Crush: An Everyday Heroes Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Kelsie Rae

  With a sweeping gesture, he motions to the narrow hallway that leads to the back of the house. “Lead the way.”

  The worn floors creak as he follows me down the hall where two rooms are tucked away. One is the master bedroom, and the other is my makeshift office. Rounding the antique desk, I sit in a soft, yellow armchair then motion to the matching one beside me.

  “You’ll be able to see the screen better from over here,” I explain.

  His silence is followed by compliance as he takes the seat next to me. I’ve never noticed how close together the chairs are until this exact moment. I can practically feel his body heat burning my arm as I rest my elbow beside his. Or maybe I’m just so aware of Ben’s presence that it feels like the room is shrinking. Regardless, my heart is galloping in my chest, and I don’t know how to make it slow down.

  With a quick glance in his direction, I wiggle the mouse in front of me and wake up the dark screen on my desktop.

  “So, uh…we can do all black and white with a classic feel.” I click on a black and white image that showcases a sleeping baby swaddled in a soft gray blanket. “Or we can do something a little more bright and cheerful. We can use yellow, pink, and green backgrounds.” Pulling up another picture, a little girl stares back at us. She’s probably close to a year old and is sitting up with a hot pink tutu around her waist and the sweetest, biggest grin I’ve ever seen. Add a bright orange background, and the little girl pops. When he doesn’t say anything, I ramble, “Or we could do themed poses for every month based on the holiday. So, like an Easter Bunny in April, stars and stripes for July, a pumpkin or a cute baby ghost for October. You get the idea.” I click again and show him a few examples. “We could do all silly faces….” Click. “Or maybe even like a bloopers-themed calendar. So, we would still do the themed shots, but we’ll use the ones where they spit up, or where they have a sour expression. That kind of thing. Does that make sense?”

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  And do I sound like a total idiot right now?

  I feel like I’ve been talking to myself during this entire pitch.

  Gaining the courage to glance over at him, I find his mesmerizing brown eyes staring back at me instead of analyzing the pictures I’d been pulling up on my computer.

  “Ben?”

  He blinks. “Yeah. Sorry. Uh…can you repeat that?”

  With a breath of laughter, I give him my spiel a second time while praying he can’t see the color in my cheeks as he leans forward to take a closer look at the images. The heat of his arm brands mine as they rest beside each other, but I don’t pull away. I’m too frozen to move a muscle while hating how much I love our close proximity.

  Sighing, a very sheepish Ben turns back to me and gives a helpless shrug. “I have no idea, Marce. They all look really good to me. You’re quite talented.”

  “I don’t know about that….”

  “I do. These are all amazing. And just hearing you talk about photography…I can practically feel your passion.”

  Blushing, I drop my hands to my lap and wring them together like a wet dishrag. “Uh…thanks.” I’ve always struggled to accept compliments in general, but when it’s delivered by the guy I totally have a crush on, and he’s already rejected me? I’m speechless.

  “You’re welcome,” he rumbles, throwing me a bone by dropping the subject. “What would you recommend, Marce?”

  “I don’t think you could go wrong with any of them,” I hedge.

  “Well, you’d be the one behind the camera, so I’m going to have to agree. I think they’d all be perfect.”

  Aaand, my face is back on fire. There’s no way he can’t see it, especially when I can feel his eyes on me, taking in every inch of my face in all its red glory.

  “I have a confession to make,” he admits when I remain quiet.

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’ve never seen your work before today.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that.

  “Could you show me a few more of your favorite shots?”

  Confused, I wiggle the mouse back and forth and turn back toward the screen, searching for a few more options he might be interested in. “You mean…of babies?”

  “No. I kind of want to see the ones you’ve taken for you. Not for other people.”

  I open my mouth before snapping it closed. I’m speechless.

  “I want to see the pictures you wanted to capture for yourself,” he clarifies. “Is that a weird request?”

  Cheeks pinching from withholding my giant grin, I sneak a quick peek at him before staring back at the screen in front of us, although I couldn’t for the life of me even tell you what’s shining back at me.

  “Umm…no, not at all,” I answer, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.

  Him.

  Or me.

  Yes. Yes, it’s a weird request. Not because they’re private or anything, but because no one has ever been interested enough in me to want to see the world through my eyes. That’s what my pictures are. They’re art. They’re little snippets I’ve stolen through the lens of a camera that document the way I see the world.

  And that’s an intimate thing.

  “You don’t have to show me,” Ben adds, snapping me out of my trance.

  “No,” I rush out. “I want to. Let me just….” I click on a file labeled B-e-a-utiful on my desktop then stand up. “Here. Just push the left or right arrow button on the keyboard, and you can scroll through them. I’m going to go order some food or something. What sounds good to you? Pizza? Chinese? Uh…anything?”

  “You don’t have to––”

  “Nope. I gotta pee too. You know how those babies are, right? I mean, not literally since you’ve never been pregnant but––”

  “Marcy––”

  “Pizza. I want pizza. Any toppings you’re not a fan of?”

