Milly
Ben is gone when I wake up, and the flat is incredibly quiet, which is unsettling. There’s a key and a map on the counter. and I catch a glimpse of a piece of paper tucked inside the map. I tug it free and read the note scrawled on it. Have fun looking at old shit. – Ben
There’s also a French press on the counter with a bag of coffee next to it. I wonder when he had time to go out and get the coffee.
I scan the map while I wait for the coffee to brew, studying it so that I don’t get lost again. It was so embarrassing to call Ben last night and even more embarrassing to admit that I simply hadn’t paid attention to where I was going. I don’t plan on making that mistake again. Today is all about the British Museum. I plan on spending the day there, getting lost amongst the mummies instead.
After a long day of wandering around the massive museum, I’m disappointed when I return to Ben’s flat and it’s still empty. I’m bursting at the seams, eager to discuss my day with someone. A quick check of the time and some simple math means that I still have plenty of time to call Holly. Except she doesn’t answer and I refuse to leave a voicemail.
The next morning, Ben is gone again when I wake up, but the French press that I left in the sink yesterday is clean and waiting for me. Gone is my gusto for exploration. You didn’t travel all this way just to have an affair with a hot British bartender, I remind myself. You came here to see the world so get out there and experience it!
God, I can be so rational sometimes.
It’s raining outside, so I bundle up in a thick, wool sweater, a pair of skinny jeans, and my new rain boots. Last night, I made reservations for high tea at Claridge’s. And now that the weather has turned cooler, a comforting pot of tea, freshly baked scones, and some clotted cream might be exactly what I need.
Except it isn’t; not at all. While I sip tea and nibble on cucumber sandwiches, Ben fills my thoughts. I miss the playfulness he showed me during our trip to the V&A. I miss the tender looks and soft kisses. Everything around me is sheer British perfection, but I only really want to be one place.
It’s still raining when I leave Claridge’s and I decide to splurge on one of those iconic black taxis instead of walking to the closest Tube station. When the cabbie drops me off in front of Ben’s pub, it’s packed. People are streaming in and out and one step inside tells me why. The large television screens scattered throughout all display a soccer match. The inside of the pub is wall-to-wall people, one massive sea of bodies that I doubt my ability to make it to the bar. Or to even talk.
I bump into several patrons while trying to make my way up to the bar, and they make their displeasure known quite loudly.
“Whatchit, ya daft slag,” someone half yells, half slurs in my direction.
“Oi, shut your gob, Tom, and leave the poor girl alone,” someone replies, just as loud and just as drunk. I turn just in time to see what I presume to be Tom’s friend leering down at me. “Whatcha got under that coat, dearie? I bet a delicious set of strawberry creams.”
The way he waggles his eyebrows and smiles grotesquely makes me want to puke, and I continue pushing forward until I’m at the front of the bar. But Ben is nowhere in sight. Instead, Tom and his friend are inching closer in my direction.
“Could we buy you a pint, miss?” Tom’s friend asks.
“Or could we perhaps interest you in a game of slap-and-tickle,” Tom adds, his white eyebrows bobbing up and down.
I try to back away from them, but there are so many people that it’s hard to push past them all. Where the fuck is Ben? A hand clamps down on my arm, and I want to scream, but then I hear Ben’s voice growl, “What’s going on, gents?”
“Aw, nothing, Bennie. Just getting to know this pretty lass s’all,” Tom says.
“Leave her the fuck alone, the both of you, or I’ll toss you wankers out,” Ben tells them. Relieved, I sag against Ben when he pulls me tightly against his side, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist. “What are you doing here, Milly?”
“Hoping to talk to you,” I practically shout. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Not bloody likely. Arsenal and Chelsea are playing a death match.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he just smiles and cups my chin with one hand, rubbing his thumb along my jaw. “I’m happy you came in, even if it’s fucking bonkers in here.”
I stand on tiptoes and kiss him softly. “I’ll just see you back at the flat.”
Ben holds up a finger, asking me silently to wait. With his arm still firmly wrapped around me, he turns back and yells something to the man behind the bar. They both nod and then Ben grabs my hand and drags me through the crowd to the front of the pub. “You’re going to need this,” he says, plucking a massive black umbrella from a brass container in the corner of the pub’s vestibule. He explains how to get back to the flat and mentions a few places to stop for takeaway. “I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he tells me as he leans forward to brush a kiss along my cheek.
But I want more than just a kiss on the cheek. I grab onto his shirt and pull myself up to press my lips against his. I brush my tongue along his bottom lip, and he opens for me. His mouth is warm and welcoming, inviting me to deepen the kiss. His hands circle my waist and pull me flush against him. The world around us seems to fall away; the sounds of the crowd and televisions dissolve until it’s just him and me.
* * *
I wake up on Ben’s couch. After too much takeaway filling my belly, I simply gave in to my tired body, stretched out along Ben’s very comfortable and inviting couch, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
I sit up and blink a few times. The flat is extremely quiet, and at first, I think I’m alone until I see Ben sitting in an armchair next to the fireplace, looking right at me.
“What’s up, hot and creepy?” I greet him as I wrap myself up in a throw blanket that wasn’t there earlier.
“Hello, beautiful and sleepy,” he replies. Ben pushes up from the chair, stands, and stretches out his powerful frame. He’s still dressed for work in distressed jeans, black boots, and a long-sleeved black shirt that rides up a bit to expose a part of his flat stomach. He walks toward me and sits down beside me, stretching his arm out across the back. I invite myself into the space he’s created and rest my head on his chest, right over his heart.
“When did you get back?” I ask.
“About an hour ago.”
“You’ve been sitting there, watching me sleep for an hour?”
Ben chuckles, and his whole body shakes. His arm comes down to pull me in closer, and he places a kiss on top of my head. “Not the entire time.” He clears his throat before saying, “I’m sorry about what happened in the pub. Sometimes, the blokes who come in to watch a match get a little pissed, and they have no idea what they’re doing.”
“It’s okay. You saved the day, again.”
Ben shifts so that we’re both sitting up a little straighter. His arm slides out from around me, and he grabs my hand. It’s time for the talk. “Look, Milly, I meant everything that I said to you the other day. I don’t want you to leave, but I won’t stop you from traveling and exploring either. But I really like you, and whatever is happening between us, I want it to continue.”
“I feel the same way,” I say with a smile. Ben looks shocked. His green eyes are wide and his mouth pops open before it dissolves into a dazzling grin. I face him and place my hands on either side of his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I missed you. There was no one trying to get into my panties among the mummies at the British Museum.”
“Knickers,” he corrects me. “And I’d really be chuffed if you let me try to get into your knickers now.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re so romantic.”
Ben stands up abruptly, leans forward, and scoops me into his arms. “How’s this for romantic?”
“It’s perfect,” I tell him as I wind my arms around his neck.
He walks with me down the short hallway and kicks open the door to his bedroom and then tosses me onto the bed. “I know you didn’t exactly fancy Tom’s offer earlier, but how would you like to play a little game of slap-and-tickle?”
A silly grin transforms his face, and he waggles his eyebrows just like the two old perverts from the pub. I giggle as he covers me with his body and uses his fingers to find all the places I’m ticklish. It doesn’t take long for things to heat between us, and I sigh into him with relief and desire as his fingers start to caress and linger.
This is what I was really missing in my life. The comfort of having someone to share and explore life with, to have someone to come home to at the end of a long day, is the real cure for my wanderlust.
The End