The plate catches the light: ILBENE22.
I nod at it, smirking. "Seriously, though? You're that into yourself to make your birthday a thing?"
May twenty-second. That cusp of stubborn Taurus and unhinged Gemini.
Keeping up should come with a manual.
He snorts, unlocking the car. "It's also my Nonna's birthday. February second."
"Oh, okay..." I walk to the passenger seat, resting my hand on the open-top door. "What aboutIl Bene?"
He looks down for a beat, then back up at me—and suddenly his eyes are stripped of all sharpness. His voice gentles, bordering on sadness. "Short foril mio bene. That's what she called me. It also means goodness."
Oh, god. Cupid's arrow, right to the sternum.
Forget the car, forget the rebellious charm. It's the way her name gentles his shoulders, draws out that same quiet ache he had when he told me she was his first soulmate.
It was so touching, I nearly cried.
Mara told me that when Nonna died, Ben was only twelve.
He locked himself in his room and wailed for hours, his parents trying and failing to get in.
Years later, we'd be walking down some street and he'd stop mid-step, smiling, saying something smelled like violets—like her.
Once, at a bagel shop, the guy behind the counter barked, "What do you want?" Didn't even look up.
Ben tipped his head, with that don't-fuck-with-our-morning-peace look, and said, "A bit of decency, since we're spending money in your place—if you've got it. Or should I teach you?"
The guy blinked, apologized, slathered more lox on.
Ben bit into his bagel, calm as a king on his throne.
When I asked him what that was about, he shrugged. “Nonna taught me 'Have a good heart, but don’t be anyone’s freaking doormat.'” And did she teach him that one well...
"Your Nonna raised a boy with a golden heart and a wicked mouth," I say tenderly, trying to lighten him up. "And, by the way? That combo should be illegal."
I wait for the smirk, the smartass comeback—something—but he just stands there, expressionless.
And then, slowly, finally, he lets me in. Gone is Ben the flirt. Here is the little boy brimming with love too big for his chest.
"Thanks," he says, voice low. "That means more than you know."
My knees almost buckle as I stare at him, wanting to stop time, freeze him like this forever.
But before I can even blink, he slides into the driver's seat, pulling the door shut with a loud thud.
"So?" He throws an arm over the scarlet leather and looks at me through those thick lashes like none of it happened.
"Get in, baby bird."
8
Ben leans back, one hand steering, the other scrolling the radio presets like he's searching for some particular mood.
His silver watch flashes in my face under the harsh midday heat, but it's his fingers that hold me hostage.
Long. Moisturized. Obscenely elegant.
