Page 86 of Summer Reading

“Conversation?” My short-term memory was on the fritz at the moment. I blamed him.

“When you declared this was just for now because we’ll both be leaving at the end of the season, and I called this a ‘summer situation,’ ” he reminded me.

“Oh, right. What about it?”

“You know I was just kidding, right?” he asked. He reached out and cupped the back of my head with his very large square man hand and pulled me up against him. “I feel like I need to clarify that this isn’t temporary for me.”

“It isn’t?” I asked. I hadn’t realized he was joking, when at the time I’d been very serious about labeling it a fling.

“Nope.” He slid his hand down to my lower back, holding me close. It was lovely.

“Well, that begs the question, What am I to you?” I asked. My heart was racing, my breathing was shallow, and I felt this ridiculous fluttering feeling in my chest. I think it was hope.

“More than a friend,” he said. “But the term ‘girlfriend’ isn’t right either. It’s so high school. There is nothing high school about how I feel about you.”

The glint in his eye was pure porn. Oh my.

I cleared my throat and tried to get my synapses firing amid the lust fog.

“How about your special lady friend?” I asked.

“Hmm, no.”

“Your plus-one?”

“Meh.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, it’s too soon to be your significant other or your partner.”

“Is it?” he asked. “Is there a time requirement on these things?”

I swallowed. I felt as if the conversation was getting away from me.

“But you’re the interim director here,” I said. “You’ll be leaving the Vineyard soon.”

“Maybe,” he said. “I’m not making any plans until I know who my father is and I find him.”

“Oh,” I said. “I just assumed...”

He waited. When I didn’t say more, he raised one eyebrow and asked, “Assumed?”

“That we’d go our separate ways in a few weeks because of work and life and...” My voice trailed off.

“If you’re asking me if I want this to end with the summer,” he said, “the answer is no. I just found you, Samwise, and I feel like you’re my... person.”

And just like that everything I had believed to be true—that this was a fling, that it was temporary, that we’d go our separate ways in a matter of weeks—was obliterated.

Ben leaned down and kissed me. I didn’t know what I thought about us lasting longer than a few months. Most of my relationships barely made it through one season. I had no frame of reference for anything longer. But when his mouth claimed mine, I discovered I didn’t care. I was in as long as he was in.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

We broke apart and glanced around the room. Was it a phone, a fire alarm, what? Then the smell infiltrated my brain.

“My marinade!” I cried. I let him go and dashed for the kitchen. Grabbing my pot holder, I lifted the lid off the pot. A plume of savory steam rose into the air. I grabbed a big spoon and began to stir. It hadn’t gotten scorched. Phew!

Ben was standing in the doorway, watching me as if I was endlessly fascinating to him. Not gonna lie, it felt good to give the critical voice in my head something to stew about.

Flattered to be the object of his attention, I removed the pot from the heat and crossed the room. I pressed myself up against him. He got the hint and lowered his head so I could kiss him with all of the wicked intent in my heart. I was just about to climb him like my own personal beanstalk when the kitchen timer went off again, making me jump.

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