Truly(24)
“Sorry.”
Mental note: Ben doesn’t like talking about Wisconsin.
“I like it here,” he said after a moment.
“I hate it.”
Had she just said that aloud? Huh. She was too tired and mellow, too blissed out from the foot massage to filter herself.
“Why?”
“I tried not to. If you asked me yesterday morning, I would have told you that New York was different than I expected, but it was really exciting and vibrant and great.”
“But you actually hate it.”
“I do.”
She swallowed the last sip of wine in her glass and let it dangle from her fingers. Where had the rest of it gone? It had stolen away and taken her caution with it.
She felt safe. Despite everything. Safe, and warm, and cared for. And it was the first time she’d felt that way since … since she couldn’t remember when.
The thing about taking care of Dan for so long was that it meant she didn’t have anybody to take care of her.
Not that she needed somebody. She was fine.
Now and then, though, it was good to have a hard thigh to rest your feet on, and the kind of man who would volunteer to rub them.
“It’s lonely here,” she said.
His thumbs rubbed circles over her ankles as his fingers smoothed over her feet, the rhythm softer now. Lulling.
“Not always.”
A clock above the TV ticked off the seconds, and she drifted.
“You’re going to put me to sleep,” she mumbled.
“I know.”
After an unknown interval, he plucked the glass out of her hand, and she turned onto her side into the couch, tucking her arm against her chest.
“Thanks for being so nice to me.”
She thought he might have said “My pleasure,” just before she fell asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He woke to the clang of metal on granite.
A dropped pot. He’d know the sound anywhere.
The bedside clock read 5:18. Way too fucking early. The downstairs tenant was a dick.
Ben turned his face into the pillow.
Another sound—a quiet clink this time—brought his head back up. That had come from his apartment. His kitchen.
May.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Clumsy with sleep when he stood, he had to put a hand out to keep from bumping into the wall.
Where’s the fire, Hausman?
He made himself stop in the bathroom to take a leak and give his brain a few seconds to catch up. After, he found her sitting at the kitchen counter next to the French press, hands wrapped around a mug.
“Morning,” she said. The room was dark. She hadn’t turned on any lights, just cracked the curtain. “Sorry if I woke you. I was trying to find something to heat the water in, and I dropped a pot.”
Ben opened the curtains. “That’s all right.” He flipped a few light switches and helped himself to the rest of the coffee in the French press, adding cream from the fridge. “You sleep okay?”
“Sure. Sorry I conked out on you.”
“No problem.” Far better that she relax and fall asleep on the couch than lie awake all night, jumpy over him possibly making a pass at her, or crying because of what happened with her ex.
Some ex, too. Thor fucking Einarsson. Ben wondered what the guy had said to make May go after with him with a fork.
Had to be bad. She wasn’t the type to attack unprovoked.
“You been awake a long time?” he asked.
“An hour or so. I’m an early riser. I hope I didn’t make too much noise. I couldn’t decide whether to flush the toilet.”
He looked up from his mug to find her bashful, eyes averted. Because she’d said toilet?
“Decided to be civilized and take the risk?”
She nodded. “Sorry.”
“You gotta stop apologizing. You’re going to run out, and it’s not even six yet.”
“Sorry, I—” She stopped and gave him a small smile. “Habit. I’ve got that Midwestern politeness thing pretty deeply ingrained.”
“What’s on your agenda this morning? You need to get on my computer?”
“If I can. I guess I should check on flights and see what the rules are on flying with no ID.”
“Hang on, I’ll grab it.”
He retrieved the laptop from the bedroom and set it on the counter. “You should have an Internet connection. Let me know if it’s hinky. Sometimes I have to reset it.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower. Then I’ll see about whipping up some breakfast.”
“You don’t have to,” she said. “I can grab a bagel or something. I mean, if you’d just as soon be sleeping, you can go back to bed, and I’ll—”
“Let yourself out? No, I owe you breakfast. Part of my duty as your host.”