Ben ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles that somehow made him look younger, less polished. More real.
"So, at times I am," he admitted. "Which is why I don't want you to think that I can't be. I spent years on Wall Street working eighty-hour weeks and canceling plans because something came up at the office. I missed birthdays, holidays, my sister's first day as sheriff, and my dad’s last day. I told myself it was temporary, that I'd slow down eventually, but I never did. Not until the company fell apart and slowed down for me."
Kelly studied him from the desk chair. The flickering bedside lamp cast uneven light across his face, highlighting the fatigue around his eyes and the stubble along his jaw. He looked like a man who had been through a long day and wasn't trying to hide it.
"My last girlfriend told me I was emotionally unavailable," he continued. "And she was probably right. I'm better at solving problems than talking about feelings. I'd rather fix something than sit with the discomfort of not being able to fix it."
"Sounds familiar," Kelly said quietly.
"Point is, I'm not the guy you think I am. Or maybe I am that guy sometimes, and other times I'm the guy who forgets to call and works through dinner and doesn't notice when the person across from him is unhappy."
Kelly let that sit for a moment. Outside, a truck rumbled past on the highway, its engine fading into the distance. The air conditioning unit clicked off, leaving the room in sudden silence.
"I was pretty self-centered tonight," she said. "I didn't think about how my anger would affect you. I just needed somewhere to put it, and you were there."
"I know."
"And you're forgiving me for that."
"I am."
"Then I think I can forgive you for being a workaholic who eats junk food and watches bad TV." She paused. "What kind of bad TV are we talking about? Because there are levels."
"Reality dating shows," he said, completely deadpan.
"Oh, that's bad."
"I know."
Kelly's lips curved into a small smile. The first genuine one since before the rehearsal dinner. It felt strange on her face, like a muscle she'd forgotten how to use.
"Maybe we should celebrate not being perfect," she said, and her voice dropped lower without her entirely meaning it to. "Maybe be glad that we're not."
Ben's eyes met hers across the few feet of hotel carpet separating them. The air in the room shifted, the way it doeswhen a conversation stops being about words and starts being about everything underneath them.
"Glad?" he repeated.
"Perfect people are boring," Kelly said. "I should know. My family's been trying to make me into one for thirty years."
She stood up from the desk chair. The distance between them shrank by half.
"And it never took," she added.
Kelly closed the remaining distance between them in two steps, which wasn't dramatic or cinematic but was honest, and honest was all she had left tonight.
She might not have a happy, well-adjusted family, but she had friends, and she had Ben. She wasn’t quite ready to put a name to it, but the thing between them was real and strong. Trying to deny it would be futile.
And she didn’t want to anyway. She wanted to embrace it, celebrate it.
Her fingers found his chest first, pressing flat against the cotton of his dress shirt. She could feel his heartbeat underneath, steady and strong. Faster than normal, maybe, but controlled. That was him. Always controlled, even when the ground was shifting under his feet.
Her hands slid upward to his shoulders. He was warm, almost unreasonably so, and the heat of his skin bled through the fabric. She looked up at his face and found him watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Not guarded exactly. More like he was letting her set the pace, giving her the lead after she'd spent the evening taking things away from him.
Their lips met, and for a second, it was tentative. Careful. Two people checking to make sure this was still welcome, still wanted. The hesitation lasted about three heartbeats before it dissolved into something hungrier, the kind of kiss that had less to do with romance and more to do with relief. The argumentwas over. They were still here. That simple fact was enough to turn a gentle reconnection into something urgent.
Ben's hands found her waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress. He pulled her closer, and she went willingly, her body fitting against his with the ease of someone who had done this before. Which she had. Last night, on those ridiculous couch cushions on the condo floor.
This time, there was an actual bed, which was an upgrade. Although hotel mattresses could be iffy. It could go either way.
