Ben was on the front steps when I pulled into his driveway. We planned to paint the spare bedroom he wanted his parents to stay in, and he wore the paint-speckled running pants I’d come to love and loathe in equal measure. Because, dayum, the man’s ass looked good in them.
He pointed to the left of the porch. I slowed my truck to a stop further back than normal, assuming the puppies were somewhere in the direction he’d indicated. At the sound of my door closing, two splashes of color emerged from a snowbank by the house. Boots and Doodle. If not for those collars, they’d blend right in.
They caught sight of me and bounded over, barking excitedly in their squeaky puppy voices. My embarrassment and worry evaporated. They looked like someone had animated a pair of overstuffed white teddy bears. Their ears flopped forward and backward with every leap. Those curlicue tails whipped left and right over their hindquarters. Boots hit a patch of ice and slipped, his back legs skirting sideways before he could get them under his control.
The cuteness. It was too much. I leaned down and petted them with both hands when they reached me, trying to contain my overwhelming desire to squee in a way that would make Anabel proud.
Ben ambled off the porch, grinning as he approached. “Don’t let them fool you. The little monsters kept me up most of the night.”
I would have worried he regretted letting them stay, but he was staring down at them with the kind of open affection that told me they’d already won him over. “Did they cry?” I asked. “Fred and Sam cried so bad the first night I had them.”
“They did a little. Mostly they just wouldn’t settle down. They wanted to sniff everything, make nests in the blankets, play with their toys, chew my beard.” He raked his fingers through his facial hair. “I should shave this thing off.”
Now was my chance. I took a steadying breath, and with all the bravery I could muster, I said, “On behalf of womenkind, don’t you dare.”
He paused, hand still at his chin, gaze shifting from the puppies to me. His lips crooked up on one side in a lazy half-grin I’d never seen before. A grin that made me think of primal things.
“I guess I keep the beard,” he said.
Well, this was backfiring. Maybe it wasn’t clear enough that I thought he was attractive? That I wanted him? That this was his chance to shoot me down?
“Okay then,” I said. I reached down and lifted Doodle. I needed to hold this puppy right now, because if I left my hands free, I might do something awkward with them. Like wrap them in Ben’s jacket and mush our faces together.
He picked up Boots, and together we went inside to towel them off.
“I figured I could put the puppies in the sitting room while we paint,” he said. “You know, to keep them away from the open cans and the fumes. All their stuff is in there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I shrugged off my coat and turned to hang it up. Something grazed the back of my neck. I froze, sure I was imagining it. A piece of hair must have come free from my messy bun to torment me into thinking Ben was touching me.
There was a tug on the neckline of my sweater. Not my hair. I was either about to be assaulted by a giant spider, or he was actually touching me.
“Your tag is sticking out,” he said from just behind my shoulder.
Warmth blossomed along the back of my neck and ran an inch down my spine as he used those long fingers of his to tuck the tag back in. I shivered in response. I knew he could feel it, because he was taking his sweet time pulling his hand back out of my shirt.
“Thank you,” I said, a little breathless.
“You’re welcome,” Ben answered, voice pitched low.
I almost shuddered again, because in that octave, there was a little bass growl to it thatdid thingsto me.
He stepped away, and the warmth disappeared from my skin.
…or maybe he wanted to push the subject yesterday because he wanted you to be the first one to say something. Maybe he likes you as more than a friend too.
I mentally clamped a hand over the mouth of my subconscious and dropped it into the same deep, dark, inescapable oubliette I kept my crush. I gave them both the finger, Mrs. Barnsdale style, and slammed the lid of their prison shut.
You two play nice now.
“Want some coffee or anything before we get to work?” Ben asked.
I turned to face him, not making eye contact. The only reason my cheeks weren’t vermillion was because I was still in shock. “I’ll take a glass of water,” I told him. Suddenly, I was parched.
He turned and paced toward the kitchen. The puppies tripped over each other as they raced after him. They looked like the world’s cutest tumbleweeds. The three of them disappeared around the corner, and I took my time pulling off my boots, my mind a jumble of confusion. Ben’s reaction to me mentioning his looks was to give me a sex-on-legs smile and then not five minutes later find an excuse to touch me. He could have just as easily told me the tag was sticking out and let me deal with it myself.
Okay then. Let’s stay rational about this, Ella. Let’s not freak out or jump to conclusions. The man had been hidden away in the woods for a while. Maybe this was a softcore Stockholm Syndrome situation, and in his captivity, he was turning to the one woman his age in search of comfort. Or maybe I had backtracked and was misinterpreting everything he did. Maybe what seemed like a sexy come-hither look was nothing but a platonic grin. Maybe his fingers lingered in my shirt because he didn’t want to accidentally tangle them in my hair and pull some strands loose on the way out.
