“It’s not obvious to me.”
“The man brings you J.D. Robb, cleans the crap out of your gutters, and sings you a love song without being falling-down drunk—it’s as good as sky-writing his intentions in fifty-foot-high letters! He’s never once said, ‘I love you, Shaye.’” She faked a baritone rumble. “But would he tackle a Great White for me? Abso-bloody-lutely. Ben loves me, he loves his family, and he loves you. You’re just too much of a chicken—no—a coward—to love him back.”
“I do love him,” Kezia said in a small voice.
“Then why use such a pathetic excuse to keep him at bay? Oh, woe-is-me, Ben—who you know is verbally stunted when it comes to emotions—hasn’t said those three little words. Does it mean he’s only after easy sex without commitment?”
Kezia flushed at the vehemence in Shaye’s tone. “There’s more to it than Ben not saying those three little words.”
“Marci.” Shaye shook her head and sighed. “You said he wanted to sort that particular Chernobyl-sized mess out himself?”
Kezia nodded, her stomach flip-flopping again.
“Hon, you do realize that’s what he’s done for everyone he loves since Dad died? He takes care of them. He doesn’t know his way around relationships and how you’re meant to make these big life-altering decisions together, because the big oaf has never been in love before.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Uh-huh.” Shaye nailed Kezia with her best sous-chef stare—powerful stuff, being the recipient of it. Shaye could, and had, reduced a server to tears with one silent glance.
Another Harland trait. Just thinking about Ben’s beautiful eyes made her stomach go all quivery.
“The night Zoe got sick? Marci threatened to leave with Jade first thing in the morning.”
“She—” Kezia licked lips the same texture as sun-baked beef jerky. “She did what?”
“I overheard Marci saying she wanted to leave the next day if Ben went to the hospital. But he still insisted on accompanying Zoe, because she was his responsibility.”
She pounced, a drowning woman clutching at small chunks of driftwood. “Hah—responsibility! He only felt responsible for Zoe.”
“In Ben-speak, that means he loves her, you deliberately obtuse, stubborn woman.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Marci’s threat before?”
“You clammed up and refused to discuss it! Besides, I thought you’d have a little more faith in the man you claim to be in love with.”
Yes—direct hit. All the accusations she’d hurled at Ben in her kitchen, about him not coming to her and opening up? She was just as guilty. She’d spent nights with her hand clamped to her mouth so no one else would hear her sob out her loss. The root of distrust festering deep inside her wasn’t Ben’s fault.
“Why risk losing Jade after going to such extremes to keep her? I don’t understand.”
Shaye stood and picked up her towel. “Ask yourself that, and when you know the answer? Figure out what kind of person you are. Stubborn and cowardly, or the friend I know—a loyal, brave woman with a heart big enough to hold the Pacific Ocean.”
“Yes, Dr. Phil.”
“Go to bed, Kez. Sleep on it, and I’m sure by morning you’ll figure out what to do.” Shaye strolled from the room.
Kezia fussed with the drapes again, wiped down the bench, and straightened the dishtowel, all the time ears straining for the sound of footsteps on the road outside. The night remained breathless and silent. With a sigh, she switched off the lights and felt her way down the hallway. A strip of light glowed under Zoe’s door—her nightlight—and Kezia paused, listening to the soft rustles and sighs of the girls sleeping.
Did she believe Ben loved her? Was she brave enough to love him the way he deserved to be loved? To gamble that he wouldn’t let her down? Suddenly, taking a chance on a man who’d risk losing his little girl to be there for her didn’t seem like much of a gamble. Kezia continued down the hall to her bedroom and her empty, empty bed. A bed she didn’t want to spend another night in alone.
Shaye was right. Things would look different in the cold light of day.
***
Kezia Murphy dreamed early one winter morning.
Not an inspirational dream or a bizarre combination of fleeting images jumbled into meaningless nonsense. But a lovely dream, a Technicolor extravaganza involving Stewart Island’s seriously hot dive tour operator.
