My heart aches for him. He's so open and vulnerable that I wish I could pull him into my lap and hold him, protecting him from the world.
"Oh, little one." My voice is warm and reassuring. "That was very brave of you, Ben. I'm proud of you for being open with me." He blushes harder at my praise. "Of course I'll help you.Dyslexic? That just means your brain is wired a little differently, not that you're any less capable. In fact, it often means you're incredibly creative. And yes, I do work with kids, and I'm rather good at breaking things down. How about meeting tomorrow after work? We can go over to Steamed, grab a snack, and tackle those forms together. No drowning allowed."
A palpable wave of relief washes over Ben's face. The tension in his shoulders eased, and the vulnerability in his eyes softened into a look of gratitude.
"Really, Jason? You'd do that? I didn't want Barrett to think I was incompetent after only a day, and that's why I asked to take the forms home."
"You're not incompetent, Ben," I tell him firmly, reaching across the table to briefly cover Ben's hand with my own. "Everyone needs a little help sometimes. Think of it as another flower arrangement. We'll just arrange these papers into something that makes sense."
The car cruises through the darkening streets, with soft jazz music coming from the speakers. I kept the stereo's volume low enough that we could talk without having to speak over the music.
I point out a few landmarks with the ease of a local guide.
"See that old theater? They do live music on Fridays." I gesture towards a brightly lit bakery. "And that's where you can get the most ridiculously decadent sweets that your heart desires." I look over and see a soft smile on Ben’s face, absorbing the new geography of his life.
I am more than happy to be his compass.
As the night deepens, a craving for something sweet settles in, and I know just the place.
We pull up to a brightly lit drive-thru, the scent of roasted beans and sugar wafting into the car.
"The best hot chocolate in town," I announce, rolling down my window. "Extra marshmallows, right?"
Ben nods eagerly, a hint of that earlier vulnerability returning, but this time it's tinged with a gentle anticipation.
The steaming cups, piled high with fluffy white marshmallows, are passed through the window. I set mine in the cup holder and then handed one to Ben. Our fingers brush against each other in the low light. The warmth of the cup seeps into my hands, mirroring the warmth spreading through my chest.
I pull out of the drive-thru before looking at Ben, who is taking a slow, deep sip. His eyes are closed, and I watch his throat swallow the sweet liquid.
I mirror his action; except I keep my eyes open so I can keep an eye on the road.
For a moment, the only sounds are the gentle hum of the engine and the soft slurping of hot chocolate, a shared, quiet comfort as we continue the drive under the canopy of snow flurries.
"I would hate to cut the night short, but I have school tomorrow," I tease.
"And I have work."
"Can I give you a ride home?" I ask. Hopeful.
"Actually," Ben begins, his gaze flicking towards the shops across the street, "I need to pick up my van from the shop. Maybe you could just…drop me off there? I have to grab it before tomorrow."
I feel my brow furrow slightly, a fleeting shadow of disappointment crossing my features, but I try to quickly mask it. "The shop? Sure, no problem."
I turn the car around and head in the direction of Peonies and Petals.
Pulling up to the familiar façade of the flower shop, the dim glow of the street lamp serves as a beacon in the night. Ben opens the car door, a gust of cold air carrying the faint, sweet scent of lilies and roses.
"Thanks again, Jason," he says, turning back. The streetlight casts a warm glow on his face. My heart gives another surprising little lurch. I want to say something, anything, that would extend this night a little longer. But I know we both have work tomorrow.
Ben leans in, his gaze softening. I see the question in his eyes, the unspoken curiosity. I catch his intention and meet him halfway.
Our lips brush, a tentative, feather-light touch that sends a surprising jolt straight through me. It is a whisper of a kiss, barely there, yet it holds all the promise of a future bloom.
"Tomorrow," Ben murmurs, his voice a soft promise.
I nod, a hopeful smile spreading across my face. "Tomorrow."
With a final, lingering glance, Ben steps out of the car and heads towards his van. I watch him climb inside, the gentle kiss still a warm ember on my lips.
