d missed an opportunity to get to the bottom of it all. For while Ben had seen to the very heart of her, over and over again, been witness to every one of her insecurities, she still had no clue why Ben and Clancy had fallen out.
It had to be intentional. Was he just that hard to crack? Or was it that she wasn’t the kind of person people ever let close? Not when she was pushy and brazen, or since she’d learnt how to be sunshiny and soft.
While she’d spent years telling herself it didn’t matter, that it was okay, that she could cope, it turned out she was lying to herself the whole time.
It hurt. It hurt so bad.
* * *
Nora yawned, scrubbing some life into her scalp as she flicked through her morning emails. When she opened the third, her jaw all but dislocated when it fell open in shock.
It was a job offer, by way of a competition she’d entered. Six months working at a resort in Far North Queensland on a social-media takeover. She’d be paid, and pretty well too, for experiencing every adventure the region had to offer, and posting about it.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime for a fledgling social-media sort like her. And it started two weeks from now.
Nora glanced quickly towards the en suite when she heard the shower turn on. And had the strange sense that it was something she ought to discuss with Ben.
But no. No discussions. This was her thing. Alone. And the timing could not have been more perfect.
Because she had fallen in love with Ben Hawthorne.
He, on the other hand, clearly had no clue, trundling around the house with the exact same comportment as the day they’d met: with grace, and strength, and a locked box where his heart should be.
She must have made a noise, or was sending anxious waves into the universe, as Cutie lifted his head from his position on the end of her bed. Pie, snuggled up beside him, slept through, not giving a jot as to Nora’s cares.
“It’s okay,” she said, and Cutie cocked his head. “In fact, it’s brilliant. The universe has pointed the way to my next adventure. Great news, huh?”
Cutie shook his head and snuffled—a goodly amount of saliva flying across the room and landing on the wall, the floor, a lamp—then he lay back down and closed his eyes.
She shook her head too, managing to keep all saliva locked away, then read over the email one more time.
The packing list was laptop, beachwear, and a six-month supply of sunscreen. Even less than her usual minimalist fare. And she already owned a kaftan! Slow lifestyle, sunshine, impermanent population; it was the polar opposite of the bustling community that she’d spent her last year and a half falling in love with. The perfect cathartic cleansing.
A sound came from the bathroom. It was Ben. Humming. No, singing, in the shower—“Blue Moon”, no less—that hot, deep, sexy voice of his terribly out of tune. And she had to admit, he wasn’t exactly the same man he’d been when he’d shown up at Clancy’s front door. He walked the place in bare feet, eating peanut butter from the jar, lying back on the too small couch with his feet over the arm rest. All things happy people did. People who felt content. Comfortable.
But still, not lovesick.
Meaning her job here was done.
She pressed reply and began to type an effusive yes, but then stopped herself. There was no need to be rash. First she’d read the fine print. Figure out her finances. Check if there was a non-compete clause. Would she be able to keep The Girl Upstairs going at the same time? The exposure would be fabulous, but she didn’t want to leave her current clients in the lurch.
With that, slowly, achingly slowly, she closed her laptop. Stood. Wiped dry palms down the sides of her shorts.
When Ben’s phone lit up the caller was listed as World’s Best Assistant. Damon. Ha.
When Ben started up “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”, after a half-second hesitation, she answered.
“Hey, Damon.”
A beat, then, “Nora? That you?”
“’Tis me.”
The humming from the shower continued. “He’s indisposed. Can I pass on a message?”
“I guess. But first where is he, and why are you answering his phone?”
“None of your business, boyo.”
“I know you say that, but I feel as if I was a big part of getting the two of you together—”
“We’re not together.” They weren’t. They really weren’t. But the thought of actually leaving him made Nora’s heart clutch.
“Right,” said Damon, the tone of his voice making it clear he didn’t actually believe her either. “My message is twofold. First, he wanted the name of some local real estate agents. Do you have a pencil?”
