Page 73 of Love, Rekindled

Daisies, though, they’re bright and airy. They’re what little girls pick petals from and dream of love. They make me smile.

“It’s just...very sweet. Thank you, Ben.” I lean up on my very tippy toes and press a kiss to his cheek. “Come in, I made food.”

He looks as though he wants to say more, but he nods and enters the house.

Jackson and Catherine’s place is cute and quaint. It’s a little beach bungalow a few blocks off the beach. They bought it a year ago when Catherine was visiting on one of their walks to the lighthouse. She said it was fate and needed it. Jackson, not being able to ever resist his wife, bought it immediately and spent two weeks fixing it up.

While the size isn’t anything great, it has the most spectacular view of the lighthouse where she fell in love with Jackson Cole.

“I haven’t been here since I got my place,” Ben says as he looks around.

“What do you mean?”

Ben’s smile makes my stomach clench. “I lived here before I found my place. Jackson and Cat sort of use this for the Virginia Beach crew as temporary lodging when we’re not sure we’re staying.”

“But you did.”

He takes a step closer and nods. “I did. Are you planning to?”

My initial though is,yes. Yes. I want to stay. I feel more alive since being here than I have in my whole life. More than that, I want him. I want to know why he was the first thing I kept thinking of when I was going to make my list.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation. Instead of asking him the questions that I want to know, I smile and shrug. “Well, I guess we’ll see then.”

“I guess so. It smells good,” Ben says as he lifts his head toward the kitchen.

“Oh shit!” I yell, remembering I have sauce on the stove.

I rush in, praying the bottom didn’t burn. I’ve made my Nana’s sauce a million times and the key is going slow, not rushing, and adding everything in stages. It’s a process. One that I’ve been at since nine this morning. Nana used to tell us that a good sauce was only good if there was love and time put into it, like life.

I used to think she was nuts and beg her to get a jar down to save us all the headache, but she would slap me with the wooden spoon at the mere mention of it. To her, sauce was how she showed her love.

I scrape the bottom, lift the spoon, and almost weep when there’s nothing black or stuck. It would’ve destroyed the entire day’s worth of work.

“Everything okay?”

I smile at him and nod. “Thankfully everything is okay. I’m glad I had the burner on so low.”

“Did you make me Jersey food?”

“I did.”

Ben takes a step closer and wraps me in his big arms. “You’re the best.”

I look up, my arms trapped at my sides. “Well, I figured you’ve been without for a while.”

His arms drop and he kisses my nose as if it’s the most natural thing to do. “I have. Your family always made Sunday my favorite day.”

“They still do that, you know?”

I make my way back over to the pot, dipping in the spoon and tasting it. Perfect.

I turn the burner off and drain the pasta. Once the meal is plated I carry it over to the little table that fits in the corner.

He sits in the chair and shakes his head. “Your family amazes me. Mine was nothing like them.”

---