Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(95)

“My mama sent you her meatloaf as a small token of thanks,” Ben adds, handing Mason the box of food that Wilma packed up. News in the small community spread quickly. By the time I made it back to the house, the fridge and freezer were brimming with food from friends, and Wilma was still cooking.

“Well, tell her that was unnecessary, but it’ll go to the same good spot it went last time.” Jack’s soft chuckle fills the kitchen as he pats his belly.

“Well, I should get going.” There’s another awkward pause as Ben glances at me. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably the same thing I’m thinking: What’s the standard protocol for saying goodbye here? Because I know what I want.

I want him to kiss me.

Clearing his throat, Ben finally offers, “Thanks for all your help today, Reese. Mama sure appreciated it. You’ve got to be tired.”

Exhausted, actually. I don’t know how she does that day in and day out. I simply nod and watch his retreating back as he disappears out the front door.

And it hits me. I’m not going to see him for an entire week. At least! Is he feeling any of what I’m feeling right now? Or is Wilma wrong? Is this just his regular friendship, with a bit of a personal tragedy kicker thrown in to wreak emotional havoc? And what if he is feeling it and he doesn’t like it? Wilma’s been introducing me as Ben’s girlfriend to anyone who will listen, including the priest from her parish who stopped by as we were packing the car up to drive back to Miami. There’s a really good chance that Ben is looking to hightail it out of here.

Maybe into someone else’s bed.

Shit. Am I developing real feelings for Ben Morris?

“I forgot something in the car.” It’s comes out sounding stilted and obviously untrue. I glance at Jack as I pass by. He’s just staring at me. I try not to rush out the door, but I’m pretty sure I’ve failed at hiding my hurry.

Ben’s tall frame is just about to fold into his driver’s side as the front door clicks behind me. He stops and watches as I take tentative, stiff-bodied steps toward him, my stomach a mix of butterflies and dread, not sure what’s going on in his head. This “thing” between us was easier when I didn’t care. Now . . . I’m pretty sure that I do. God, I don’t want to be another Mercy, another “friend” that he’ll need to gently turn down.

“I just . . .” My voice drifts off as I reach him. What the hell do I say now that I’m here? “I’m really sorry about your dad. About all of it. Not just today.”

His head cocks to the side as he regards me. “Reese, are you falling in love with me?”

“No!” I yell with a touch too much vigor. I feel my face burst into flames as he starts chuckling. “Shut up, you *.”

“Dude! My dad just killed himself today and you’re calling me names?” His terrible attempt at humor makes me cringe. “All right already, come here.” An arm hooks around my back and he pulls me into a tight hug, my face pressing up against the softness of his T-shirt. All of his shirts are soft and comfortable and worthy of melting into. I inhale deeply, catching that soapy clean smell that I’ve already missed.

“Are you going to survive a week without me or do you need to keep one of my shirts to tide you over?” he murmurs, his mouth pressed up again my hair. I hear the smile in his voice.

I turn my face away as another burst of heat touches my cheeks. “Maybe just one.”

He groans, his arms tightening around me. “So you can use it for some weird exorcism-voodoo shit when I piss you off? Hell no! I’ll end up with a nasty rash, won’t I? Oh, wait. You called me a rash, didn’t you?”

I find myself giggling against him as movement in the blinds at the front window catches my eye. Great. Jack. I’ll have that to deal with when I go inside.

Ben must have seen it too. “What’re you going to tell Jack?”

“I don’t know.” I pull away and tilt my head back to meet Ben’s eyes. “What should I tell him?”

His chest presses against mine with his deep breath. With another quick glance back at the window, he leads me ahead of his car and into the cover of the garage doors, set far enough out that no window has a view. He looks down at me, roaming my features and settling on my mouth. “That we’re good friends.” And then, so contrary to his words, and in a manner so different from the Ben that has kissed me in the past, he dips down and settles a soft, lingering kiss on my mouth, his thumbs rubbing against my cheeks. “I’ve gotta head out now. It’s a long drive back and I’m beat,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice crackling with its low cadence. I feel his lips curve against mine. “I didn’t sleep well with all that babbling you were doing last night.”

“What?” I feel my brow furrow. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

There’s just enough light from the corner of the house that I see his dimples. “You do. I just didn’t have a chance to make fun of you for it earlier.”

Curiosity overcomes my embarrassment. “What did I say?”

He pauses, as if deciding whether to tell me. And then he shrugs. “Hard to tell, with that ass of yours going all night, too. What did you eat, because . . . Jeez!”

“What!” I shriek, pulling away from him to smack his broad chest hard as he bursts out in laughter. “I do not fart in my sleep!” I hiss. This may be worse than the puke and the crawling.