We both watched as the driver laughed at something Cove said, and then Cove smiled back.
I did not like that either.
Finally, after far too much chatting in my opinion, Cove reached forward to retrieve his bags, thanked the driver once more, and then stepped out of the vehicle.
Only then did he look toward the house.
Toward me.
He was dressed simply in a slim-fit t-shirt that clung close enough to his frame to reveal the narrow lines of his shoulders and the quiet strength beneath them. The fabric caught lightly at his waist where movement had twisted it during the ride, emphasizing the length of his torso in a way that drew the eye downward before continuing along the lean structure of his hips.
His shorts were black and fell just above the knee, and left his calves visible, which were long and lightly defined.
His hair had been braided and pulled forward over his shoulder instead of left down his back, resting loosely against the front of his shirt, where the sunlight caught on the woven strands and the wispy fly-aways. The motion of stepping away from the car had shifted it, drawing attention to the line of his neck in a way I found unexpectedly distracting.
He was carrying two bags. One rested easily against his shoulder, looking functional and familiar. But the second was smaller.
And insulated.
I frowned at the lunch bag before I could prevent the reaction.
He had brought food.
Of course, he had brought food.
There was nothing unreasonable about that.
He had no reason to assume meals would be provided here.
But it suggested distance. It suggested an expectation of independence rather than belonging.
That would change.
Ben glanced sideways at me.
“I didn’t say anything,” I muttered.
“You were thinking something.”
“I was not.”
“You frowned.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
I ignored him.
As Cove began walking toward the front door, the vehicle slowly reversed down the drive and disappeared around the curve toward the gate.
His steps slowed as he reached the base of the front entry stairs, his gaze moving once across the façade of the house before returning to me again as though confirming I was real and not something he had imagined while driving here.
I stepped forward before he reached the top step.
“Good morning, Cove,” I said.
Then he smiled, and whatever irritation I had briefly felt toward the driver vanished as though it had never existed at all.
