Page 16 of More With You

He shrugs. “There are always new details, or something I missed in the last degree.”

“It’s breathtaking, Ben!” My mind is reeling with 360 questions. “Where will you put them all? Are they just for you, or…?” I trail off, noticing a hint of sadness lingering in his beautiful eyes, too.

“These are earmarked for my gallery in New Orleans. That’s where I usually do my shows.” His face brightens, and he graces me with one of his most irresistible smiles. “You should come.”

I blink slowly, trying to make sense of him. “You… own a gallery in New Orleans? What gallery?” He’d said it like it was nothing. Honestly, every time I’m with him, I feel like I’m waiting to get hit with another information dump that’ll take me days to process. Before that bombshell, I was still getting over the fact he’s a DuCate.

“The Chevalet.”

“On Julia Street?” I can hear the excitement rising in my voice, but he just nods. “Oh my god! I love that gallery! I lived in New Orleans for a while when I worked at the casino off Canal. On my days off I’d wander the various neighborhoods and, not that I know anything about art, I wandered into the Gallery District.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe this. You own the Chevalet?”

My head is jumbled right now, my thoughts refusing to get into any kind of order. They’re racing through my brain at a mile a minute, colliding with my past and my present. He’s way more than I expected.

“Yes,” he replies evenly, “but, right now, I work as the bridge tender, and we’ve got a boat coming. Take a seat over there while I let her through.” He points to a cracked, plastic stool that sits just in front of the easel.

Dazed, I do as he asks, gazing forward to pair my view with that of the canvas. It’s identical, aside from the car bumper.

As Ben’s radio crackles into life, I glance back, listening as he rattles through a bunch of commands and instructions that I don’t understand. All I know is that he’s speaking with the captain of the approaching boat. In the meantime, he starts pushing buttons, flicking switches, and pulling a lever or two. Outside the booth, the dinging of the warning lights fires up, and the barriers go down, finally bringing that front car bumper into view.

Settling my focus on the center of the bridge, a wave of childish excitement crashes through my veins, making me sit higher on the stool as the bridge begins to split. Opening up like an oyster shell, parting at the seam, I can’t help grinning. It’s a whole different experience from being on the bridge in a car to being in the booth.

“I took this job for the view,” Ben explains, likely sensing that my thoughts were in overdrive. “I wanted to paint this every day, and as soon as I started, I decided to do the 360 series. With only nine left to do, I gave my two-weeks-notice this morning. Time to move on.” He looks around him, and out of the windows. I can tell he’s going to miss this place. Despite the chug and roar of car engines, and the whirr of machinery, it’s peaceful.

We sit in silence for a while, immersed in our own thoughts. I just wish the dinging of the barrier signal could drown out the noise of my mind. The more I learn about Ben, the less I seem to know. Yet, there’s a familiarity in him—something I recognize in myself. He moves on with his work when the time comes, and so do I. The only difference being, I’m starting to think this town might have something in it that’s worth sticking around for, indefinitely.

A sudden banging on the booth door rockets me off the stool and out of my quiet reverie. Ben jolts, too, his eyes darting toward the door as it swings open, like it got caught by a sharp gust of wind. A bulky silhouette darkens the threshold, while a painfully recognizable face leers in with a smirk.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” Levi tuts, so patronizing I could slap him. “I guess Prince Charming brought his harlot up to his turret for a quickie. Nothing changes, does it, Ben?” His laugh sounds menacing, reminding me of that awful night in the parking lot.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Ben moves quickly, putting himself between me and Levi’s reptilian gaze. “I mean it, Levi. Get back in your car before you piss someone else off.” He gestures toward Levi’s SUV: the first in the line of traffic waiting for the boat to pass through, so the bridge can close up again and they can get on with their day. The driver’s side door is wide open, and the engine is still running. I can’t hear it, but I can see the faint vibration of the vehicle and the slight puff of exhaust fumes. Good. That means he’s not staying long.

Levi puts on an expression of bullshit innocence. “I’m kidding, Ben. Lighten up. You used to be fun.” He spins his keyring around his index finger, just like he did that night outside the Quarter Mile. “Speaking of fun, I can’t wait until your parents get back from Italy with Grace. Cybil is going to love meeting Summer.” Sarcasm drips from every word.

“The bridge is closing,” Ben replies coolly, though his eyes are ablaze.

Levi makes no move to go back to his car. “When do they get back into town, Ben?” He keeps saying Ben’s name like he’s the instigator in a hostage situation, trying to turn every psychology trick back on the negotiator.

“As I’m sure you already know: Two weeks. Now, cut the crap, Levi. I’ve got to bring the bridge down, or you’re going to have a flood of people coming up here to drag you back into your car,” Ben warns, surging forward to shove Levi back onto the bridge. Levi staggers in surprise, but Ben already has the door closed in the bastard’s face, locking it for good measure.

Two weeks? I sit in silence again, my mind foggy with an influx of too much information that I need some quiet alone time to sort through. I watch Ben as he focuses on his work. His still-furious gaze watches the boat clear the bridge, his radiating tension bristling across the booth until one spark could detonate the entire place. It’s heavier than the day’s humidity, which is saying something.

Eventually, the traffic eases and the cars resume their onward trajectory. Of course, Levi doesn’t rev away without giving a sardonic honk and a wave, grating on my already frayed nerves. It’s barely past ten in the morning, and I’m exhausted, trying to process the endless torrent of thought and information that’s sloshing through my brain. Only, now, there’s a riptide of fear to watch out for, after Levi’s smug allusions. What would the DuCates make of me? If they’re coming back in two weeks, and Ben has given his notice, is he planning to skip town? Did his parents buy the gallery for him, or does he have some side hustle that I don’t know about? There’s so much to find out.

“Hey.” Ben approaches me carefully from behind, slipping his arms around my waist and dipping his head to rest his chin on my shoulder. It’s an intimate, familiar embrace, too familiar for two people who are, essentially, on their first date. But it doesn’t feel like it’s too soon. It feels comfortable, and I sink back against his torso as we inhale simultaneously, my back rising with the swell of his chest.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, both of us appreciating the view and the near silence and the calm after the Levi-storm.

I just nod. I am okay. I don’t need words; I just need Ben’s arms around me, anchoring me.

“I’m sorry about that,” he laments, holding me tighter as I fall into the rhythm of his breathing. “I wanted us to have the perfect day.” I can hear the disappointment in his voice.

Slowly, I twist around in his arms until I’m facing him. I want to forget all about Levi’s intrusion and get back to where we were. Where we’re going. Hell, I want to forget about Levi. Period.

“It is a perfect day,” I murmur, any previous questions I had being filed away into the recesses of my mind.

I hold his gleaming gaze as my palms press to his chest, feeling every inhale and exhale. It’s not just the rhythm of his breath I’m falling into. It’s him. All of him. The man who has made me feel safe, for the first time in my life.

He caresses my hair, toying with the strands that frame my face. “Maybe I should cancel my two-weeks-notice and paint you in here for a while. 360 degrees of you. I bet I could paint you for years and still find something new to cherish. Against this backdrop, you’d turn a beautiful view into something… celestial.” His words melt my nerves, as his lips seek to kiss them away, taking them into himself. His mouth is whisper soft on mine, like a match stroked across the ignition strip. But, in seconds, the match is struck, his lips fierce and hungry on mine, burning them with his desire. I kiss him back with an urgency I’ve never felt before, desperate to keep our flame from going out.

---