He kissed her forehead while she lay cradling a swaddled new-born in a hospital bed, Zoe and Jade giggling beside them.
“I love you, sweetheart,” Dream-Ben said.
“We love you, Mamma,” Dream-Zoe and Dream-Jade chorused.
A nurse rapped on the hospital door and chirped, “Visiting time is over, Harland family.”
Damn busy-body, Kezia wanted to unwrap the baby and show Ben how gorgeous their little—
The rapping from her dream merged with the knocking on her French doors.
“A little longer, please—” The words slipped from her mouth and blew away the remnants of the dream.
Her eyes popped open, focusing on the empty pillow and un-rumpled duvet next to her.
Alone.
More knocking.
Kezia sat up. Drapes hid her early-morning intruder. A quick glance of her watch revealed it was before seven. She slid out of bed, stuffing her feet into her slippers and hurrying across the floor. Yanking open the drapes, Kezia whispered Ben’s name.
There he was, big and bad, his larger-than-life bulk blocking out the weak morning sunshine. Dressed in a grey marl Henley and his usual faded jeans, which hugged all the places a woman liked to see hugged, he balanced a covered plastic container on his hip.
Ben’s eyes locked with hers through the glass. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. If she closed the drapes again, would he leave? Would he give up on her and walk away?
One dark eyebrow rose. “I know where you hide your spare key. If you shut the curtains, I’m just gonna go get it. I’m not walking away.”
What, was he psychic now? Kezia frowned and unlocked the French doors, moving aside so he could enter.
Immediately, her room became smaller—she felt smaller—and waaay out of her depth. He looked so good, smelled so good, she wanted to scale him like a tree—then shout timber and topple him to her bed.
Ben placed the container on her dressing table.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. Crickets would chirrup any second, the silence was so deafening. “I’m sorry I ran out on you last night, that I embarrassed you.”
A muscle flickered in his jaw. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I don’t care about being embarrassed if it means you’ll talk to me again.”
The rawness of his voice caused shivers to multiply beneath her pajama top. Pajamas? She couldn’t have this conversation in saggy flannelette and slippers! She cut a glance sideways to her robe hanging on the door.
“I miss your voice.”
Pajama worries slipped from her mind. “I thought you didn’t like women blathering on.”
He exposed a flash of white teeth with his wicked smile. “You don’t blather, Kezzy.” The smile faded, his brown eyes gleaming with intensity. “And there’s nothing I’d rather hear about than how your day went, or your plans for the girls’ next outing, or how your brothers would love to go fishing with me. So long as I get to hold you while you’re talking.”
She swallowed, gaze fixated on his long, dark lashes.
“I miss your voice,” he said. “I miss you. I screwed things up so badly, and then I choked on the words you needed to hear—”
Her slippered feet flew, and Kezia flattened herself against Ben, fingers digging into the warm bulges of his biceps. “You don’t need to say anything. I’ve been so stubborn, so unreasonable…”
So terrified of giving him all of her heart, all of her trust. Instead, she’d proudly expected him to flay himself open. Who said Ben should verbalize his feelings first? After ev
erything he’d done for her and Zoe, she knew he loved her. She could’ve thought a bit harder about why he’d behaved the way he had, instead of crucifying him in her mind for what he’d seen as the right thing to do in a no-win situation. She could’ve swallowed her pride and told him she loved him too. That she’d always love him.
A warm hand gently covered her mouth. “Now would be a good time for you to shut up, sweetheart.”
Her protests fizzled to a soft huff.
“Better.” He gave her a wonky grin and removed his hand, smoothing an errant curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her neck.
She wanted to purr and she snuggled closer, until his belt buckle jutted into her stomach. He cupped her jaw, bringing their faces close together, his soft exhale smelling of coffee and sugary sweetness. Coffee-and-sugar-oh-dear-Lord—Kezia’s lips rolled in and pinched tightly closed.
His brow creased. “Kez?”
Sweet Mother, the man thought she was rejecting him again. She clutched his arms harder, surreptitiously breathing out of the corner of her mouth.