  “Uh….” He pauses to let his brain catch up and process my word vomit. “No pineapple, I guess?”

  “I knew I liked you for a reason,” I tease, walking toward the door that leads to the hallway. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Then I book it out of the room like a bat out of hell while knowing that I sounded––and looked––like a complete lunatic.

  Kill me. Kill me now.

  It’s been an hour. The pizza is cold. I told him when it arrived, but he told me he’d heat it up in a bit. Now, I’m pacing in the front room, wondering what the hell is taking him so long, and if my work is so bad that he can’t even face me after analyzing it. Maybe he’s so embarrassed to tell me the pictures suck that he’ll never come out? Should I just leave and tell him to lock the door when he sneaks out of here so that he doesn’t have to face me? I mean––

  “Marcy!”

  I jump, then cringe as I shout back, “Yeah?”

  “Can you come here for a sec?”

  My shoulders hunch as I drag my feet down the hall as if I’ve been called to the principal’s office. Hovering by the door, I mutter, “Yeah?”

  “Come here,” he repeats before patting the yellow armchair beside him.

  My lungs refuse to work as I inch around the desk then sit on the edge of the seat.

  “This one.” He raises his chin to my computer screen.

  I follow his gaze before snapping my attention back to my hands in my lap. “What about it?”

  “Where was it taken?”

  I don’t need to study it for long. In fact, with another quick glance, I can confirm it’s one of my favorites. “Zion National Park.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, keeping his gaze glued to the screen.

  “You’ve been?”

  “Yeah. It was one of the last places Kate and I traveled to before the accident.” His voice is laced with a sharp pain that feels like it’s my own. I don’t know what to say.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He studies the p
icture more closely. “I’d forgotten how amazing the views were.”

  “It’s beautiful there.”

  “It is. When was this taken?”

  “Last year.”

  He nods, letting my response marinate in the silent room, though I’m not really sure why the date matters so much to him.

  “Every memory I shared with Kate was tainted when she died. It was like a heavy storm cloud was placed on top of them. But this….” He sniffs. “This reminds me how beautiful and vibrant the world is. I think I’d forgotten.”

  My heart breaks as I watch this strong man open up to me. Glassy eyes. Broken voice. All of it.

  Leaning forward, I search through all my files and find the rest of the images from the Zion trip before opening them into a slideshow. Then I press play.

  There isn’t anything I can say to take away his pain, and he wouldn’t want me to, anyway. That’s okay. Resting the side of my head on his shoulder, I let us both soak up the beauty that’s still surrounding us in this world, even though Kate isn’t in it anymore.

  And what shocks me the most?

  He lets me.

  He lets me share this moment. The beauty. The pain. The memories. The silence. The knowledge that even though she’s gone, the world continues to spin. To change. To adapt. And we only have one choice. Do we adapt with it? Or do we get lost in the past?

  I’m not sure how much time goes by, or how many times I've seen the same images flash across my monitor before Ben’s deep voice rumbles beside me.

  “Let’s do the blooper one.”

  “What?” My neck is a little sore as I raise my head and look over at him.

  “For the calendar. I think the blooper one sounds good. Or the style with the little girl in the tutu thing. Something bright. Unless you don’t think so?”

  I blink and take a second to turn on my business brain.

  The photo shoot. Right.

  “I think both would be fun,” I answer. “Maybe we could kind of do a combination? Set out to capture the bright and cheerful, then sneak in a few funny mishaps that happen during the photo shoot?”

  He smiles. And even though it’s laced with sadness, there’s an underlying piece that’s genuine and real. It might be the most handsome thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Sounds great,” he tells me.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he repeats. A silence that borders on awkward begins to seep into the room as he keeps looking at me with that soft, contented smile. Shifting in my seat, my gaze bounces back to the slideshow on my computer screen, and I fumble to close it.

  “Well, I guess that’s it then.”

  “I guess so.”

  With a few keystrokes, the screen goes dark, and I stand up, hooking my thumbs into the back pockets of my jeans. When I remember the top buttons are undone from the good ol’ baby bump, I cross my arms instead. “Thanks for coming.”

  He joins me on his feet. “Thanks for having me.”

  “Mmmhmm,” I hum, chancing another glance at him.

  This is awkward. I can’t be the only one who feels it, right?

  Yet he looks as cool as a cucumber. A sexy cucumber. I didn’t know cucumbers could be sexy, but––

  “Tell me something. Do you eat your pizza leftovers hot or cold?” His voice cracks through my inner dialogue, making me pause.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Old pizza. Do you heat it up again, or eat it straight from the fridge like a cavewoman?”

  Laughing, I reply, “Umm…I guess it depends if I have a deadline or not? But usually cold. It’s too much effort to heat it up in the microwave. Some bites are scalding, and some are still cold. I like the predictability of an evenly unscalding piece.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Mmmhmm,” I hum. Again. I catch myself doing that a lot around him, but I refuse to acknowledge that it’s because his eyes always drop down to my mouth whenever I do.

  “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been more ashamed of a friend,” he states with a playful grin.

