One Spring Night

Chapter Seven

She'd had countless conversations with Ben over the past year. Whenever he brought her food order over, he'd slid onto the seat across from her and chatted with her while she ate. Unless, of course, the pub was too busy, or she was on a role with her latest manuscript. If the latter was the case, she would explain—with little fanfare—that she would be ever so daintily shoveling food in her mouth and typing through the chews without time to talk.

Which he'd laughed at, then left her in peace.

But even on days when, for one reason or another, she didn't have dinner at the pub, she liked to order a celebratory drink once she finished her writing for the day. The unspoken routine was that Ben would deliver her drink, also bringing one for himself, and they'd chat. Like two pals, she would tell him about her latest work, and he would fill her in on town happenings.

She'd had countless conversations with the man in his pub, so why, she wondered, was she so nervous making her way back down the stairs?

Should she go through the kitchen as they had when they'd gone up? Or go around the building and in the front door?

Clad in a pair of Abigail's leggings and an oversized charcoal gray knit sweater, she reached the bottom of the stairs and decided to go through the kitchen. If she was going to contemplate dating Ben—which would mean promises, expectations, and opening up to feelings she wasn't sure she was ready to feel—she may as well put her toe in the water and get comfortable being more than just a customer.

Before reaching the doorknob, a growling roar shook the ground.

Repositioning the hold of her computer bag on her shoulder, she then pulled open the door and peeked outside.

Sheets of rain streamed down into the ground, shooting from the thundering sky like bullets racing to penetrate through sodden earth.

She quickly darted out then back in the nearby kitchen door, clutching her bag. Having left her raincoat in the pub, she was damp all over again by the time she ducked inside for cover.

"It's coming down out there."

She patted off the surface wet as she glanced at Beckett. "It really is. And it's so dark, it looks like midnight. What time is it?"

"Nearly five. The dark is throwing everyone off. The pub's jammed with people apparently wanting an early dinner, then to run home before the nasty peak of the storm hits."

"This isn't the peak? That's a scary thought."

"Let's hope the roof holds and we don't all fly away."

When she looked at Beckett with wide eyes, he laughed. He was happy she'd come through the kitchen, just as he was happy Ben was tied up out front, filling drink orders and wiping up puddles from stray umbrellas.

"Just kidding," he told her. "We wouldn't fly away. New Englanders are made of stronger stuff. Hey, can you grab that bunch of flat-leaf parsley over there?" He pointed, motioning toward the bouquet of leafy green.

"Sure. Sounds busy out there." She motioned toward the door to the bar.

"Sounded like you guys got busy upstairs."

She let out a chuckle. She'd been going to the pub long enough to expect comments like that from Beckett. And rather than his words making her blush, she settled into a sense of pride, she realized. Sweet, happy pride at having had terrific sex with a man who adored her.

There, she thought. She was dipping more than just her toe into the idea of dating—relationship dating—Ben. And it felt more natural than she thought it would. Not like remembering back to when she'd learned how to ride a bike, she decided. There was nothing backwards about this. It was more like jumping into a vast new lake, one surrounded by unfamiliar landscape. But the concept of swimming was still the same.

Maybe she could do this.

"It's good, you two," he continued. "Ben's one of the good guys."

"He is, isn't he? I thought that when I met him." She smiled to herself, breathing out a quiet sigh. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You one of the good guys too?"

He made a noncommittal sound then thought of Danielle and remembered that she was bound to barrel in the door at any moment in search of the two plates of mashed potatoes and gravy.

"Know how to chop parsley?"

Kara hung her bag on one of the hooks near the door then headed for the sink to wash her hands. "I suppose if I can kill it in my greenhouse, I can manage to kill it on a chopping board too. Sure. Knife?"

He pulled one from a drawer and passed it over when she returned, pointed to the bamboo cutting board. "Fine chop."

"All right."

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he wondered if this was what it would be like to be in a relationship. To have someone lend a hand when it was needed, that they'd be around to chat with, laugh with. Ben had been right, none of them had been raised with any kind of example of what that looked like. Was it that way for Abigail too? How did she know how to be a wife?

"I'm a good guy. Mostly. But Ben's better," Beckett said to her as he piled clouds of mashed potatoes onto two oval plates. "He's always been the responsible one. Well, Abigail's probably the most responsible, but Ben...he was hit pretty hard when mom disappeared. Took on a lot of responsibility."

Kara stopped chopping for a moment, looked over at Beckett. "I know a little bit about that but not much."

"He'll tell you. He's a straight shooter when it's important."

"I'm learning that." She continued chopping the parsley, running the knife through it again, releasing the subtle scent of fresh green. "So why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know that, even though he comes across as easygoing, it hasn't been easy for him. For any of us. We were abandoned by people who should've loved us. So whatever you guys are doing, that's between you two. But if you hurt him, Abigail and I will hunt you down and kill you." He grinned brightly, slipping back into his mode of charm. "Just thought you should know."

"You're a good brother." Kara gripped the edges of the cutting board and walked the newly chopped mound of parsley over to Beckett. "I have two brothers and if they were here, they would say the same to you. It's nice you watch over Ben, he's lucky to have you."

Beckett shrugged as he poured steaming gravy over the mashed potatoes. "He's only a year older than me, but he's the closest thing to a dad I've got."

"Then you're both lucky to have each other."

Pleased with her easy response to what he'd said, he dusted the potatoes and gravy with a burst of parsley, then set the plates under the warmer. "Now that we're straight on that, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How the hell does a guy romance a woman?"