“Morning breath,” she whispered. “Just one moment while I brush my teeth, amore mio.”
Ben’s face crumpled and for a second her heart ceased to beat. Then he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his laughter warm gusts against her skin. “Morning breath. God, I love you, Kezia Murphy—morning breath and all.”
Every muscle, every sinew, every nerve ending fizzed and stiffened as if Ben had jabbed a Taser into her side. He pulled away, once again framing her face with his big hands.
“You don’t have morning breath, and even if you did, I couldn’t care less. You’re so damn beautiful, all sleepy-eyed and rumpled. You tear me inside out, baby.”
Hope, hot and strong, flooded through her, making her heart pump faster. She moistened her lips. “About what you said…”
“First, tell me amore mio doesn’t mean you arrogant jerk.”
“No, of course not. It means my love.”
“Am I your love?”
Her mouth quivered up into a smile, but she couldn’t make her vocal chords work.
Ben huffed out a sheepish sigh. “Listen, I’ve been up since four practicing this speech, but every time I look at you, I forget what it is I’m supposed to be saying…” He sucked in a deep breath that crushed her tighter against him.
“I forget it all, except, I love you, Kez. I love you wearing that sexy red dress and I love you in your penguin PJs. I love the smell of your skin and the dirty things you whisper in Italian right before I make you come. I love how you put our girls’ happiness before your own, and I’m begging you, sweetheart, give me a chance—give us a chance.”
Kezia had rarely been speechless in her life—an Italian woman with no opinion and nothing to say? Hush your mouth. But now, after Ben finally shared his heart, she couldn’t form a single word.
He loved her. Ben loved her—and oh, why was he pulling away?
“Don’t say anything yet,” he said, snatching up the container he’d brought with him.
As if she could. Pure joy had destroyed thirty-one years of language development. Totally blanked it.
Ben shoved the container into her hands. Smooth plastic rubbed against her fingertips as Ben fumbled with the lid. Was he shaking? She snuck a glance at his face—tiny beads of moisture had popped out on his forehead, and the tips of his ears were crimson.
Then there was no time left to analyze his reactions because he pried off the lid, revealing three rows of four cupcakes with wonky iced letters on each.
“I ruined the first two batches practicing my speech, but everything’s better with cupcakes, right?”
In a complete brain-edit-fail, she read out loud, “Marr ymek ezia.”
“Hell,” Ben muttered. “Knew I should’ve gone for the bigger container.”
Her morning fuzzed brain cleared, zeroing in on the glittery, spidery letters.
M-a-r-r-y m-e K-e-z-i-a.
Sweet Mother of God. Ben had baked cupcakes, and Ben wanted to marry her!
***
Kezia stared at him wide-eyed with nostrils flared. Oh, shit. She was gonna say no. Ben braced himself for the rejection.
She didn’t love him, she still thought he was a bad bet, she wouldn’t marry him, she—
Kezia tossed the container onto the bed and jumped him, her arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his hips, squeezing. Squeezing so tight he couldn’t breathe. Their mouths came together in a fusion of heat and need.
Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. Ever.
He staggered, and the edge of her bed bumped his legs. He sat, arms full of flannelette-covered-woman, pouring himself into the kiss with heart and soul until his head spun.
“Hey,” he said, when they finally both came up for air.
Flushed and gorgeous, her hair spilling in dark, silky curls over his hands, Kezia panted to catch her breath. The taut silence between them sliced up his gut and strung it out in four directions. Tears shone in her eyes, but hell, that could mean any number of things. She’d kissed the bejesus out of him—a good sign—but she still hadn’t said “yes.”
His natural inclination was to clam up after he’d put his nuts on the line. But if he allowed his natural inclination to overrule his desperation to make Kezia his—permanently his—then he truly didn’t deserve her.
“I know your parents and Callum let you down. I let you down too.”
Her lower lip quivered once and then stilled.
