I didn’t know. I thought everyone got the vibe from Ben. Those crinkly blue eyes, the hair that always seemed in need of a trim, the slow, bad-boy smile and ashy laugh.
I realized I was still looking at him and hadn’t answered.
“Hey, how was everything?” our server asked, and I jumped a little.
“Great,” Ben said. “What do you have for dessert?”
“Apple pie, blueberry pie, New York cheesecake, chocolate lava cake—”
“That one!” I said. “Please.”
“And you, sir?”
“I’ll just share hers,” he said.
“The hell you will,” I said. “Two chocolate lava cakes, please.”
The dessert was orgasmically fantastic, and by the time I was done, I was thinking about unbuttoning my jeans and/or ordering another one. Instead, I wrestled Ben for the check.
“I asked you,” I said. “Consider it your babysitting fee.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day. Let me get this.”
“How sexist of you.” I paused. “Is it really Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes, Lillie.” He looked at me patiently.
“Huh. That explains all the hearts in the hospital cafeteria.”
“You’re so observant.”
“Shut up. Well. Happy Valentine’s Day.” With that, I snatched the check triumphantly and held on to it until the waitress came and took my credit card.
“Thank you, Lillie,” Ben said.
“You’re very welcome. Thanks for hanging out with me.”
Outside it was snowing a little, and it looked so pretty that Ben and I stopped to watch the flakes. Suddenly, a BMW sedan going way too fast pulled into a space, nearly grazing us. The license plate said CHSAFRM. I’d seen that before, hadn’t I? Something about farms . . .
The door opened, and Chase Freeman got out.
The boy who had tried to rape me.
I froze. In all the years since that night, I had not seen Chase Freeman. I’d spent the rest of the school year in the hospital and my summer had been consumed with physical therapy. He graduated, I started my senior year, and though we both went to school in Boston, Harvard and Emmanuel weren’t exactly in the same circles. It had been years and years since I’d thought of him.
But here he was. The license plate spelled his name. No farm involved.
I was suddenly very glad Ben was with me.
“You might want to slow down, buddy,” Ben said easily.
“You might want to mind your own business,” Chase said. He’d put on about fifty pounds since high school, and his face was bloated and red from drinking. He glanced at me and did a double take.
“Lillie Silva. Well, well, well. It’s been a long time.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. But I was shaking, I realized, and not because of the cold. Chase didn’t notice. “Oh, and hey. It’s Ben . . . Ben something, right? Soccer championship at Nauset High?”
Ben didn’t answer, either. He was looking at me.
“Whatever,” Chase said, snapping the collar of his coat. He looked me up and down slowly. “Luscious Lillie. Good to see you remember me.”
“Lillie?” Ben murmured.
My eyes were locked on Chase. I swallowed, dimly aware that this was fear, and even though it had been so long, I was terrified, I was crouching in the reeds, covered in mud, teeth chattering.
“Call me sometime,” Chase said. “I’m living in Eastham again. We can pick up where we left off.” He grinned, that smug, entitled, rich-boy smile, and my vision started to gray. Then he was opening the door to the restaurant, and he was gone.
“Lillie. Hey. Are you okay?” Ben said, taking my arm.
“Um . . .” I looked inside the Ho’s window.
“Let’s get in the truck,” Ben said. “It’s cold out here.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
The truck felt safe and dark. “What’s going on?” Ben asked. “You have history with that guy?”
“Can . . . can we just go home, please?”
He looked at me a minute, then started the truck. We didn’t talk on the ride home, but as we passed Governor Prence Road, which led to Chase’s family home, I shuddered.
At home, Ben walked me to the door. “I’m coming in, if that’s okay,” he said.
“Sure.” My voice still sounded odd.
Zeus greeted us with his super-wags and crooning, but even his adoration didn’t break through the shock that wrapped me in cold. I took off my coat and hung it on the hook, and Ben did the same.