Truly (New York Trilogy #1) (44 page)

“I think you’re already getting better.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m not. You should see yourself with the bees, or on the rooftop working with the vegetables. You’re so calm, I think it must be kind of like …”

“Therapy?”

“I think it must be good for you. And you didn’t blow up at your dad, right?”

“I kind of blew up at your mom. When you were talking to Dan.”

“Really?”

“Well, I was hostile. I got testy.”

“Did you yell?”

“No.”

“Did you brandish your fists?”

“Brandish?”

“And this time you didn’t tell me I was a stray.”

“I told you we were a fantasy.”

“Yeah, but I knew better.” She touched the back of his neck, tentative. “It just took me a few minutes to figure it out, and by the time I did, you were gone.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said. “I was trying to find a way to go.”

May let her hand settle against his skin, a light pressure that somehow transferred his confidence back. “See?” she said. “You have emotional range. You’re getting somewhere already, I think. I didn’t hear your conversation with my mom, but I’m willing to bet you were taking my side. And let’s be honest, she probably deserved it.”

“Maybe.”

“So I think you’ve got all the golf swing bits almost put back together. You said yourself that it’s supposed to feel like you’re not ever going to make it, and then
click
, you’ll be Tiger Woods.”

He shook his head, secretly pleased she remembered all that. “That’s nice of you to say, but I don’t think I’m going to be Tiger Woods. I’m aiming for Decent Guy Who’s Worthy of May.”

“Not Tiger Woods, then. Since he cheated on his wife.”

“Not Tiger Woods.”

“I’d rather have you anyway. In whatever broke-ass condition you present yourself to me. Though I wouldn’t mind if your darts game improved.”

“Funny.”

She let go of his neck, put her hand on his thigh, and leaned close to kiss his cheek.

Afterward, she snuggled into his side. They rocked back and forth. His turn to push. Her turn. Perfectly in sync.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” May said.

“You can ask me whatever you want.”

“Even if you love me, if you were worried about all that—about feeling too much, and everything being so hard—and if you’re still worried, what made you come back?”

Ben took a minute to think about how to put it. “You did.”

“I didn’t do anything. I was busy getting plastered with Allie.”

“Not anything you did, in particular. Just you.” He lifted their hands and kissed her knuckles. “You’re what matters to me. So here I am.”

She looked at their hands and smiled. “I like that.”

“Good.”

“And that’s all you were worried about? That’s everything?”

“Well, that and the fact that, like you said, we had kind of a crazy week. I’ve never fallen in love in a week before. It’s freaky.”

“I know. I’d rather keep it in a box under the bed than have to walk around all vulnerable and flipping out.”

“Me, too.”

“Little late for that, though.”

“Cat’s out of the bag.”

“Completely out.”

Ben let go of her hand to thread his fingers into her hairline, loosening her ponytail. “Given that’s the case, you could tell me again.”

May smiled that coy sideways smile that never failed to rev his engines. “You could try and make me.”

“I would be delighted to make you.”

He slid one arm around her and tugged her against his hip, bracing his free hand against the swing behind her. Their kiss had barely started to gather heat when the door opened.

“You guys done making up yet? Mom says lunch is ready.”

May flipped Allie the bird over his shoulder at the same time that Ben muttered “Fuck off.”

The door closed.

“So you want a ride back to New York?” he asked.

He kissed her jaw. Her chin. May tipped back her head, and he kissed the space behind her ear.

“Of course,” she said.

Because she was May.

Of course.

South of Milwaukee, the highway opened up and emptied out, and it was just the two of them, riding high with the windows down, and Ben drumming his fingers against the side of the van to the rhythm of a song about working at a car wash.

She didn’t know the song, but she knew that look on his face. That light behind his smile.

May let herself savor the moment. It had taken two days to extricate herself from her family—to reassure her mother without compromising the position she’d taken, to reassure herself that Allie would be all right. She’d moved into May’s house temporarily, grateful for a place to stay while she tried to gather the pieces of her life.

May had taken a walk with Matt, spoken again on the phone with Dan, even had a heart-to-heart with her father that made both of them awkward and uncomfortable until finally it was over and they could hug and go back to talking about football.

All that, plus some packing, and now she had Ben to herself at last. Ben, and the road, and the future spreading out in front of them.

She couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt so good, or so full of hope.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ben said.

“Oh yeah?”

That earned her one of his infinitesimal smiles. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking you’re right.”

“What am I right about?”

“I don’t want to be a chef. Or at least, I don’t want to have a restaurant. But I don’t know if I want to be some other kind of chef, or suss out some way to make a living on the bees or what.”

“I had this idea about that,” she said. “Like maybe you could have a shop that sells honey? And you could cook a little, but just whatever you wanted that day, and I could be in charge of all the advertising and draw in the customers. And the sales stuff, too—I can tell them how great your honey is.”

“You want to be my marketing team?”

She smiled. “Wouldn’t it be fun?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

That deflated her bubble a bit, but she rallied quickly. “Okay. Well, we can figure out something else. When you’re ready. I mean, maybe you don’t want to have a shop. Maybe we could—”

“May.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to be Dan, here. Whatever it is I end up doing, you have to decide what
you
want to do. It would be cool if you could go back to your illustrating, if you still want to. I hate that you had to put that aside.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“So?”

