Don’t think of the battle ropes!
I shifted my focus away from his broad chest. The dogs jumped around his legs, saying hello to their new friend. Sam had a red frisbeein his mouth, and the way he whined around it could easily be interpreted asthrow it, throw it, throw it!I had no idea where he found that thing. I thought we lost it three storms ago.
Ben slowed, took the toy from Sam’s mouth, curled into himself like an Olympian competing for the gold in discus, and unfurled his upper body, his arm a fulcrum, the frisbee shooting out of his hand at a speed that took even the dogs back. They paused, watching it. If Fred could have whistled in appreciation, he would have. Then they were gone, tearing through the yard as they tried to catch up with it. The frisbee just kept going, defying the laws of physics, gliding above the snow like it was a hoverboard. Yup, we were definitely going to lose it this time. I’d probably come across it half a mile deep in the woods during a summer run.
“Good morning,” Ben said from way too close.
I’d been so distracted watching the red blur disappear into the trees that I hadn’t heard him approach. He stood by the railing. With me on the lowest step, we were almost at eye level.
I smiled in greeting, trying to think of knitting or folding laundry or whatever inane action would keep my mind in a nice, neutral place. He wore a white beanie pushed back on his forehead, the salt-bleached ends of his wavy locks sticking out from beneath it. His jacket was unzipped a little, exposing the long, muscular lines of his neck.
Vacuuming. Mowing the lawn. Hand washing pots and pans. Think of scrubbing grease, Ella!
“Hi!” I said, belatedly. “Come on in.”
I led him inside, leaving the dogs to their search. Ben set his backpack down on the bench and took his jacket off. I glanced quickly away from him.
“This is really nice,” he said from somewhere overhead. The man was an absolute giant.
“Thank you.”
I looked at the cabin’s interior, spread out before us, trying to see it from fresh eyes. To the right was the living room. Comfy couches framed the dwindling fire, with thick-knit blankets draped casually over them, inviting you to sit down and bundle up. To the left was the kitchen, the hallway that led to the spare room, and the narrow stairs that climbed up to my bedroom. Ben would probably bump his head on the exposed beams up there.
“Coffee?” I asked. In my head, I chased the image of Ben out of my bedroom with a broom.
“No thanks. Trying to cut back.”
“Anything else? Hot chocolate? Tea?”
“Do you have decaf tea?” he asked.
“I do.”
I led him into the kitchen.
“No Christmas tree?” he asked. “Or did you already take it down?”
“No tree. I tried to put one up last year. The dogs were convinced a squirrel was hiding in the upper branches and tore it down an hour after I’d added the last string of lights. It took me forever to find all the pieces of broken ornaments.”
I thought that visual would get at least a chuckle out of him. Nothing.
Hmm.
I put the tea kettle on the stove and turned to see him plop down on one of the barstools I kept tucked beneath my kitchen island. He wore a dark t-shirt with a band’s logo pulled tight across his chest. The soft cotton hugged his biceps. He had a traditional Polynesian tattoo that started from the elbow of his left arm and disappeared beneath his sleeve. I tried to be as clinical as possible in taking all this in and failed spectacularly.
“How was the rest of your visit with your sister?” he asked.
“Pretty uneventful, aside from dinner at Jacob’s house the day after Christmas. All of us crammed into his dining room for a send-off celebration.”
“Send off?”
“Jacob spends every January in Somalia, volunteering for a non-profit.”
“That’s where he was adopted from, right?”
I nodded. “Their dry season is just starting, and with the famines they’ve had lately, they need all the help they can get. He splits his time between pro-bono doctor work and digging wells.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh, wow.”