“I can’t promise I won’t screw up and make you feel like I’ve let you down again, because I’m a guy, and I just don’t come with a guarantee.” He settled her straddled across his lap and ran his hands up and down her back. “I’ll screw up, embarrass you with my gauche male ways, piss you off, and the odds are good some dumbass thing’ll come out of my mouth and make you cry. But I won’t ever bail on you when life is tough. You’ll never have to face anything alone again.” His chest tightened. “Whatever crap life throws at us, we’ll deal with it together. As a family.”
“A family?” Kezia squeaked, and then hiccupped, her hand clamping over her mouth.
“Yeah. I want us to be a family.”
“Me too!” A little voice outside Kezia’s bedroom door piped up.
“Me three!” Came another, higher pitched voice right next to it.
“Girls!” cried Kezia, choking out a sound that was half laughter, half admonishment.
“Can we come in, Mamma?”
“Pleeeease, Dad.”
Ben looked at Kezia, she looked at him.
“Hang on,” he said. “Your mother hasn’t told me she loves me yet.”
“Shelovesyoushelovesyou. Hurry up, Mamma!”
Fat tears spilled over Kezia’s lashes. She slid her hands up his chest and rested them on his shoulders. The warm, welcoming fire of her touch seared away the last of his doubts. She didn’t need to say the words now; love was in the tears sliding down her cheeks, in the way she gently grabbed his ears and tugged his mouth back on hers.
She whispered against his lips, “I love you, Ben Harland. Every morning for the next fifty-something years, when I wake up by your side, I’ll remind you, amore mio.”
Keeping their foreheads pressed together, he called out, “C’mon girls, in you come.”
The door banged open, and Jade and Zoe tumbled into the room, a blur of red and yellow pajamas. Zoe flung her arms around Kezia’s shoulders.
Jade bounced onto the bed behind him and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Dad, you need to shave. You’re all bristly.”
“I was too busy baking to shave—and if either of you ever tells anyone I made Kezia cupcakes, I’ll deny it, and sic Sparky on you.”
Zoe giggled. “Mamma—are you and Ben going to get married?”
“Say-yes-say-yes-say-yes!” Jade chanted.
Ben’s hands tightened on Kezia’s hips.
“Si. Yes,” Kezia said with her trademark Mona-Lisa smile. “We’ll be a rea
l family then.”
“We’re a real family already.” Zoe grabbed Jade’s hands. “A family is people who love each other, remember?”
“You’re absolutely right, bella,” Kezia said. “Now which one of the people I love wants the first breakfast cupcake?”
Zoe and Jade lunged for the container, filling the air with squeals and laughter. Ben took advantage of his girls’ sweet-tooth distraction and kissed Kezia again.
Ben had everything in the world he needed right here in his arms, sweeter than frosting, more addictive than chocolate or his morning shot of caffeine.
The cupcakes could wait.
###
Kezia’s Lasagna
Ingredients for Ragu sauce:
1 onion (small one or a scallop)
1 carrot
1 bottle of tomato sauce
500 grams of minced beef
Salt
Chop the onion and carrot, and stir-fry with olive oil. Add the meat, a little white wine and let it simmer. Once the wine has evaporated, add the sauce and let it cook for approximately one hour (until it gets a little less liquidly).
To make Besciamella (the white sauce):
Half a liter of milk
A knob of butter
1 spoon of flour
Pour everything into a pan, bring it to boil or until it thickens.
Now to make the lasagna.
Boil the pasta first, so it doesn't have to cook for ages afterwards.
In a casserole dish spread some Ragu sauce on the bottom, lay the sheets of pasta, then cover with more Ragu, then the Besciamella, slices or bits of cheese (mozzarella if you have it or any sort of stringy cheese), sprinkle some grated Parmesan cheese, and repeat layers for 2 or 3 more times (according to the depth of the dish).
The last layer should be with Ragu, Besciamella and cheese. Put a few knobs of butter here and there before you put it into the oven for approximately 30 minutes at 200° C. When the surface starts bubbling and it gets crispy, then it's ready.
Melting Into You (Due South Book 2) Page 28
