Ben…
“Thought you already snooped.”
Shay opened each drawer of the map table in my office. “That was a breeze-through.”
“And this?”
“Is learning about you.”
Once we’d stepped back through my front door, she’d taken her time, room by room, her leading, me following. She’d asked a question or two, I’d provided a brief but thorough answer.
The reverent way she took in every little detail of my space surprised me. Slow steps led her around the room while her intent gaze wandered with great care, hovering over each object it encountered, absorbing, learning.
I’d never felt so exposed in my own home. No one I’d brought in had ever shown much interest. When had I ever wanted anyone to? I couldn’t remember.
Sudden nervousness gripped me, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. My mouth ran dry, and I swallowed hard. Doubts flashed through my head.
What are you thinking? Of my sparse life? Of me?
I sucked in a deep breath. Shake it off, Ben. She’s into you. All you need to know.
She passed the leather couch parked against the far wall and tipped her beautiful face up to bright daylight, following the expanse of glass to the peak of the office’s high arched windows. Then her attention drifted back down toward the black walnut desk, and she bent over it.
As she began to examine the three framed photos on the far back corner, my pulse started to hammer. Because the biggest shocker to accept? The stubborn bartender I’d fired only a week ago had begun to matter to me. On a level I hadn’t known I’d been capable of.
Maybe stupid-level. It had tempted me to put everything I’d worked so hard for at risk.
But what had all the hard work and sacrifice been for?
Maybe I’ve been biding my time, waiting for you.
A soft laugh escaped her lips as her gaze landed on three drunk college guys: Mase, Cade, and me. Each had one arm slung around the neck of another, all with our free hands holding out the saddest three minnows ever to be caught. Proud grins stretched across all three mugs.
“None of your family?” Her fingertips floated an inch above the matte glass of eight-year-old me and my only childhood dog.
“No. I didn’t even put them in those polished silver frames. Kiki dug up some ancient photos, awww’d over my ‘genuine smile’, and insisted they were needed to warm the place up.”
“She was right.” She nodded toward the one with the red Siberian husky. “What was his name?”
“Teddy. Followed me everywhere. Learned to walk with him by holding onto his tail.”
She half-turned and stared at me for a moment. “He’s family.”
“Yeah, I guess he was.” The best kind of family, one that only gave unconditional love.
She must’ve caught the seriousness in my distant expression. Because after a couple of silent beats, she clapped her hands together. “Okay, Mr. Monday. Where’s my movie?”
“Where it’s most echo-y.” I nodded toward the living room, where nothing personal existed. “But apparently acoustically solid. Sound dampeners on the walls. A rug on the floor.”
“Thanks to designer Kiki.” She gave a nod but held no animosity in her voice as we moved into the living room. Then she kicked off her shoes and jumped onto the sectional.
“So, what’s this movie you’ve been dying to see?”
She’d been unusually silent the entire walk home. Contemplative, even.
“Wonder Woman.”
“Of course.” Didn’t surprise me one bit.
She settled along the cushions, then grabbed a large pillow in the corner and stuffed it under her head. “This thing’s more comfortable than I realized.”
Good. Her getting comfortable in my place? Worked for me.
You warm the space up just by being here.
I dropped a nod toward the flat-screen mounted on the wall, tossed her the remote, then headed into the kitchen. “You order it on iTunes. I’ll fire up some popcorn.”
“Don’t suppose you frost up blue ICEEs here?”
I paused midstep, then tilted my head to the side and hit her with a deadpan look. “You had your chance at the snack bar.”
After gorging on pancakes, she didn’t want a thing at the theater. No popcorn. No blue ICEE. I had to force a bottle of water on her.
But then, I kind of understood. Nerves. She’d probably been too excited to eat on her first movie date. And the weird thing? After dozens of dates I’d gone on—and even more one-night stands—I’d been nervous with Shay too. Fucking butterflies-in-the-stomach nervous.
When I stopped to examine that as I heated up the skillet, the greater why of it all hit me. Not one of them mattered as much as Shay does.
Minutes later, I settled next to the pillow behind her head. Then she shifted, angled enough on the corner space to drape an arm over my leg and nestle the popcorn bowl in the triangle of cushion between us. Then she dramatically aimed the remote at the TV and started her movie.
It rolled out pretty impressively. A wild island with hundreds of striking female warriors. One different among them. Great battle scene. Mystery about her heritage. The risk and sacrifice—from him, needing to fulfill his mission, and her, needing to face her destiny.
