“Less than shallow?” he prods, his voice dripping with interest.
“Not all of us meet our soulmates in high school,” I quip before stealing the cup of fruit from him. The fresh strawberries are divine.
“How did you know I met Kate in high school?”
“Dylan might’ve mentioned it,” I hedge, my cheeks turning pink as I realize I’ve been caught talking about him behind his back.
“Ah, yes. Good ol’ Dylan Malone.”
“She’s something else.”
“That, she is. She’s good for Grady, though.”
“They’re perfect together,” I agree, my inner girl gushing over their relationship. Perfect doesn’t even begin to describe how amazing they are for each other. I peek over at Ben before putting another piece of fruit in my mouth.
His brows furrow before he demands, “What was that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had a look.”
“What look?”
“That one.” His forefinger motions to my face.
Laughing, I reply, “I’m sorry, is there something wrong with the way I look?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, trust me, you just…made a face like you were thinking about something.”
“Better get your eyes checked, Dr. Bennett,” I tease, praying he’ll drop the subject.
Those same flinty eyes narrow as he assesses me closer. “I think you’re full of shit. We’re friends, remember? You can tell me what you were thinking.”
A frustrated sigh escapes me. “It’s not that big of a deal. I just get a little jealous when I see happy couples because I’ve yet to find my soulmate or whatever you want to call him.”
His face blanches when he realizes the giant-ass can of worms he just opened. His steps falter as he mutters, “Marce––”
I raise my hand and stop him. “It’s fine. It can be a little discouraging, that’s all. But you had Kate, so you don’t really get it. You’ve felt that way before. You’ve had someone feel that way about you. Then there’s me. The girl who has always been the friend, the casual hook up, and the dirty little secret. It’s annoying and frustrating and just…blah. Can we please change the subject?”
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I take another gulp of the fresh lemonade as his gaze bounces around my face like he’s searching for…something.
With a sigh, he leads me to the nearest booth that’s practically overflowing with fruits and vegetables. Picking up a few mushrooms, he smells them before asking, “Do you like mushrooms?”
I grab the one in his hand and run my thumb along the gray, spongy top while inspecting it closely. “Meh. They’re not my favorite. Why?”
He sets the rest of them back down and reaches for a few red peppers, tossing one up into the air then catching it. “I’m debating what to make for dinner tonight. What do you feel like eating?”
“Am I invited to dinner?”
“Well, I figured since you’re tagging along while I do my shopping, I might as well offer to feed you for your effort. Especially since you’re letting me keep my man card, right?” He stares at me pointedly and stops juggling the peppers. “Right?”
I laugh. “Depends on what you’re cooking tonight.”
“You mean what we’re cooking tonight.” He winks. “And I already pulled out the big guns with steak. But I was thinking pasta. Maybe fettuccine alfredo? Or garlic scampi with red peppers, onions, and salad on the side?”
My stomach growls. “You had me at pasta.”
“Perfect. Let me just grab a few more things and pay––”
“I can pay for them,” I offer. “You’re the one who’s going to do the cooking. It’s the least I can do.”
“No deal.”
“You already bought the lemonade and the fruit cup.”
“And I’ll be buying the ingredients for dinner too,” he returns before picking up an onion and adding it to his veggie stash. “And that apron we saw earlier.”
“The one that said, Burnt to Perfection?”
“No.”
“The one that said, The last time I cooked, hardly anyone got sick?”
“Wrong again.”
“The one with the bikini body printed on it and the giant boobs?”
“Hell, no. You’re classier than that.”
“I could always use Krista’s again,” I mention.
“No deal. If we’re friends and are going to be hanging out more often, then you’re going to need your own apron. Besides, I saw you eyeing the black one with the words, Hot Mess printed on it.”
Damn, he’s observant.
Pursing my lips, I drag out the word, “Ben….”
“Sorry, Marce. Call me old fashioned, but when I ask a girl to spend the day with me, I plan on treating her, which includes dinner and an apron.”
As he grabs a few more ingredients and pays for them, I try not to overanalyze the fact that we’re having dinner together…or the fact that he insists on paying for everything. Yeah, it’s a little barbaric, but…I kind of love that he’s adamant about treating a girl right. Even if I’m just a friend. And the fact that he noticed which apron was my favorite?
Swoon.
Besides, friends have dinner together all the time. Dylan and I eat food together too. So…what’s the difference?
Glancing over at him, I almost roll my eyes but restrain myself.
Well, for starters, I don’t want to jump Dylan’s bones so….
The shop worker hands Ben his change and a paper bag full of fresh fruit, vegetables for dinner, and a small block of cheese before he strides over to me.
“Did you get everything?” I ask, praying he can’t read minds even though he has a habit of reading mine so easily.
“Yeah. I think so. Do you want to head back or keep looking around for a little longer?”
“Let’s keep walking. I’m enjoying the sunshine.”
“Me too.”
We walk in comfortable silence while soaking up the warm weather and the fun ambiance when Ben asks, “So why’d you decide to become a surrogate?”
“You really want to know?”
“Of course.”
“Okay….” My feet scrape against the dry dirt in the middle of the field that’s hosting the farmer’s market as I debate whether or not he wants the full story or the CliffsNotes version. After a few seconds, I divulge, “I decided to become a surrogate because I always wanted to know what it was like to be pregnant, but I didn’t want to be a single mom, and, like I said before, I haven’t had a whole lot of luck finding a decent guy, let alone one I want to have a baby with. And since the proverbial fertility clock is ticking away in my uterus, I decided to become a surrogate before it was too late to get pregnant. That probably sounds like a selfish reason, huh?”
“Not at all,” he answers. His gaze is warm and accepting. “I am kind of surprised, though. Being pregnant can be rough, but you seem to have had a pretty smooth experience so far. You’re lucky.”
“I am lucky. Even my morning sickness was tame compared to stories I’ve been told. Although, I might have that medication you prescribed to thank for that.”