Page 22 of Through the Storm

CHAPTER EIGHT

ben

DOMESTIC GOD

I standon Katy’s porch holding a paper bag full of muffins.

Okay, Ben. Deep breath. Ring the damn doorbell. You are just delivering muffins.

Not confessing your undying love. Not reopening anything. This is a normal, nice thing to do for someone you care about.

So why do my palms feel sweaty?

I ring the doorbell before I can overthink it any harder.

I hear footsteps, and the door opens.

Katy blinks at me like I’ve short-circuited her brain, and then her dark blue eyes narrow. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I’m suddenly very aware of my arms. And my face. And the fact that I am still holding the muffins instead of handing them to her like a functioning adult.

I lift the bag. “Uh, I brought you muffins.”

She looks down at them. Then back at me. “You brought me muffins.” A pause. “Are you trying to bribe a pregnant woman, Ben?”

“What? No. I made them.” The words come out in a rush. “Well, more like assisted. Ella supervised. Intensely. These are”—I clear my throat—“chocolate chip but the healthy version. That’s what she told me. She said you can eat them.”

Something in Katy’s expression softens.

“Oh.” She blinks. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” I shrug. “But you’ve been… you know. And I wanted… you know.” I gesture vaguely. “So. Muffins.”

She laughs quietly, the tension easing out of her shoulders. She reaches for the bag, her fingers brushing mine for half a second.

It shouldn’t feel like anything. But it does.

Before either of us can say anything else, a voice booms from behind her.

“Katherine Elizabeth, are you seriously making Benjamin stand on the porch? Where are your manners?”

Grandma Patty appears over her shoulder, with a big knowing smirk.

“Oh, Ben!” she says. “Well don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Come in.”

“Seriously, Grandma,” Katy groans, mortified. “You can’t just…”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Her grandma waves her off. “He brought food. Obviously, he’s coming inside.”

She reaches past Katy, takes the bag from her hands, and peers inside. “Chocolate chip?” she asks.

“Katy’s favorite,” I say automatically.

She hums approvingly. “Nicely done. Now, to thank you properly, I want you here on Friday night for family dinner, Benjamin.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Katy winces. “I’m so sorry.”