“I’m sure you worked hard for this,” he said, a little more calmly now. “And I know you came from big money, but for whatever reason, your life’s not all about that anymore. I respect that ... I respectyou. When you’re ready to tell me what happened, you will. Until then, I didn’t mean to do that. It was just so shocking to me to see this, and even more shocking that I did it—judged you, not that you live here.”
Blowing out a breath, I said, “It’s fine. I get it. This is a surprise, but I’m making things happen on my own now. You know what? I can change in my room now, and you can have the bathroom.” I moved past him, waving at the bathroom behind me while still tightly gripping the towel.
I needed a minute to process all this.
Who is he to come walking into my place, serving up judgments and then apologies, causing me pain and then making me feel all warm and gooey?
The toilet flushed and the water ran before the door opened and out came Ben in the same clothes. “I left my backpack out there,” he said, walking through my bedroom.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed, having made no progress in changing into actual clothes. My mouth fell open at the way he’d taken over my shabby apartment in a matter of minutes.
“Be out in a sec,” he said as he strode confidently back across my room, bag in hand.
“Oh,” I said, apparently back to one-word nonsensical answers.
Hurrying to my closet, I grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a white T-shirt, the most casual outfit I owned. It was what I wore when I cleaned the bathroom, but it felt more appropriate for a summer evening in Vermont than what I had on earlier.
I was at the vanity brushing my hair when Ben came out of the bathroom in a clean pair of khaki shorts and a navy polo shirt. My gaze lifted to meet his as I wondered if his pale blue eyes would look great against the darker shade of his shirt. I was right.
“I need a sec to fix my makeup, and then I’ll be ready. But, honestly, we don’t have to go out for dinner.”
“We do,” he said with authority, combing his fingers through his hair.
A memory from prep school flashed in my mind. Ben used to do that when we were studying, and I always wanted to run my own fingers through his hair. I knew he liked me, but he wasn’t who I wassupposedto be with. My parents liked Burnett’s parents.
“You okay?” Ben came close and ran a hand down my arm. It felt incredibly intimate, more intimate than I’d been with anyone else.
“Yes, why?” Uncomfortable, I shoved my hair behind my ear with unneeded force.
“You were deep in thought.”
Rather than answer, I brushed past him to grab a pair of shoes from the cheap shoe rack I’d bought off the clearance shelf at Walmart.
“Well? About what?” he asked.
I sat on the bed, fastening a pair of Cleopatra-style sandals around my ankles. I might be dressing down, but everyone knew shoes made an outfit.
Not meeting his eyes, I shrugged. “I was thinking about Pressman. That’s all.”
“And?” He plopped down next to me on the bed. It was a cheap mattress on a simple frame, no headboard, but again—it was all mine.
I couldn’t worry about my poor excuse for a bed because if I’d thought earlier felt intimate, this was off-the-charts cozy. We were downright homey like a couple, sitting on the bed and chatting about my thoughts.
I wasn’t a prude, but this was a level of closeness I didn’t look for in relationships. My parents never appeared to have it or want it, so I grew up thinking it wasn’t meant to be or didn’t exist.
Ben nudged my ribs with his elbow.
“Ow.” I faked a yelp. “Why did you do that?”
“What were you thinking about at Pressman? How ticklish you were?”
“Don’t you dare.” I scowled and inched away from him. In high school, we’d always been in close proximity with ease. He’d tickle me until tears fell. I’d mistaken it for his being goofy, until I knew better.
Giving in, I sheepishly admitted, “Us. I was thinking about us, you know, studying. Studying with you. Hanging with you, pretending to be studying too. I knew you liked me.”
Ben smiled, the most natural, gorgeous thing I’d ever seen, with his straight teeth and small laugh lines bracketing his mouth.
Meeting his eyes again, I blurted, “Your patients must all fall in love with you.”
