That One Night (That One Series Book 1) (9 page)

The next morning, I feel a bit like a headless chicken, knowing I’ll be leaving Archer alone with Ben. I feed Archer, but he seems to be picking up on my anxiety and is as fussy as they come, which results in me having to change into a new set of clothes. Just when I’m done, there is a knock on my door and Ben asks if he can come in.

“Uh huh,” I call out, while hurriedly attempting to get my hair under control. I’m not even sure why I keep on trying. I should accept that my hair does what it wants.

He comes in and I can see his reaction in the reflection of the mirror I’m standing in front of. For a second, he seems to take me in from head to toe, making my body heat up in the process.
Damn him.
Now I feel even more flustered than before, if that’s even possible.

I’m wearing one of my favorite knee-length slim dresses. It’s grey and has a bit of a Marilyn Monroe kind of vibe. Paired with knee-high flat boots and a black blazer, I’m ready for a day at school and work, which are more or less the same thing for me.

Majoring in psychology with a minor in social work, I work three afternoons a week in the counseling center founded by one of my professors. It provides access to mental health care for everyone in need of it—especially low-income people that couldn’t afford it otherwise.

Being a student, I obviously don’t get to do a lot of the heavy lifting, having to pass the difficult cases on to the graduate students that work there. But I get experience helping with the “easy” stuff that more often than not can be just as difficult and scary for the people that are confronted with it. Or I’m on hotline duty, which can be even more challenging since I don’t get to see the person I’m talking to. I can’t read their body language or facial expressions, or gauge their emotional state based on their behavior.

Ben clears his throat, before muttering a raspy “Morning. You’re looking good.”

Thankfully my back is turned to him and from where he stands he can’t see me blush. I hate that I react this easily to him. I thought I had buried my feelings along with the hope of him ever being in Archer’s life. But I guess with his reappearance, the hope dug its way back to the surface, dragging those damn feelings along with it.

“Thanks. You’re ready for your daddy duty today?” I cock my eyebrows at him, knowing full well we’re both nervous as hell.

“I guess as ready as I’ll ever be,” he pauses, furrowing his eyebrows before he says with a sheepish grin, “but you better leave your phone on though. Just in case.”

I chuckle and am relieved that he isn’t cocky and nonchalant about it. He seems to realize the responsibility that he will bear being alone with Archer. The insecurity is much more preferable over too much arrogance. That way, I feel certain that he will call me, or Mrs. Walsh, if he’s unsure about something.

“No problem. I’ll do that. You also have the center’s number you can reach me at as well. If you’re unsure, just call me, or ask Mrs. Walsh.”

He still seems a bit overwhelmed, and although I’m nervous about how the day will go, I decide to make it a bit easier on him.

“Don’t worry so much. It’s something that comes naturally. Just try and listen to what Archer is trying to tell you. He’ll let you know when he needs, or wants, something. As long as you act like a grown-up and not go crazy, there isn’t much that can go wrong.”

While I say that last sentence, I notice how for a split-second Ben’s face becomes a mask of pain and fear, and I can’t help but think that it has something to do with the secrets he keeps hidden. I want to inquire, to know more—but it isn’t the time and place to do that. I’ll be running late if I don’t get my ass in gear.

He nods absentmindedly, obviously lost in thought, and I can barely squish the urge to punch him into telling me what’s going on before hugging him in order to make whatever bothers him go away.

I grab my black bag from the bed, sling it over my shoulder. and take Archer out of the crib, snuggling him close to me. I walk over to where Ben is standing, putting Archer in his arms. Archer seems happy with the new accommodation. It seems like those two have known each other from day one.

“Momma will be back later, okay, Archer?” I sing-song into my son’s ear. “Momma will miss you. A lot. All the time. Be good, my little pumpkin.”

It’s hard to spend time away from him, to not be there for my baby boy whenever he might need me. But unless I want to start selling my body on the street corner, I need to go to classes and work.

“You better get going, or you’re going to be late,” Ben chuckles, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Yeah, I know,” I answer reluctantly.

I lean forward kissing Archer’s forehead. “Love you, little man.” And then I stand up on my toes, repeating the process and planting a kiss on Ben’s cheek, including a “Love ya.”

He gasps and I freeze, followed by my silent prayers for the floor to open and swallow me whole.
Holy fucking shit. What the fuck was that?
I don’t care if this was muscle memory or my subconscious—whatever it was, it can fuck right off. I barely dare to look at Ben, my face is burning up and my heart’s beating like a drum. When I finally do, I see him giving me a surprised, slightly confused, wide-eyed stare.

“Oh God, sorry...I....damn...sorry,” I mutter like an idiot. And again, I’m even more flustered than before. “Shit, I usually say goodbye to Dean, or Alex, holding Archer. I guess it’s a habit. I....hell, I will go fling myself in front of a truck now.”

He might think I’m joking, but I damn sure am not. This is just too embarrassing. And the worst thing is that I loved how his skin felt under my lips, how his stubble was slightly scratchy, how he smelled. I need to stop these thoughts. They’ve clouded my decision-making before. No need for a refresher, really.

