New York Nights (Heart of the City #2)(31)

He smiled as he placed the tray in front of me, and it made my stomach flip. 'Well, eat first, praise later. If you like it, I'll consider a career change,' he said, reaching over to grab the dome.

My mouth was watering already, thinking about what he had organised: Indian, Thai, Italian?

'Wait a minute, did you cook this?' I asked.

He nodded, seemingly modest about his efforts before lifting the lid to reveal  …

'Oh. My. God.' My hand covered my mouth, capturing my gasp.

Ben looked worried. 'Well?'

I tried to find words, feeling stupid as tears threatened. I lowered my hands from my face and took in the grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of minestrone soup. He'd remembered.



       
         
       
        

I shook my head in disbelief.

'Yeah, well, don't get too excited, the soup is from a can, but the grilled cheese is all me,' he said.

'It's amazing.' I laughed, thinking that there wasn't anything better in the world for lifting my spirits than this.

'Thank you, Ben,' I said, making sure I looked him in the eyes so he knew I meant it.

Ben's mouth twitched as if stifling a smile. 'You Aussies sure are easy to please.'

'Yeah, just an elaborate home cinema with a grilled cheese sandwich and I'm anyone's,' I joked.

Ben's expression changed and suddenly what was meant as a joke took on a whole new meaning. Yep, me and my tragic jokes strike again.

'Well, I've got some work to do, so I'll leave the music on for you?'

'You're not having any?'

He shrugged. 'I ate at Nikki's.'

My heart sank. I don't know what made me think that maybe Ben might sit next to me, watch a movie, chat about our favourite things like we were having a slumber party. But of course that was stupid. And then I felt ungrateful. Ben had shown me more compassion and consideration than I could have hoped for. It made me feel truly awful about all the bitterness I'd held against a man I didn't really know.

'Well, thanks again,' I said, saluting him with my toastie.

'Is there anything else you want?'

His words hung heavily in the air and all I wanted to say was: Yes, stay.

I smiled and shrugged. 'Nope, all good.'

And of all the little white lies I had told today, that was by far the biggest one.





Chapter Thirty


The music had stopped. My tray was gone. If it wasn't for the lights above me, I would've thought maybe I had dreamt it all. How long had I been asleep?

Time sure was difficult to gauge in a cinema room, not a problem I was usually faced with. I pulled myself from my blanket cocoon and stretched my arms above my head then tried, rather inelegantly, to collapse the footrest. I knew my lethargy was a combination of my boozy afternoon and napping on possibly the most comfortable couch in existence, but I felt like someone had roofied my grilled cheese.

I went upstairs. The house was dark, but judging by the microwave clock, I had only been out for a few hours, so the night was not entirely lost. I could go to my room and get a good night's sleep.

And that was exactly where I was headed before a shadow caught my eye. I stood at the end of the couch, drinking in Ben's sleeping form, the bow of his lips, the fatigue that lined his face. A frown was visible, as though he was worrying even in his dreams. I had no doubt he would, this man bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, worked so hard, and received nothing but grief from me. Ben was a good man whose life had been turned upside down but who was trying to do his best. My heart ached for him, and I wanted to help him. I could at least help him to sleep soundly, knowing that one aspect of his life  –  perhaps the most important one  –  was looked after. I didn't want him to worry about Grace. I could care for her and love her for both of us in the times he couldn't. 

I tiptoed around the couch, kneeling quietly next to him, and took the papers from under his hands. I put them on the floor next to him, then gently lifted his glasses from his face, revealing his strong, masculine features. He stirred slightly, and my breath caught in  –  if he woke and caught me staring at him like a creeper, I'd be mortified. But he didn't wake, his forehead furrowing again as another worry reached him in his dreams. I would have given anything to take it away.

I leant over him for the throw rug on the back of the lounge and paused seeing the corner of a dog-eared piece of paper sticking out of his pocket. The same note he had urgently tucked away when I'd entered the room earlier this evening. My eyes shifted to Ben's face, and back to the paper.

Sarah, no, you can't! He obviously didn't want you to see it  –  it has nothing to do with you.

I left the throw rug in its place as I sat on my haunches, letting a war rage inside me.

