You wouldn't take him for a lawyer, even though he has an uncanny ability to repeat, word by word, your thirty-minute monologue about why you don't believe in happy endings. Definitely not shirtless and inked in our camp's collective poetry and doodles, and Mara's name sprawling across his chest. Her masterpiece.
She jumps on Paul's knee and yells. "Time to burn this mother down!" Her volume is legendary. I think they heard her back at the airport.
The whole gang pivots on cue. Girls gasp in awe, and guys cheer like they've been waiting for this as much as something in me has.
I wince and try not to run back. "Thanks, fam."
Someone wolf-whistles behind me. Then I turn and my heart jumps.
Ben's leaning against the van, one ankle crossed over the other, his massive arms folded. He's in beige for once, linen shirt undone just enough to reveal the plates of his bronze chest.
A grey bandana shoves his hair back, the breeze tugging at the ends.
When I swivel to him fully, his eyes trail down my bodysuit, and he licks his lips, clearly wanting me to know he's entertaining some filthy thought—that idiot.
I blush like someone dipped me into rose-gold but glare anyway. How is he this composed? I haven't seen him in almost two weeks.
After the beach day—after I lied to Richard—I promised myself to keep my distance from Ben. So when he texted me the morning after,Will I randomly meet you at 5 a.m. in the gym tomorrow?I shoved the phone into a drawer, proud of myself for holding the line, even as the messages kept coming.
Ben:Packed already, or still debating which top will cause the most trouble?
Ben:Bring electrolytes. For, you know, sweating
I wanted to answer, tell him I'll wing it and that he doesn't have to worry about my sweat, but answering would mean admitting I'd been thinking about him, and I couldn't risk that.
Now he's here, devouring me with his eyes like payback for the silence.
"Hey, Ben. Didn't think you were coming anymore."
"The hospital had special plans for me, but no way I was missing this." He folds me into him until I have to rise on my toes, my breath snagging against his shoulder. "Came at the right time."
I pull back and walk toward Mara, when I hear him behind me, "Got anything to eat? I'm starving."
"Didn't you just come here eating some wrap?" Paul smirks.
Ben shrugs. "Yeah. So?"
Mara smirks. "So? You eat like a zoo animal."
"Then feed the exhibits," he deadpans, cocking his brow.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh, and tie my apron on like armor because now that he's here, I feel exposed.
"You're too much maintenance." I give him a look and slide into the makeshift desk to slice peppers.
The knife moving fast in my hand, glinting, like I'm daring him to notice.
Ben smirks. "Flight was hell. The week's been worse. It’s in your interest to be nice to me, Emma."
Mara shakes her head and ties on her apron too, cringing at the damage to her aesthetics before she stands next to me like a reluctant sous-chef.
It's funny how she hates cooking, yet her Nonna ran two restaurants in Italy, her parents ran two in Brooklyn.
Ben's amazing, naturally, and doesn't even need to follow a recipe.
Ben grabs Paul's guitar and starts lazily plucking chords. Paul drops beside him, pulling out a harmonica, the first metallic notes cutting through the thick air.
"It's been a while since we played together." Ben glances over at him. "Permission to proceed, Saint?"
