Page 10 of How To Not Need You

“Doubt it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to weird her out.”

He pops the latch on the next compartment over, methodically working through his own checks.

"So what does she actually look like?" I glance over.

"Who?" Ben gives me a flat look.

"The hot bridesmaid. Try to keep up."

I sigh. "She has red hair."

"Uh-huh."

"Tilly decided they were best friends about thirty seconds after meeting and nearly bowled her over on the dance floor." Ben laughs so I continue. "Liv didn't even flinch. Just introduced herself like being tackled by an overexcited five-year-old was a completely normal way to meet someone."

He lets out a low whistle.

“Man.” He shakes his head. “If I was single...”

I snort. “Pretty sure Gemma would have something to say about that.”

His grin softens. “Yeah, she probably would.”

Gemma had only been around for a few weeks, but Ben already talked about her like she might be different. After everything his ex-wife had put him through, it would've made more sense for him to swear off relationships altogether.

But that was Ben. He keeps trying anyway.

I shake my head and move on to the next section. The gear feels heavier today, which makes no sense, but maybe I’m just more tired than I thought. Ben keeps the conversation going, relentless.

“So what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan.”

He snorts. “You’re gonna let a five-year-old have more game than you?”

“It’s fine. I don’t want anything complicated anyway.”

Ben stops, leans both arms on the edge of the compartment, and looks at me in the way only someone who’s seen you puke in a potted plant can look at you.

“You say that, but I remember last Christmas when you spent the entire week trying to build a Playmobil fire station for Tilly and then looked like you were going to die alone when she left for her mum’s house.”

“Thanks for that.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying, you’re allowed to want something for yourself. Even if it’s just coffee with a woman who doesn’t suck.”

I snap the last compartment shut a little louder than necessary. “You’re relentless.”

“It’s a gift.”

There’s a comfortable silence where we both pretend to care about the next task on the list, and then Ben says, “So what are you going to do?”

I look at the rescue truck, the red-and-white panels, the polished but slightly chipped letters spelling out Seabrook Fire & Rescue. I think about Liv’s smile, and the way Tilly just decided, without consulting anyone, that Liv was her friend. That maybe she had a point.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”