Maybe, this weekend, I’ll get to explore the or what.

13

HOLLY

Agreeing to a weekend away with Ben is like eating a huge piece of chocolate cake. The whole time, you’re fluctuating between loving the taste and chiding yourself for skirting your diet. And Ben is more tempting than desserts.

The buzzer lets me know he’s here.

I press the speaker button. “Who, might I ask, is calling?” I use a prim tone, like he called on a fancy residence instead of a tiny apartment with two college students crammed into it.

“The renowned Ben Gerhard the Fourth. Here with his chariot.” Some of the smoothness of Ben’s voice is filtered out by the crackle of the speaker, but the sound still has chills skittering down my spine.

“Well, isn’t that grand? We in a hurry, or do you wanna come up?” Ever since Annabelle’s house, I’ve been imagining Ben in my space.

“I’ll come up.”

I click the other button by the speaker that unlocks the front door and try to calm my nerves, worried I’ll start sweating. At least with the place being so small, it’s easy to keep it clean. Terra hides her disorder in her own room, and I don’t have enough stuff to get too messy.

The whole of my apartment could easily fit in the sitting room of Ben’s parents’ townhouse, but I like our little place. We have a tiny, round kitchen table with mismatched chairs that I reupholstered over the summer with funky floral prints. The overstuffed love seat Terra’s mom donated to us sits by one of the two windows with a blanket Terra crocheted folded neatly on its back. My shiny orange pots hang from hooks on the walls because our cabinets are taken up by the food we buy in bulk.

Sure, my loft is a bit exposed and only has room for my bed, a lamp, and a dresser, but I have a soft mattress that Pops gifted to me for graduation. Plenty of times, Terra has climbed up my ladder to lounge with me on its comfy surface. Or I’ll join her in her tiny bedroom for a Netflix marathon. It’s not fancy, but it’s home.

There’s a knock on the door, and I don’t dawdle in opening it.

Dang, Ben just keeps getting hotter. He has on dark jeans with boots, and his black winter jacket is unzipped, revealing one of the thermals he tends to wear. This one, interestingly enough, is purple. And he makes that deep plum work for him.

If we were a couple, I’d step forward to slide my arms around his waist. That way, I could hug his warm body against mine while also taking a long sniff of whatever subtle cologne he had on.

However, we are not dating, so I opt for stepping back and spreading my arms wide, Vanna White–style.

“Welcome to casa de Holly and Terra. Please refrain from flash photography and keep your hands inside the ride at all times.”