  “Friend?”

  He hesitates before giving me a definitive nod. “Yeah. I think you already know that I have a few…,” he pauses a second time, searching for the right word. “Limitations when it comes to relationships. But I’d like it if we could be friends.”

  “I can do friends,” I answer with a reassuring smile. An angry swarm of butterflies assaults my stomach, but I ignore them. I can totally do friends. Wasn’t that what Dylan and I were talking about, anyway?

  “Good. Then I think it’s time I show you the proper way to heat up pizza, Friend.”

  With a bow, I motion to the exit and reply, “Lead the way, Friend.”

  14

  Marcy

  DRBen918: Hey, Friend.

  Marcy123Marcy: Why, hello, Friend. How are you this fine morning?

  DRBen918: Good. I actually got some sleep last night, so it’s been a great morning. How about you?

  Marcy123Marcy: Shockingly, I slept really well too.

  DRBen918: Good. I’m glad. Do you have any plans today?

  I try to ignore those same stupid butterflies that are assaulting me at the prospect of hanging out with Ben today. I sure as hell don’t get them when Dylan texts me. Shaking it off, a single word flashes through my mind before I type my response.

  Friends.

  Marcy123Marcy: Nope. You?

  DRBen918: I’m kind of in the mood to cook, so I was thinking of going to the farmer’s market to grab some things.

  Laughing, I drop my phone to my chest and think about Dr. Benjamin Bennett, aka the hottest doctor I’ve ever seen––including the actors on the set of Grey’s Anatomy. Who the hell is this guy? He’s…gah! He’s a damn dreamboat, that’s what he is.

  The guy goes to farmer’s markets. And cooks. And is so damn loyal to his first wife that, if anything, I’m envious of her. I bet he was a great husband and would’ve been an amazing dad too. Every once in a while, I see glimpses of who he was before she died, and I can’t help but swoon.

  Hell, even with all the broken pieces, he’s still swoon-worthy. Sooo swoon-worthy.

  But the idea of him in a farmer’s market with a girl on his arm…. Is he really that perfect? He was made for the traditional family life. Obviously, it’s all he’s ever wanted. But there’s something sexy about a guy who isn’t afraid of commitment, even if he isn’t interested in it anymore because of his past. Besides, I get it.

  And we’re friends.

  F-R-I-E-N-D-S.

  Picking up my phone, I shake myself out of my drooling and reply.

  Marcy123Marcy: Farmer’s market? Do people actually go to those?

  DRBen918: Are you serious right now? And will you take away my man card if I tell you they used to know me by name?

  Marcy123Marcy: I might have to steal it. I mean, they don’t hand those man cards out to just anyone. And what do you mean they USED to know your name?

  DRBen918: I used to go every weekend with Kate, but after she died, I didn’t really feel like going. However, today, I’ve got an itch to go try some cheese and buy some veggies. Would you like to come with me? Who knows, maybe we can even grab you an apron.

  Without giving me too much time to overthink his invitation, another message pops up.

  DRBen918: But only if you promise to let me keep that blasted man card.

  I snort and shake my head.

  Marcy123Marcy: I guess I should probably attend a farmer’s market before I strip your man card. So, yes. I’d love to tag along and eat cheese. And maybe even invest in an apron if you insist on dragging me to these things.

  DRBen918: Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 10.

  There are those damn butterflies again.

  Marcy123Marcy: See you soon.

  “So, what’s your story, Marcy Holden?” Ben asks as we walk down the center aisle with a cup of freshly cut fruit and lemonade.

  Wrapping my lips around the straw, I take a sip of the tart liquid and shr
ug one shoulder. “I don’t know? My family moved to Sunnyville when I was in high school. After I graduated, I decided to learn a trade and picked up photography while I was working at Bertha's diner since I wasn’t really interested in going to college. Aaand, that’s my life in a nutshell.”

  “What about your family? Any siblings? Are you close with your parents?”

  “One older sister, but she moved out of state after high school for college. We talk once a month over the phone and see each other during the holidays, but that’s about it. When my parents retired, they moved down to Florida and have been soaking up the sunshine ever since.”

  “But you stayed here? In Sunnyville?”

  With another shrug, I answer, “Yup. There’s something charming about Sunnyville, even if the dating pool is less than shallow for a girl like me.”

  “Less than shallow?” he prods, his voice dripping with interest.

  “Not all of us meet our soulmates in high school,” I quip before stealing the cup of fruit from him. The fresh strawberries are divine.

  “How did you know I met Kate in high school?”

  “Dylan might’ve mentioned it,” I hedge, my cheeks turning pink as I realize I’ve been caught talking about him behind his back.

  “Ah, yes. Good ol’ Dylan Malone.”

  “She’s something else.”

  “That, she is. She’s good for Grady, though.”

  “They’re perfect together,” I agree, my inner girl gushing over their relationship. Perfect doesn’t even begin to describe how amazing they are for each other. I peek over at Ben before putting another piece of fruit in my mouth.

  His brows furrow before he demands, “What was that?”

  “What do you mean?”