Page 52 of Just a Plot Twist
He tucks the blanket under one arm and offers his other one to help me step onto the sand. I lift the hem of my chiffon dress as we take several slow steps, my arm hooked through his. His throat is laid bare, and the bowtie is hanging there like he’s dripping off the cover of a magazine.
“This is good here,” I say pointing to the sand in front of us, a small spot clear of bitterbrush and sage. It seems we have the beach to ourselves.
Benson spreads the denim blanket out carefully under the moonlight. My ankle’s not hurting too much, but it’s nice to have his support as he grasps my elbow so I can gingerly sink down onto the blanket. I fluff out the baby blue chiffon and tug on the front of the matching tie around my waist. I ate too much.
“What about your dress?”
“My grandmother picked it out and paid for it and, not to sound ungrateful, but it’s not my favorite.” I fluff out my skirt again. “I’m not worried about a little sand.”
His gaze takes me in—quickly—before meeting my own. “You don’t like it? You look like a million bucks.”
“Thanks. If I had my choice, I would have gone with something easier to walk around in. Something less formal. Definitely less tight.” I meet his gaze. “You manage to look comfortable in a tux, though.”
He grins as he fiddles with the corner of the blanket again. “Comfortable?”
“I mean. You look….you’re very handsome. It takes a certain skill set to look at ease in a tux.” I clear my throat. “And please don’t tell my grandma that I don’t like the dress.” I laugh.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He sits down next to me, one foot off the blanket in the sand, the other tucked under his leg, his arms around his knee. He watches the water as lights from the nearby dock dance along the surface.
In profile, his lips take on a different quality. They’re always attractive but right now, with the moonlight and the lights from the dock, they’re mesmerizing.
“That was some party,” he says with a whistle. Then he tilts his head at me. “I like your grandparents.”
He laughs at the look I give him. “I do,” he insists. “They raised you, didn’t they? It’s obvious they did a good job.”
I dip my head. There’s so much about his own parents I want to ask about. I know so little about his life, about his birth mother and adoptive parents.
“My grandparents have good qualities underneath their armors of bone and steel.” I laugh. “And I’m happy that they made it to sixty years together. It’s impressive. How long were your parents married?”
“They made it to their fiftieth anniversary before my dad died. Thomas and Celine are nearing forty years together. It’s nice to see it can be done. I wonder at times, considering my track record.”
“You just have the one ex-wife right? When you say track record, I worry you have a whole gaggle of them.” One can’t be too careful with these things.
He shakes his head. “There’s just the one. One ex-wife is more than enough.” He meets my gaze and lifts a hand. “It’s not like she’s hard to handle or anything like that. I’m saying that because I don’t ever want to go through that again.”
“I’m sure it’s been hard. I can’t even imagine.” I sigh. “Looks like neither of us is looking to date, which is good.” My tone is light. Flippant. But is that actually true for either of us?
He said he didn’t want to go through that again, so what’s “that,” exactly?
Dating?
Marriage?
All the above?
“It’s been over a year since the divorce was final, and I might feel ready to date again. Kind of. Well, I’m both ready and terrified at the same time.” He chuckles. “There was a time when I seriously doubted I’d find someone again. Because of the past, the whole idea has me sick to my stomach. But some things have happened lately that have been a crash course, of sorts.” He looks over at me. “I’ve been thrown into the pool feet first and it’s actually not too bad.”
I can’t suppress a smile. “What do you mean?”
“I think we’ve had a very full night, Claire. I’ve fallen on top of you, for starters. That counts for a lot of inter-relational growth right there. I mean, I basically pinned you to the floor.” He holds up his hands. “Unintentionally.”
My cheeks flush at the memory of the weight of his body so…thoroughly on top of mine. But I have to come back with a joke. “I nearly died, so of course we’re bonded there. And we’ve eaten burgers together. That’s not nothing.”
“You’re right. It’s not nothing,” he says. “And what about dancing the waltz? That’s big right there.”
“True.” I laugh. “We’ve had a nice time together.” But I sober because this isn’t a laughing matter. Not really.
I like him. I’m very drawn to him. He’s not what I thought I wanted. Except it feels impossible to start something with him—my sister’s brother-in-law—when I’m trying to prove to the mayor that it’s a good move to hire me. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not readying myself to get pregnant with twins.
