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I gaze at Ben. Score one for the dream scenario—Ben is too good to be true. “Seems you’ve paid it forward more often than you admit.”

He shrugs at me, embarrassed once again by the evidence of his good deeds. “I can only use so much money, and even though I’ve tried to make arrangements, I can’t be certain it will follow me home when that day comes. I trust Will to take care of things for me, and he’s been a good friend.”

I pause on the stairs. “This might shock you, but I think I really like you, Mr. Mitchell.”

Ben raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “Oh? How forward of you, Miss Granville.”

“Since part of me still thinks this is a dream, do you mind if I’m a little more forward?”

His eyes light up, and his gaze darts to my lips for the briefest of seconds, making my insides scramble. If Ben and I had met in the future and had a normal first date, would we have kissed before the night was over? Based on how things are going now, I guess yes.

But is the quick escalation of feelings because of the situation we’re in? Because we only have each other?

“I would prefer it if you were as forward as possible,” he says.

I squeeze one hand into a nervous fist. “Promise to take me on a real date when we get home? I need to know if you’re this chivalrous hero all the time.”

His smile widens, and though he doesn’t lean any closer, there’s still magic in the moment. “Promise.”

I’m a little embarrassed by my forwardness, which makes no sense. I’ve asked guys out before. Maybe not as good-looking as Ben, but still. I turn to continue up the stairs, trying to keep things light as I ask, “You might have to carry me the rest of the way. How’s that for a fragile society miss?”

With a glance down the stairs behind us, Ben adjusts his arm to wrap around my waist and support me more. “This life is exhausting in a different way. You deserve a good night’s rest at least, and help up the stairs after a day like today isn’t out of the ordinary.”

I lean against his shoulder, enjoying the unique scent of his 1901 cologne. “I know I’ve said it a bunch of times, but thank you for everything. For taking care of me. For being a friend. It must have been so hard for you when you first got here, and you’ve made sure I don’t have to know anything about that. It’s made this almost fun.” I might still be crossing my fingers that this really is a dream I’ll wake up from at any moment, but maybe I’ve accepted it’s real.

“You’re more than welcome. Having you here has made everything better,” he says. His cheeks redden, as though he’s uncomfortable sharing so much. Still, the low way he speaks and the gentleness in his voice make up for his reserve. He stops. “Here we are.”

We’ve arrived at the door of a room, and he opens it for me to go inside. The bed looks so inviting, I’m tempted to lie down in it, dressed and all. He comes in, leaving the door open, and takes in a breath.

“What is it?” I ask, recognizing there’s something on his mind.

“I’ve been thinking about … our future,” he says, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his slacks and not quite meeting my eyes.

“When we get home?” I did just ask him to take me on a date, but his expression feels serious. Maybe I was too forward.

He shakes his head. “No, I mean our future here. If we can’t get home.”

The wiggly unease I’ve been carrying around since I got here squirms again.

“What about it?” I ask. I hope he doesn’t mind if I sit down on the settee at the end of the bed. It feels so good to be off my feet. I shed my hat while I wait for him to speak and lay it next to me, working on the buttons of my traveling jacket next. So many layers stand between me and falling asleep in that bed. I scowl to myself.

“We need to think about what we’re going to do if we don’t figure out a way to get back to the twenty-first century.”

I snap my gaze up to him. “You’re not already giving up, are you? It hasn’t even been two full days since I got here. And I can feel … something when I touch that mirror. There’s still hope.”

He nods quickly. “Of course there is. So it’s probably too soon for me to even broach this topic, but the way Mrs. Guthrie reacted to you … it reminded me how complicated things can be here.” He sighs and comes over to me, moves my hat to the bed, and sits down on the settee next to me. “The thing is, I really want to take you on a date and get to know you better—and maybe if the date goes well, go back to your apartment and make out.” He ends this with a sheepish smile, and I can’t help giggling—and anticipating his plans. Who am I to judge? I came to the same conclusion. “But I can’t do something like that here,” he continues. “Not without … making a mess.” His expression darkens for a moment, but he banishes it when he catches me watching him.

“Miss Swanson?” I guess.

Deep red stains his cheeks and he turns away, scratching the back of his head. “Her and every other woman here—besides those that drop in from the twenty-first century.”

My heart sinks at his deflection, even if I was doing the same thing. A joke, and he won’t look at me. I need him to be more open with me, even if we’ve only known each other a couple days. These are extreme circumstances, and I want to be able to trust him.

“What happened with that ‘wicked girl’?” I gently prod, using a joke as well, hoping that will help him tell me more.

He clears his throat. “I became more involved than I should have, and it was a big mistake.” He squeezes my hand and grimaces—a shallow admission of what must be deeper feelings on the subject.

Okay, it’s fine if he’s not telling me everything just yet. This is enough for now.