I run past him, not even waiting for him to say something, but as I storm out the door, the low rumble of his laughter follows me.

God, how I wish he’d said it back. And how I wish I would stop thinking like that. It will only lead to trouble. I can already feel it in my bones. You would think by majoring in psychology, I would know better. Would know how to behave and react. I guess once it hits too close to home, all the knowledge in the world is worth nothing. A nice theory to contemplate, but without any practical consequences. Basically like decorations on your wall—nice to look at, but without any further use.

***

My classes seem to drag, despite the topics that I’m usually interested in. My focus is on withstanding the urge to call and check on Ben and Archer. It makes me nervous not to know how Ben is handling the situation. Even with Mrs. Walsh at his beck and call, I’m still a mother-hen going crazy. Thankfully, after my third class Mrs. Walsh seems to read my mind and I get a text from her.

All good here. Both boys alive and well.

I’m relieved to read that, and it helps me to concentrate on the remaining lectures, learning about the human mind while being incapable of controlling my own. When the last class ends, a few people I occasionally hang out with stroll up to my seat.

“Wanna come with us for lunch? We’re planning to eat ourselves into a coma with Mexican food,” Keri, a curvy girl with the most infectious laughter, asks.

“Thanks guys, but not today. I have some other things I want to get done.”

I watch them leave before I pack up my bag. I feel rude for declining their offer, but I like my breaks. I like being by myself and enjoying some solitude and peace. That has always been the case, but having a child and a million responsibilities, makes having time to myself is even more valuable.

I grab a bagel from the little vegan cafe close to campus and find the most secluded seat in the whole place—my usual spot. There I spend my lunch break listening to a meditation CD, eating my bagel, and reading a book about alternative medicine and homeopathy—another passion of mine that I hope to one day take further and maybe make into a career. For now, it’s something I like to learn more about and use for my benefit, as well as the benefit of those that I care about.

Before my lunch break is over and I have to head to the counseling center, I can’t withstand the temptation anymore and call the house to see how Ben is doing. When, instead of him Mrs. Walsh picks up, my heart stutters to a halt and my mind imagines all the possible worst-case scenarios why she’s over there and picking up the phone.

“What happened?” I stutter out and start packing up my bag, ready to bolt home.

There is a moment of silence before Mrs. Walsh answers, “Geez Louise, hello to you too. Nothing happened. I’m just hanging out with my buddies.”

“Oh, I thought.... because you were there... I…. Sorry.” I feel like a fool, but when it comes to Archer, I’m an over-protective mama bear on LSD. I go a bit overboard.

Yeah, only a little bit. Uh huh.

Mrs. Walsh laughs. “Nothing to be sorry about. But you don’t need to worry. Archer is taking a nap and Ben is teaching me how to shoot some weird looking aliens.”

I guess Ben found Viv’s Xbox and is playing one of her shooter games with Mrs. Walsh. I’m surprised no one has signed the lot of us up for a Jerry Springer show yet.

“Hey....no time for phone calls. I’m dying here,” I hear Ben shout in the background.

“Gotta go. Can’t let him die.” With that, Mrs. Walsh hangs up on me and I wonder how my life went from crazy to insane. But I can’t stop the smile from appearing on my face. It’s the good kind of insane.             

The counseling center is fairly quiet today, and by the time I get to go home, I have finished my book and done most of my homework.

When I enter the house, I’m greeted by the smell of a home-cooked meal and the voices of my friends. I take a moment to soak it all in. It’s blissful and soothing. It has the warming quality of a Christmas movie, or a cup of cocoa, and a nice fuzzy blanket.

“Hey guys, I’m back,” I say loud enough for them to hear me over their chatter.

Ben rounds the corner of the kitchen and comes up to me. Close. Really close. Then a knowing smirk appears on his face.

“No kiss to greet me?” The bastard has the nerve to wink at me, referring to the incident this morning.

I glare at him, giving him my most evil death-stare, but he doesn’t seem impressed. Instead, his grin becomes wider. I huff like a petulant child and walk past him into the living room where I find Mrs. Walsh and Dean sitting on the couch, while Alex plays with Archer on the floor.

“There is my big boy. Did you miss your momma?” I go to lift Archer off the floor and cuddle him to me, nuzzling his tiny head that always smells divine. He giggles, but quickly wants to return to the floor to continue playing, which becomes evident by him squirming like a little worm in my arms.

“I guess he didn’t miss me that much,” I laugh, although a part of me, the mama bear part, hates missing even a single minute of Archer’s life. It makes me feel like I’m letting him down somehow.

I try to shake the guilt by turning to the grown-ups in the room. “What smells so good?”

Viv comes bouncing down the stairs and must have overheard my question, since she starts gushing. “Ben cooked dinner. Pasta with a tomato-herb sauce. It’s delicious. I already tried some, and oh my God, it’s pure foodgasm. You should marry this guy.” She follows this up with a wink at my direction. What the hell is with people lately, winking at me all the damn time?             
“If he’s as good in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen, then you hit the jackpot.”

I stop mid-movement wondering if I should stuff a sock into her mouth. I catch Ben watching me intently from the corner of my eye, and I know he’s curious how I’ll react.