She looked out the windshield at the open road.

So?

It wasn’t as though she’d forgotten how to draw. She’d never stopped drawing, she’d simply pushed it to the edges of her life—onto grocery lists, into the margins of corporate memos and restaurant napkins. This morning, she’d drawn Ben an extraordinarily sappy pair of cartoon hearts with arms and legs, hugging each other. She’d stuck it on the bathroom mirror while he was in the shower so he would find it afterward and know she had that many sappy feelings about him, all tucked away in the recesses of her heart.

Then, when he’d brought it to her, wearing nothing but a towel and a smile, she’d unwrapped the towel and dropped to her knees in front of him, proving to herself that she could, in fact, be the kind of woman who sucked her man off in the hallway, just because she wanted to.

Just because his smile made her heart melty, and his drugged eyelids and gasping breaths made her pussy warm, and everything about him made her feel known and loved.

He’d been right about so many things. Maybe he was right about this, too. She’d thought once that she wanted to draw for children, to capture feelings in greeting cards. Maybe she could draw the book that no one had ever given her. She could write down all the messages she would go back in time and tell herself, again and again, if she were able to.

You’re not perfect, but I love you anyway
.

I think you’re beautiful
.

I see your limitless potential
.

Be jealous. Be angry. Be stupid. Be outrageous
.

Be
.

She reached across the gap between the seats and squeezed Ben’s hand. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do more than think about it.”

“Okay. I’ll do more than think about it.”

He glanced at her. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

They drove in silence for a while. He took his hand back to steer, and May let out an amused huff.

“What?” he asked.

“I was totally going into old May mode there with the imaginary honey shop, wasn’t I?”

“You totally were.”

“Nice catch, keeping me from backsliding.”

“My pleasure.”

“We’ll take turns, huh? Catching each other?” she asked.

“I hope so. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“I think you’re going to be fine.”

“That’s good.”

She met his eyes for a second before he had to look back at the road, and the trust she found there amazed her. So much vulnerability and hope in this man. So much promise for the two of them.

He wasn’t the kind of guy a woman wanted to pin her hopes and dreams on. Not at all.

But that was good, because she wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted to pin her hopes and dreams on a guy.

Not anymore.

She wanted to live every moment, every breath, as if she might not get another one. To choose, again and again, to be the most authentic version of herself.

For a woman like that, Ben was perfect.

“I think we’re going to be great,” she said.

His crooked smile was full of boyish excitement. Happy Ben. Happy all the way through.

He hooked his arm out the window and tapped his fingers against the van door, counting down the miles to New York.

This book had many midwives. The first was my agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, who called me up one day and told me, with great excitement, “I figured out what you need to write your series about!” Pulvermacher’s was all Emily’s idea, and everything that came after that owes a debt to her. (Also, she is awesome.)

Random House generously agreed to send me to New York so I could bum around for a few days and do research—an invaluable experience. I particularly want to thank Sue Grimshaw for making it happen and Gina Wachtel for welcoming me to Manhattan with such grace and enthusiasm. I think I floated for two days.

Ben owes a great deal to Mike Hegedus, formerly of Brooklyn, now of New Jersey. Mike was my guide to urban beekeeping and Bedford-Stuyvesant. He generously shared his time, his knowledge, his enthusiasm, his honey, and even a few hours of his adorable youngest daughter’s company. It is possible that he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever had lunch with, which was also nice. For research, you know.

Thanks, too, to Tricia Maxwell for Astoria; Ari for the B&H; Dris for help with Dan (even though I ended up not using a lot of it); In Koo, Avery, and Eden for the ride, the pizza, and the jokes; and Amber Pulvermacher for letting me borrow her last name, which was too good not to use.

When it came time to actually
write
the book, I leaned heavily on Serena Bell and Mary Ann Rivers, both of whose enthusiasm and wisdom really ought to cost a lot more than it does. Serena rah-rahed me through the first draft and swooned over Ben before anyone else had even met him (except May). Her confidence in what I was doing got me through any number of tough spots. Mary Ann, in turn, helped me understand who Ben was, and in doing so showed me a hundred different ways to make this a better story. She also gave me permission to write sexy pinball and contributed a few (verbal) hip thrusts and forearm moves to the effort.

Amber Lin, Shelley Ann Clark, Charlotte Stein, Emily Sylvan Kim, and Anna Cowan all pushed me to make the book stronger. My editor, Sue Grimshaw, pushed me some more. Dana Isaacson at Random House took out his fine polishing cloth and made the story gleam in line edits. I’m in debt to all of them for their help. Any remaining errors are entirely my fault.

Finally, I’m grateful to my readers for making this possible. When
Truly
was first serialized on Wattpad, your comments made my day over and over again. Some of you have been with me from the beginning; others are just finding me now. Whoever you are, however you got your hands on this book, whatever it made you feel—thank you for reading. Always.

Photo: Mark Anderson, STUN Photography

USA Today
bestselling author R
UTHIE
K
NOX
writes contemporary romance that’s sexy, witty, and angsty—sometimes all three at once. After studying British history, she became an academic editor instead. Then she got really deep into knitting, as one does, followed by motherhood and romance novel writing.