“They weren't always. They discovered brotherly concern about five minutes ago.”
“Maybe they realized what they've been missing.”
“Maybe they realized Lillian's money made visiting worthwhile.”
“That's harsh.”
“That's honest.” Kate set down her fork. “Everyone's suddenly interested now that we're not failing. Where were they when I was trying to hold everything together with duct tape and prayer?”
“Building their own lives. Like you were before your father got sick. You can’t be angry at them for that.”
“That's different.”
“How?”
“Someone had to stay.”
“Did it have to be you?”
The question hung between them. Kate had asked herself the same thing a thousand times at three a.m., when Pop was wandering and the bills were mounting and she felt like she was drowning.
“Yes,” she said finally. “It had to be me. I was the only one who loved the inn like Mom did. The only one who understood what it meant.”
“And what does it mean?”
“Home. Not just a house or a business, but the place where we became a family. Where Mom chose love over money. Where she was happy despite everything she gave up.”
“Was she happy?”
Kate thought about the photos she'd been finding, her mother's genuine smile, the way she'd thrown herself into inn life with enthusiasm. “I think so. I hope so.”
“Are you?”
“I don't know what happiness looks like for me anymore.”
Ben reached across the table, covered her hand with his. Kate's instinct was to pull away, but she forced herself to stay still.
“Maybe you could figure it out,” he said. “If you stopped running long enough.”
“I'm not running. I'm sitting right here.”
“Your body is. But Katie, you're already halfway out the door in your mind.”
He was right, and that irritated her more than his presumptions. She pulled her hand away then.
“We should go. It's getting late.”
Ben didn't push. He paid the check despite her protests, helped her into her coat, and didn’t say another word as he drove her home in silence. But when they pulled up to the inn, he turned to her before she could escape.
“I know you think I'm presumptuous,” he said. “Thinking I know you after three weeks. Even though I used to smile every time you walked into the cafeteria at school. You're right, I don't know you, not really. But I'd like to. If you'd let me.”
“Why?”
“Because something about you feels like home to me. And I think, maybe something about me feels safe to you, even if you won't admit it.”
Kate wanted to deny it, but there was truth in his words. She did feel safe with him, which was exactly why she needed to keep her distance. Safe was dangerous. Safe made you vulnerable.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said instead of responding.
