So yeah. Deciding to go to Ben for help with the fundraiser is likely a colossally terrible idea, but after sitting with my to-do list for a few days and making zero progress beyond the first item (make to-do list), I know I’m going to need some real assistance. And who better to help than the man who mere days after arriving here planned an entirely successful event? Really, the fact that I’m also low-key dying for another spark-laden brush of skin contact has little to do with my decision.
I remind myself of this as I knock on Ben’s door early on my morning off, ready with a notebook, two cups of coffee, and a tense smile.
“Cam, hey.” Ben’s eyes widen with surprise when he opens the door and finds me on the other side. “What’s up?”
“I need you,” I blurt out in a really embarrassing and not at all smooth way.
His eyes widen farther and it could just be the light, but they also maybe darken a little bit, and it’s a sign of attraction when pupils widen? Right?
“I mean, I need your help.” I hold up my notebook as if it were a vital piece of evidence. “I’m organizing a fundraiser to try to help Emma buy the bakery and I told her Iwould handle everything and also still manage all my regular shifts and I’ve planned events before but like with an unlimited budget and I obviously don’t have that here and so I really need some help.”
Ben leans against the doorjamb, a wide smile tugging on his lips. “Wait, did you just say you need my help?”
“Yes.” I refuse to beg. And I refuse to let him get under my skin.
“Could you say that part again? About how you need my help and I’m the only person in town smart enough and clever enough and handsome enough to help you pull it off?”
“Don’t really remember that last part, but yes, that’s the gist of it. I need your help.”
He pushes open the door and gestures for me to follow him inside. Taking the cup of coffee I offer as bribery, he leads me to a wood dining table. The style is similar to the farmhouse one in my own cottage, but this wood is about ten times more gorgeous.
Also, I can’t recall ever thinking of a piece of wood as gorgeous before. At least not the kind that comes from a tree.
I run a finger along the knots before I realize I’ve been staring at this table for way longer than a normal person would. And Ben’s been staring at me for the same awkward length of time.
“Did you make this?” I force myself to stop fondling his table and flip open my notebook.
He clears his throat. “Yup.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He turns his gaze to his coffee cup, whichmust hold some fascinating information buried in its depths from the way he’s staring. “So. What do you have planned so far?”
I turn a couple of pages in the notebook until I land on my epic-poem-length to-do list. “Well, not much yet in terms of concrete plans, but I have some thoughts.”
“Thoughts are good.”
I blink at him, pointedly.
He smiles.
“Anyway. Since I know the town is so fond of all its festivals, I was thinking of like a Thanksgiving potluck kind of thing. Like everyone in town brings a dish, we all talk about shit we’re thankful for and whatever. Something like that.”
Ben nudges his coffee cup to the side, reaching for the list. He looks it over for a second. “Not a bad idea. How do you plan to make money from it?”
“Well, we could sell baked goods, of course. And I was thinking of asking everyone in town for donations so we could have some sort of silent auction.”
His forehead creases. “Do you think that would get you enough money to save the bakery?”
I sigh and fall back in my extremely comfortable chair. “No. That’s part of the problem. One, this is a lot more work than I expected. And two, even with everything I’ve thought of so far, I still don’t think it will be enough.”
“We could always put you back in the dunk tank.”
“Ha-ha.” I tap my pen on the table. “I’m serious about this, Ben. I need to help Emma. I don’t want to let her down.”
“And you don’t want Noah to win.”
“And I don’t want Noah to win.”
