“You should try the coconut ones.”
I could practically hear his eyes crinkle with his smile. “And why’s that?”
“Because coconut is one of your favorite dessert flavors, and they get it bang on. Tastes way more natural than a lot of the stuff I’ve tasted around these parts.”
Was that true? I didn’t think I’d ever said as much, and in fact, I didn’t think I’d ever come to that conclusion myself. “My favorite?” I said with a chuckle.
“Of course. You got the coconut panna cotta on our first date, the coconut cream lush on our second one. You asked for a third piece of the blondies that Natalie made the last time we hung out, and usually you’re way too full for that.”
Wait a minute… “But blondies aren’t coconut.” I wasn’t an avid baker, but I was pretty sure they were just cookie and brownie mixes.
“She used a dark chocolate and coconut recipe.” It clicked with Ben that I wasn’t joking, and his tone grew even fonder. “You talked about how you love macaroons because they remind you of summer road trips with your family before your mom got too sick. She’d always get some as snacks for the ride there. I can’t stand the texture of rice pudding but you love it, and all of your favorite brands list that they’re made with coconut milk instead of cow or soy.
“I’ve seen you with maybe fifteen different Ensures, and the majority of them have been coconut-banana flavor, but when Iask you if you want a banana, you usually turn me down and say it’s not your favorite. And also, your favorite chicken dish when it comes to Indian food is chicken korma, which has a pretty heavy coconut flavor.”
Holy shit.
He rattled it off so easily, like it was nothing to recall all that. I blinked like an owl in shock. Of course, I had always known Ilikedcoconut, but I’d never really thought of it as a favorite.
Huh.
How could someone who had only been in my life for a few months see me so thoroughly? I…
To be seen is to be loved.
That was something I’d heard my mother say a couple of times, and at the moment, it couldn’t have rung truer.
“I guess I’ll have to try those, then.” A million and one things wanted to vault off my tongue, but it didn’t feel like the right time. While I had promised myself to always keep it one hundred when it came to Ben, I had noticed that my compliments sometimes made him more uncomfortable than flattered. If I contradicted that mean voice in his head just a little too much, it caused an internal civil war within him that took up quite a bit of his energy and mood for the next couple of hours. So, I had to be careful. Sometimes it felt a bit like I was involved in guerrilla warfare with his inner tormentor.
But that was fine. I didn’t mind going into battle for him when necessary, but I wanted to make sure itwasnecessary and not a road bump I could simply avoid by being a bit more cautious.
“Anyway, were you calling me about those ice pops? Or was there something else?” I said it, allowing him an out if he was getting too uncomfortable.
“Right. Yes. Sorry, I got distracted.”
“It’s okay. Because you distract me all the time.” A wink was definitely implied there, and judging by Ben’s little chuckle, he was fully aware of it.
“Are you objectifying me, ma’am?”
“Absolutely. All the time,” I said, losing all of my focus on the grading rubric in front of me. Probably for the best. Although I did try to consciously separate every assignment in my head, there was a certain inevitability of them blending together if I graded them right after the other with no break.
Besides, it was fun to flirt with my boyfriend.
Whoa.
That was a bit of a loaded term. While we were absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent casually dating, it was just that.Casual.We purposefully had no labels on anything because we were still testing the waters to see if Ben was at a point in his life where he could even have a relationship. And while I knew that arrangement definitely wouldn’t work for some people, I was happy with it. Because even if we fizzled out without ever getting off the ground, I could take solace in the fact that we had tried.
But part of making it work was not rushing Ben, and mentally calling him my boyfriend seemed like a great way to fall into a really bad habit.
“And what exactly are you thinking about,” Ben murmured, his voice dropping into a much lower, more rumbly tone that had goosebumps rising along my arms, “when you’re objectifying me?”
Two could play this game. I let my voice get a bit softer, a bit lower, and layered sweet syrup over every single syllable, my tongue caressing the words a bit like femme fatales in spy movies that were clearly written by men with very specific kinks about women tying them up while clad in tight, black catsuits.
“Well, that depends.”
“Depends on what?”
I could almost see him in the room with me, feel the heat of his body radiating out from him, one of his large, strong hands caressing my arm, or gently resting on my side. Despite the trepidation and anxiety he often faced, Ben had a casual way of touching me that drove me up the wall in all the best ways. It made me feel so present in the moment. So desired. So acknowledged.
