Ben: Answer the question.
I laughed even as I tapped.
Livy: He was Batboy.
Ben: No fair, you’ve heard that one.
Livy: Maybe. These are kind of lame.
More little dots.
Ben: Oh really? How about this one? When is Joker not plotting murder?
I frowned then, trying to think of the answer, wanting to see if I could slide one by him again. But I didn’t know the answer.
Livy: I have no idea.
Ben: When he’s riding his Harley.
I frowned at that. What did a Harley Davidson bike have to— Suddenly, I snorted, finally understanding. Harley. God.
Livy: Do you only know the dirty ones?
Ben: Would you expect anything less?
Livy: No.
Ben: Okay, one more and you can go to bed.
Livy: Okay. Do your worst.
Ben: What’s Batman’s favorite part of a joke?
Livy: I have no idea, but I suppose you’re going to tell me.
Ben: You are in luck. I am going to tell you. It’s the punch line. Get it?
I laughed a genuine laugh. He was sweet and funny and knew I’d been sad all day. He was doing what he could to cheer me up. God, men like him existed in the real world. Women like me barely stood a chance. But Ben wasn’t mine. If he wanted to be friends, then I was good with that. I had to be.
Livy: Thank you for everything today. It meant a lot.
Ben: What are friends for?
Then that was it. I turned off my screen, ignoring that part of me that was empty and lonely and sad. This wasn’t how things were supposed to work out. I also wasn’t a fool. Ben was my friend because I was someone unattainable. It worked, our little exchanges, because as a long-term prospect, he didn’t have to deal with me. But I knew men like him. The moment I became available, he’d become emotionally unavailable. So I needed to not get my hopes up. I needed to be wary.
He was not the balm to my broken heart. That job would have to be mine alone.
19
Livy
Ben and I were friends now?
It certainly looks that way.
At least “friends” was the word we were using. It felt odd. Outside of Telly and a couple of work acquaintances here and there, I somehow found myself without as many friends as I’d once had.
Surprisingly, Ben was easy to talk to, but he wasn’t the kind of friend I wanted. He was far too good-looking for me to ever be completely comfortable, and yes, I knew his distinct taste. But he’d been kind and nonjudgmental. Bossy too. And a pain in the ass. Basically, he was just like Telly except with very broad shoulders, abs I wanted to lick things off of, and from what I remembered of our kiss, had a really big... smile.
So, our odd friendship notwithstanding, I wanted to do something nice for him.
I’d gone online and scheduled the grocery store to deliver the groceries an hour earlier than I normally would have left work. And then I went to the loft to start prepping. Ghanaian food took a long time to prepare, but my mother always said that because it took so long you could tell that love was cooked into it.
What was funny was that in my mother’s language of Ga, there was no real word for love. It was sort of an emphatic version of the word like. Even though I was keeping it simple on the cooking, it still took a while.
I made my perennial favorite, jollof rice, which included a tomato-based stew with a fragrant rice cooked together. Then I cut up a few ripe plantains and fried them lightly. Ben had some fancy air fryer thing, but my first few attempts came out wrong so I did it the old-fashioned way, seasoning them with ginger, garlic, onions, and cayenne pepper and tossing them together with just a hint water to get them to coat before doing a light fry on the stove.
His housekeeper would hate me for the speckles of grease everywhere, but it was worth it. For the meat dish, I kept it simple. Just chicken, seasoned the way my mother would have with enough spice to clear out your sinuses and make you weep at every bland piece of food you’d ever eaten in your life.
When Ben walked through the door, he blinked and frowned. “Christ, what smells so good?”
I had just started to plate dinner and wiped my hands on my apron. I turned with a smile, “Hey. I made dinner.”
Nose in the air, sniffing, he made a beeline for the kitchen. “Oh my God, why has the house never smelled like this before?”
“Probably because you don’t know how to make Ghanaian food.”
“You cooked?” His eyes went wide.
I nodded. “Yes, I cooked.”
“You know how?”
Why did he look so damn confused? “Yes, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “I mean, I can make basic things but nothing complicated. Besides, there are chefs on staff for that.”
I rolled my eyes. “You have the best chefs around, but there’s a certain satisfaction in cooking for other people.”
“You’ve been here for days. Why haven’t you cooked before?”
“Well honestly, I didn’t want to mess up your kitchen. And we have a complicated relationship.”
His gaze dipped to my lips, and I licked them automatically. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he nodded. “Yeah. Complicated is a word for it.”
“Anyway, now that we’re friends, I wanted to say thank you for looking out for me.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Liv. You were in trouble, so I helped.”
“Well, my mother taught me that when someone does something nice for you, you do something nice in return. So dinner. Go on. Wash up and we’ll eat.”
I carried the plates into the dining room where I’d lit some candles and set the table. As he returned from the bathroom, he whistled low. “Seriously? This is gorgeous. Where did you get all of this stuff?”
“You have the most amazing place settings. Some of that stuff is worth thousands of dollars.”
He shrugged. “I rarely eat here.”
I could only shake my head. “Yeah, I noticed. Why is that?”
“When I’m having dinner, it’s usually served up in the East’s penthouse. So I just go up there.”
“And if you have a date?”
He coughed on a laugh. “Oh, I don’t bring dates here.”
My brows lifted. “What? Why not?”
He shook his head. “I like my space. I don’t need anyone poking around or snooping or thinking she’s going to stay.”
“Wow, okay. So then why isn’t this place at all decorated or anything?”
His shrug was dismissive. “I’m never here.”
“So you have this beautiful loft with views of Soho. I can see the London Eye from here. And you don’t spend any time in it?”
He shrugged. “I can see the London Eye from East’s place too.”
I set the plates down and then went back into the kitchen for the wine. The sweet stuff for me; he got the adult wine.
I took off my apron and deposited it on the back of a chair. I’d kept things somewhat casual, but still, I wanted him to enjoy himself, the food, and the company.
You’re hoping he kisses you again.
No. That was not what I was looking for.
When he sat, his gaze lifted to mine. The icy-blue depths of his eyes warmed to a more cerulean color, or maybe that was the effect of the candlelight. Either way, his voice was soft when he spoke. “This is perfect. Thank you. Is it odd I’ve never had a woman cook for me before?”