Just go to bed, Sarah. Cover him up and go to bed. Don't spoil a good night.

I knew that everything the voice said was right, that I should just walk away, and yet I found myself reaching for the paper. Ever so carefully, I pulled it by the corner and edged it out of his pocket, inch by inch. I bit my bottom lip as, eventually, the paper came free. I sighed with relief.

Then Ben's hand snaked around my wrist so fast I yelped. I looked into his steely stare.

I tried to think of a logical explanation for why I was taking the piece of paper, but of course there was none. The only thing I was aware of was Ben's painful iron grip around my wrist.

Ben unhurriedly sat up, his knees grazing my belly, his grey eyes looking into mine in a way I had never seen before; I would never have thought such an intense calmness would be more terrifying than his anger. He gradually let my wrist go.

'Read it,' he said, so coolly I felt a shiver run over my skin.

I shook my head. 'I don't want to,' I said, handing it to him.

He pushed my hand back. 'Yes, you do.'

'Ben, please.' I pushed the paper into his chest and went to move but he stilled me with his hand, scrunching the paper into my palm.

'Read. It.'

I could feel the heat of my cheeks as shame engulfed me. This was my punishment and I had to endure while Ben watched. I wished the ground would open.

I unfolded the paper, revealing the writing. My eyes ticked over the words in disbelief.

'It's my email?'

He had printed off my email and written little notes in the margins, what looked like an agenda for the weekend, going as far as to highlight passages. He had taken what I had written seriously, put thought and effort into respecting what would be best for Grace. My heart melted.

'I'm not the best communicator, Sarah, especially with anything to do with Grace, I just  –  I'm trying.'

I could try to claim it was my humiliation or his admission that made me break down, but I knew in my heart of hearts it was guilt and my own issues with communication, and I had never felt so ill about it.

'I'm sorry.' My chin trembled like a small child's. 'You know why I was sick today?'

Ben looked at me, his eyes cast in shadow, his silence intimidating.



       
         
       
        

'Because I went to an Irish bar and got drunk on cocktails that reminded me of you, and then if that wasn't bad enough, last night -' I shook my head in disbelief.

Ben shifted, sighing wearily. 'We don't have to talk about last night.'

'It's not that, it's  … ' I tried to find the courage to continue.

Ben tilted his head as if to capture my attention as I lifted my gaze to his.

'What?'

I didn't want to keep the truth at bay any more, and notwithstanding all the secrets in my possession, I would be truthful. I inhaled deeply, my voice shaking as I continued. 'I asked about you, I asked Louisa about Grace's mum and now I know what happened and I'm so, so sorry that I always think the worst of you, and then you're so nice to me and you make me cheese sandwiches and I don't even deserve it.' I wiped my eyes and looked at my hands crumpling the bit of paper because I couldn't bring myself to look at him, knowing that now he knew the truth.

There was a long, painful silence, and I just wanted to disappear. I had done it, ruined any chance of being able to be a part of the new world that Ben was building for Grace. It was over.

Then Ben's hand was sliding over mine, preventing me from crumpling the paper any further. He squeezed my hand a little. It was a tender, unexpected gesture, as was the way he moved, dropping to the floor to sit next to me, forcing me to look at him. His eyes weren't angry, they were sad, looking at me as though he was physically pained by my tears. He brushed them away with his thumb as he shook his head.

'You can say what you like, Sarah Williams, but I'll be damned if you don't deserve a grilled cheese sandwich.' He smiled slowly.

I was confused, afraid to believe that he was making light of all I had confessed.

'Sarah, you survived my mother, my sister, me, and despite it all, you still continue to love and care for Grace, even in the times when you probably wanted to walk away. Why?'

'Because I love her.'

'Is that the only reason?'

I thought, trying to find an answer. 'Well, I love this city.'

'And that's what makes you stay?' he asked, folding a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded, knowing that I wasn't being completely truthful, but I scarcely thought that telling him that he made me want to stay was appropriate, so I left the most powerful part of my confession unsaid.

He let his hand drop and pressed his back against the couch, sighing deeply and rubbing at his face. 'Goodnight, Sarah.'