“Well, if you are talking marriage, it must be otherworldly. Can’t wait for dinner. I’m nearly starved.” I try to make a joke about it, instead of reacting in a way that might be misunderstood by everyone, but especially by Ben.

God, why can’t I behave normally around him?

“Then it’s a good thing that dinner’s ready. Get your butts to the table,” Ben calls us over and shamelessly glances at my ass before looking into my eyes with a wicked grin on his face.

I ignore the palpitations in my chest and walk to the table, setting up Archer’s high chair.

Okay, we handled that situation well. No awkwardness, no comments or remarks. Well, maybe a little awkwardness. I think we’re doing well though. But then dinner isn’t over yet
.

Alex picks up Archer and puts him in his high chair, next to me.

“Thanks, Alex,” I smile at him. He winks back and then goes to sit next to Dean. I watch as he plants a kiss on his cheek and nuzzles his neck. Those two couldn’t be more opposite—both in looks and personality. While Dean has dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, Alex is blonde with blue eyes, and fair skin. And where Dean is all spiritual and hippie, Alex is the no-nonsense type who gets things done. Yet, what connects them is their unconditional love for one another. There is so much affection between them that it makes my heart ache with happiness, as well as with a tiny sliver of envy. I know this is the kind of love I want to have one day.

As I’m about to go into the kitchen to grab Archer’s food, Ben comes out with his plate.

“I’ve made him some potatoes and carrots. No salt, puréed. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. That’s great, actually. Thank you.”

“Go ahead and eat. I’ll feed him.”

For a second I wonder if I stepped into an alternate universe, because in my most sentimental moments, this was what I wished for. For the three of us to be together like a normal family. In those fantasies though, it wasn’t awkward. There wasn’t so much pain and hurt, no secrets or misunderstandings. I guess that’s the difference between fantasy and reality. But, this is good. It’s a start and it’s good for Archer.

“That’s nice of you. Thanks, Ben.”

I take a seat and dive straight into my dish of steaming whole wheat pasta and tomato sauce. I am a foodie. I love good, healthy food, and this pasta is as close to heaven as I will probably ever get.

“Mmmmh....this is so good,” I mumble with a full mouth. “Wow, I mean....Ben, this is fantastic. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“I have many hidden talents,” he jokes, cocking an eyebrow at me. And there is his lopsided grin again.
Bastard.
I hate his grin. It makes me want to kiss him, or lick him, or both. It’s this cocky and self-confident grin I never managed to forget, and I’m convinced he knows what it does to my insides.

“This boy... don’t let him get away. He’s good with his hands, too,” Mrs. Walsh says between two bites and makes me nearly choke on my food. I start coughing, struggling for air.

“Excuse me?” I ask, once I can breathe again.

“Oh, get your thoughts out of the gutter. He repaired my porch swing. Therefore, he’s good with his hands. What did you think I was going to say?”

I try to hide my blush and control the urge to bang my head against the table.

“Nothing. That’s great,” I stutter before taking another bite, hoping I choke on my food for real this time so I stop embarrassing myself. And then, like the woman possessed that I am, I look up from under my lashes and find Ben staring at me, with his eyebrows raised, a smirk on his face. One day I will slap that smirk off of it.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Walsh. She knows how good I am with my hands.”

I can’t believe he would actually say that. I know what he’s playing at and I’m probably not the only one realizing the meaning behind his words. His stupid comment is annoying and at the same time exciting. He hasn’t forgotten our night either. I’d be lying if I said this doesn’t give me a weird sense of satisfaction. But at the same time I wonder how many nights he spent with other women since, and just like that the excitement dies down.

I decide to ignore his comment. What should I say to that anyway? Instead, I turn to Mrs. Wash. “That’s great, Mrs. Walsh. That swing has been broken since we moved in.”

“Yes. And he didn’t need much time at all. I already asked him to repair the guest bedroom window. It hasn’t opened since Bush Sr. was president.”

“He also started to work on our room. Started to take the ugly wallpaper down,” Dean chimes in, and it seems as if suddenly his reservations about Ben being here have melted away.
Good to know how easily my friends can be swayed.

“Thank you, Ben. That’s really nice of you. I know you helped out your dad at the bed and breakfast, but I don’t remember you being into repairing stuff and doing renovations,” I say, genuinely impressed.

“I had to earn money somehow in the past months. This paid well.”

I freeze, the fork suspended in mid-air, surprised that he mentioned something about the months he was gone, but it seems to just have slipped out, because as soon as he realizes he said it, the mood shifts.

“I’m gonna start on the dishes. Can you finish feeding Archer?” He stands up, not waiting for my reply and disappears into the kitchen.

I look at Dean and he arches an eyebrow at me, silently asking what I’m thinking. That can easily be summed up in three words. What the fuck?

That night, I don’t get a chance to ask Ben about it though, as he concentrates purely on Archer while we bring him to bed, and as soon as our son is asleep, he wishes me a good night and is gone. And again I’m left wondering where he was all those months, why he left, and what happened. I don’t want to care. But it’s like there’s a broken record in my head, continuously playing the same damn song.