His hand lifted, hovering for a second before he gently tugged the sweatshirt from my grip, unfolded it, and held it up between us, like he was going to help me into it himself if I didn’t move.
The message was clear—his clothes, his house, his rules.
My pulse kicked hard against my ribs. I nodded and slipped past him into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me.
I peeled everything off quickly, leaving only my panties. That was nonnegotiable. There was no way I was sitting bare-assed on any of my brother’s furniture.
Thankfully, Bennett’s sweatshirt covered all the essentials, the hem brushing just beyond mid-thigh. I relished the way it swallowed me whole, and I couldn’t help but wish he would do the same.
When I stepped back into the hallway, Bennett was waiting, leaning against the wall with a towel in his hands. His gaze dropped immediately, taking in the way the sweatshirt hung off my curves, the way it covered everything and somehow made me feel more exposed than before.
Something dark and appreciative flashed across his face before he caught himself and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
He held out the towel. “For your hair,” he said.
The sound of his voice startled me for half a second. Then, I noticed the familiar outline behind his ear, the processor back in place.
“Thanks.” I took the towel, smiling softly. “Oh, and the sweatshirt, too. Thank you.”
His eyes returned to mine. “No problem. It looks better on youanyway.”
He didn’t smile, didn’t soften it with humor—just watched me, steady and intense, like he’d meant every word. I clutched the towel like a lifeline, twisting it around my damp hair while his gaze held mine a beat too long.
“Um, thanks,” I finally said.
He nodded once, like that was enough, then gestured toward the couch. “Want to sit?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
We both settled into the couch—me in one corner and Bennett on the opposite end, close enough that our kneesalmosttouched, but not quite.
“So,” he started, voice soft against the steady drum of rain on the roof. “How’s school going?”
I blinked. “It’s good. I’m only taking one course right now, but there’s a lot of great information I can really use.”
His brows lifted with interest. “For your honey business?”
I shifted to face him more fully, tucking one leg beneath me. The sweatshirt rode up just a little and I tugged it down absently.
“Exactly. I’ve got all these ideas, probably too many. Pairing kits with cheeses or teas, subscription boxes. Oh! I just started working with a graphic designer on some label ideas.”
He nodded slowly, taking it all in.
“I know what I want in a big-picture sense,” I went on. “The problem is I tend to get distracted. I’ll get excited about one idea, start researching it, then another one hits and I’m off in a completely different direction. Nothing ever gets finished. I’m hoping my classes will help me figure out how to stay focused. Build something sustainable instead of just exciting.”
Great, I’m rambling.
Bennett didn’t seem to mind. He watched me intently, eyes tracking every word like he didn’t want to miss a thing.
“That’s a lot of ideas,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “But they all sound good. You’ve got the passion part down, now you’re just adding the structure.”
I felt my cheeks warm at the quiet sincerity in his voice. “Hoping to at least.”
He smiled then, small and real. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re already doing something special.”
We sat there for a moment in the lamplight, the space between us charged but calm. Outside, thunder rumbled again, farther off now. Inside, the space between us on the couch felt smaller than it had a minute ago.
“You’re a good listener,” I said quietly.