“Ah...”
“Long sticky-looking thing you can write things down with?”
“Got it.” Nora grabbed a pencil, while her mind quietly spun about in even more frantic circles.
“Okay, this company had the best rep when it came to honest valuations,” said Damon, naming a local group.
Valuations? Valuation meant selling. Was Ben selling Thornfield Hall and hadn’t mentioned it to her? Just like you planned to move to Far North Queensland without discussing it with him?
“Not the same thing.”
“What’s that, now?” Damon asked.
“Nothing. I’ve got it.”
Yeah, she got it all right. Ben was selling Thornfield Hall and he hadn’t deemed it something she might like to know. Just as he’d made a concerted effort not to tell her why he was still so upset with Clancy. Damon knew the former. Everyone else around her seemed to know the latter. Leaving her on the outside, looking in. Again.
“What was the other thing?”
Damon paused. “You know what, I’ll save that one for when he calls back.”
Nora’s phone rang. She glanced at it as she said, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” said Damon. “Thanks. Make good choices!”
“You bet,” she sing-songed before hanging up, out of habit rather than any real sense of sunshine, as her well seemed to have completely dried up.
Her phone rang again. She answered, “The Girl Upstairs.”
“Hey, Nora? It’s Gemma from Playful Paws. Good news! We’ve found a home for Cutie and Pie! A young couple on the Peninsula. Big yard. Near the beach. She has a small business making baby food, works from home.”
Nora slowly sat on the bed.
“Oh!” said Nora, her gaze flicking to the patchy, scratchy, bitsy dogs curled up on the end of her bed.
Gemma went on, “The photo you put on your Insta went crazy. We had so many expressions of interest we were able to pick and choose where they are going. Though, it has to be said, several of the phone calls were expressions of interest in the guy.”
The guy being Ben. Eyes crinkled, huge smile on his face, as he crouched down to make eye contact with Pie. Cutie in the background, head cocked. The Girl Upstairs knew how to sell “likeable” like no one else.
She ran a hand over her eyes, as they suddenly felt gritty and so very tired. “I’m so happy. They sound...perfect.”
Suddenly the singing stopped. Then the shower. Then Nora’s heart seemed to give up right along with it.
She smacked herself in the chest. Then said, “Sorry, I have to zoom. Message me the details and I’ll make sure they’re ready to go when you’re ready to take them.”
“Will do. Thanks again, Nora. You’re the best. We literally could not have done this without you.”
Nora hung up without saying goodbye, her throat too tight to form anything other than some kind of strangled grunt.
To think that where she used to hear, “You’re a lot, Nora. Too loud. Too much,” now she heard, “You’re the best. We literally could not have done this without you.” So why did it feel like the same thing?
“Nora?”
Nora jumped out of her skin.
“You still here?”
She bit her lip to keep the ever so slightly hysterical laugh to herself, then managed, “Yep. I’m still here.”
“Good. Now take your clothes off, because I have plans!”
The door swung open and with it came a waft of steam, and Ben; towel slung low around his waist, a pair of water droplets sliding down his buff chest, water making his eyelashes tangle and curl.
Her heart squeezed at the sight of him. At the love that swirled about her insides like brandy on a cold night. She’d never imagined love could ache like this. But when it was only one way, it hurt like crazy.
If only she’d never made that promise to Clancy that she’d look after the house till the new owner took it off her hands. She would have never heard of Ben Hawthorne. Never have reached out. Never have emailed, or rung, or video-chatted. Never have cajoled him into coming back. Never have met him, kissed him, snuggled up to him on the couch, made love to him. Seen him in that towel.
Never have spent the last few weeks with a pair of butty dogs, and a house to call home and...and the man she loved sleeping in her bed. She’d never have lived the dream she’d never dared have.
Or lost it all in one fell swoop.
“Why are you still dressed?” he asked.
And when he lifted an eyebrow, his mouth quirking adorably, Nora burst into tears.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NORA THOUGHT IT safest to let Ben think her meltdown was about the dogs.
