Page 73 of The Rules We Broke
“Yeah, well, I slept in it.”
He kissed me quickly—soft and pleased. “I like knowing that.”
Outside, he led me straight to the driver’s side of his truck, same as always. He opened the door and grinned at me like we were seventeen again and rules didn’t matter.
I raised an eyebrow, but slid in beside him, settling in the middle. His arm wrapped around me as soon as he climbed in, and then his lips found mine again—firmer this time, like he’d been holding back and didn’t want to anymore.
He tugged playfully at my hair. “You look perfect right here.”
Then he hit the gas like he had somewhere urgent to be.
“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re headed?”
He reached down and laced his fingers through mine. “In time.”
We passed the drive with easy conversation.
“How’s your aunt?” he asked.
“She’s doing a little better, just tired. The flowers were beautiful, by the way. Trying to earn points?”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m just hoping someday she’ll call me by my name.”
“You have your work cut out for you there.”
“Believe me, I know.”
I glanced out the window as we veered toward the lake, tension creeping up the back of my neck. As we neared the Jackson mansion, I braced myself. Surely, he wouldn’t take me to his parents’ place. I breathed a sigh of relief when we flew past it.
We eventually turned onto a narrow, unmarked road almost swallowed by pine trees. I wouldn’t have seen it if I’d been driving.
The path wasn’t paved, but it was worn—like it had been taken often by someone who knew exactly where they were going.
A quarter mile in, the trees opened like a curtain. A cabin stood near the lake, nestled among the pines, like it had always belonged there.
“Is this your place?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a proud tilt to his voice. He’d always dreamed of living in a log cabin—looked like the dream had come true.
As we pulled closer, the details came into view. Rich cedar logs. A broad front porch made of stone and timber, lined with two inviting rocking chairs. It looked newly built, but something about it already felt well lived in.
When he cut the engine, he turned to me. “Well? What do you think?”
I looked around. “I think it’s very you.”
“I’m still chipping away at it,” he admitted, “but it’s livable now.”
“How long have you been working on it?”
“A couple of years. Bit by bit.”
He hopped out, opened my door, and then reached into the cab and pulled out his long gray wool coat. He draped it over my shoulders—heavy, warm, and far too big in the best kind of way. Then he took my hand and led me around the house to the backyard that bordered the lake.
Even in the hush of night, it was beautiful. The moon hung low, mirrored on the still water. A wide stone fire pit crackled near the shore, flames flickering in quiet celebration.
I glanced up at him. It wasn’t like Brady to leave a fire burning unattended.
“Benjamin,” he said simply.