She paused the movie and glanced up at me. “Would you say you’re a typical example of your sex?”
I did my best to pull off the same humble honesty as Steve Trevor. “I...am...above average.” She gave me a coy look, then turned back toward the screen and pointed the remote, rolling the frozen scene back into action.
The movie played on for a few more minutes, both of us quiet until the sailing scene.
She paused it again. “Greek sex texts?”
I snorted. “Ancient porn.”
“Twelve volumes full.”
“Prehistoric times? No TV, no movies, no gaming or phones. Probably got bored. I would’ve. Great motivation for experimenting.”
“Or mastering.” She sat up a little straighter, turning toward me. “Outliers.”
“What?”
“A book I read. Ten thousand hours to master something.”
I smirked. “You’d like to master sex?”
She glanced at the ceiling for a beat, pretending to consider it. “Maybe.”
“With me, I hope.” Damn well better be with me.
“You wouldn’t mind ten thousand hours with me?”
“I think I could tolerate it.”
I got a face full of popcorn for my sarcasm. But then she kissed me, and all was forgiven.
Halfway through the movie, she paused it again and pointed the remote at the big screen. “It’s her father.”
“Totally her father.”
Shay’s emotions ran the gamut from one scene to another. Soft laughter. Tense anger. Quiet observance.
She let out a heartfelt sigh. “They’re dancing.”
I tangled our fingers together and clasped her hand. “We’re dancing.” How the last few days had been for me, us swaying to some instinctive rhythm as we shared important firsts together.
Then the movie delivered its twist. “Oh.” Her brow furrowed, as if she’d been disappointed.
Not long after, she sat upright. “No. No!” Her hand clutched her chest as she sucked in a huge breath. Tears began to stream down her face.
I rubbed a hand over her upper arm, hit hard with her. Choked up. Minus the tears.
Wonder Woman ended, Chinese food got delivered, and we discussed the merits of the film over the next hour, the most I’d ever talked about a movie. But I’d learned more about Shay than I’d ever expected in that short period of time.
Diana Prince had cared about the innocents, about their suffering. But Shay seemed even more affected, talked at length about their plight, empathized about how everything they’d ever known had been ripped away.
And I listened. And agreed. And commiserated with her. Because Shay had meant more than those in the movie. And we both knew it.
A comfortable silence fell between us while we finished our dinner, shoulders touching as we sat side by side on the sectional with only dimmed lights on in the living room.
“They never had a date.” She pointed a chopstick at me.
“But they did have one night.” I tossed my emptied takeout container with the others we’d demolished and scattered over the coffee table.
“I’m glad we have a week.”
I nudged her shoulder. “Just a week?”
“Seven whole days.”
To start, if I had my way. “And how was your first?”
“Too early to tell.” She slid her empty container next to the rest. Then she nestled up against my side, dragged her lips over my cheek, and murmured into my ear, “It’s still happening.”
A loud buzzing jarred the silence.
My phone lit up the darkness of the kitchen.
Irritated at that damned leash, I sighed. “Not getting up to look.”
“What if it’s important?”
After our breakdown of the movie, after understanding how the quiet pain of those in need affected Shay on a visceral level, I gave her thigh a light squeeze and stood. “Then I’m on it.”
But I got confused by the name that flashed up on the screen: someone who hadn’t called me in over a year. I furrowed my brow, unsure of how she would take the news. “It’s Kiki.”
But she popped up from the couch, expression brightening. “It’s for me.”
“It is?” I stared at the counter to confirm. “Isn’t that my phone?”
“Yep.” She swiped it up. “I forgot to give her my number.”
“Why’s she calling you?” On my phone. Which meant Kiki knew we’d be together.
She clicked the button, then held it to her ear. “Hey, Kiki! Yep. Hold on...”
I stood there, perplexed.
She held the phone out at arm’s length.
“Kiki doesn’t only design condos.” She arched her brows, wearing a duh expression. “She’s also creating our naughty golf shirts.”
Right. “Annnd...I’ve just lost my date to my designer,” I grumbled.
Shay headed toward my bedroom without even a glance back at me. But my lips curved into a slow smile, because she’d settled into using my phone, being in my place, and spending the day with me, my way. And there hadn’t been any outward sign of discomfort.
In fact, it struck me that something deeper had happened.
Not just with a phone, or my place, or the day. Not with the movie. Or any single thing. With everything.
With her...and me.
You’ve found home.