At which point he took over. Completely. Which, actually, was a blessed relief as the afternoon had completely sapped her. She could barely remember what sunshine even felt like, much less conjured up enough to put on a brave face.
Ben gave them both a last bath—Cutie in the yard, Pie in the laundry sink, his eyes glinting lovingly at Ben the entire time. He gathered their toys, washed their bedding, didn’t get upset when the newly fixed washing machine broke once again. Not once did he look at her sideways, or make a big deal of the fact that she sat on the floor watching and crying. Crying as if she might never stop.
Then it was over. Gemma came around in a cute little pink van with the Playful Paws logo on the side. And—with Ben and Nora’s help—loaded Cutie, Pie and all the paraphernalia they had collected over the past few weeks into the back.
“I travel lighter than they do,” Nora managed.
Ben stepped up beside her, put a strong, warm arm around hers shoulders, and kissed her atop her head. “You’re not giving them up,” he said as Gemma beeped the horn and raced away. “You were a warm, kind, protective space, readying them for their for-ever family. They’d never have found one another, if not for your patience and your kindness.”
Her love for the guy doubled, just like that.
When, later that night, Ben fell asleep in front of The Sting, her hands playing with his hair, her gaze tracing the contours of his beautiful nose, his tangled lashes, his strong jaw, she told herself the only reason she hadn’t yet told him about her job offer, or Damon’s phone call, wasn’t because she was keeping things from him,
But because she’d only burst into tears again, and this time not have a safe excuse.
* * *
“Nora!” Ben called, his deep voice curling its way up the stairs.
“Ben,” she muttered back, lifting her head a smidge from where it had been resting on her forearms on her desk. She felt as if she was coming down with something. Was there a tablet to cure the doldrums?
She heard Ben’s feet taking the stairs two at a time. She winced as she waited for him to trip—but no, the man was too lithe for that to happen unless she was the one tumbling into him. Taking him down.
“Why didn’t you tell me Damon rang yesterday?” he asked as he burst into the room.
Nora nibbled at her bottom lip. “I forgot?” Yeah, okay, so the lilt at the end of her sentence made it clear that wasn’t
entirely the case.
She prepared to bat her lashes his way—she couldn’t quite muster the energy to do much else—but in the end she gave up and put her head back on the desk.
“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping. She felt the air shift as he moved her way. “What’s going on? Is it the dogs? Gemma said we could visit any time.” He put a hand on her forehead. “You haven’t been yourself the last couple of days.”
Not wanting to be a bother, she pressed herself to sitting and turned on the chair, leaning her arms across the back. “I’m fine. While you’ve been a busy boy.”
“It’s the house,” said Ben, moving to sit on the end of the bed.
“I can’t believe you’re selling it, after all the progress you’ve made here.”
“I’m considering my options. And what do you mean by progress?”
“With Clancy,” she said, throwing her arms out to the side. “You seem to have made so much headway, telling stories about her without my having to nudge, no longer frowning when her name is mentioned.”
“Nora, sweetheart, come on,” he said, reaching for her.
“Don’t sweetheart me!”
Ben pulled his hand away, his expression wary, as if she were about to go rabid. Which she just might.
She knew that tone all too well. It was the I’m-about-to-disappoint-you tone.
“You’re upset,” he said.
“You think? I’m furious.” And she was. Suddenly she was pacing, back and forth, at the end of her bed. “I’m furious with myself. I’ve been such a fool.”
“Regarding?”
“You!”
She waved both hands in his direction, and his hand lifted to rub against this mouth, as if he could sense what was truly front and centre on her mind. As if she could tell him the truths he’d assured her he’d always want to hear.
But she baulked. Deflected. “You didn’t want to talk about Clancy, so I left it alone. Let you set the pace. That’s not what I do. Why? Because it always bites me on the ass. All this time, all this work, and you’re just going to sell the house.”
