Benjamin Kempball: The Way To A Banker’s Heart

Chapter 7: Benjamin

After coming here every day for ten days, hoping to see her, only to be told she had just left or had the day off, I was starting to lose hope. Each time, Denise had given me a polite shrug, offering no guarantees about when Violet might be around, and I knew it was because she couldn't and wouldn't give that information to a stranger. But today, perhaps out of pity, Denise finally let me in on a secret: Violet would be opening the bar.

I hadn’t dared to let myself believe it fully, but here she was, standing in front of me. And I would have never guessed that she’d be the one to ask me out. When she did, it felt surreal, like I was floating on cloud nine. All those sleepless nights, wondering if I’d imagined the spark between us, were finally put to rest. She felt it too—it wasn’t just in my head.

I would have arrived earlier, but work meetings had tied me up. If I hadn’t been stuck in a conference room, I would have walked through that door the moment she opened it. I hated the idea of wasting a single second not being near her.

Now, standing across the bar, her cheeks were flushed. She kept busy, fiddling nervously with a dish towel, her eyes darting everywhere but toward me. Was I too forward? I had spent countless hours imagining what I’d say when I finally saw her again. I had rehearsed scenarios in my head—cool and casual approaches, or maybe something bolder. Yet, in the end, I had gone with raw honesty.

“You’re very intense when you flirt,” she said suddenly, almost giggling. Her hands fidgeted, finding anything close to keep her busy. She still wasn’t looking at me, but her lips quirked upward in a shy smile.

Violet was everything a woman should be. Her body was incredible, full of luscious curves, her skin kissed by the summer sun. Her hair—shorter now, as her braids weren’t as long as before—shone with a brilliance that seemed almost unreal. Her eyes sparkled with every emotion that passed through her, and her smile, accompanied by her radiant laughter, was utterly captivating. And her smile—God, her smile was radiant. It lit up the entire room, a beacon of light in my otherwise grueling days.

But she wasn’t just breathtaking to look at; she also had a wicked sense of humor that constantly kept me on my toes. She valued honesty and directness, always saying what was on her mind and rarely apologizing for it. She was exactly as she had described herself the day we met—a ray of sunshine. She was warmth and light, something that could keep me steady, keep me fulfilled.

“That wasn’t flirting, Violet,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. “That was simply the truth.”

Her cheeks deepened to a deeper pink, and she ducked her head, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “Oh,” she murmured, her voice small but warm. She paused, gathering her thoughts, then looked up at me. “So, you’re a truth kind of guy?”

“I like honesty, yes,” I replied, my tone steady. I watched her carefully, noting the subtle way she bit her bottom lip, as if weighing what she wanted to say next.

“Okay, so, for the sake of being honest,” she began, her voice soft but deliberate. Her eyes darted to the dish towel in her hands as she nervously folded and unfolded it. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself before meeting my gaze again. “I should probably tell you officially,” she continued, her words slower now, more deliberate. “I have a daughter. Her name is Rose, and she’s four years old. I share custody with her father.”

Four years old. She was older than I had anticipated. I had suspected she was older than a baby when I first overheard her conversation about the playground, but hearing her say it out loud made it real. My mind spun for a moment, trying to picture this tiny human who must have inherited her mother’s warmth and light.

“How old were you when you had her?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. As I studied her face, I couldn’t quite place her age. There was a maturity to her that suggested she had been through a lot, but when she smiled, she radiated a youthful, almost childlike joy.

A sly smile spread across her lips. “You trying to figure out how old I am, Benjamin?”

“Perhaps,” I teased, c*****g a brow at her. My attempt to play it cool didn’t stop her blush from creeping down her neck, painting her skin a soft rose.

She crossed her arms, drawing attention to the ample curve of her breasts in her simple black shirt. I quickly forced my eyes back to her face, not wanting to get caught staring.

“How old are you?” she countered, tilting her head slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.

“Twenty-eight,” I answered.

Her arms fell back to her sides as she replied, “Twenty-two.”

The number struck me like a jolt. She’d been eighteen when she had Rose. Eighteen. It hit me just how young she must have been, stepping into the role of a parent while most people her age were still figuring themselves out. At eighteen, I had barely started to understand the weight of responsibility.

“You’re younger than I thought,” I said evenly, though I immediately regretted how flat the words sounded.

Her expression faltered, and her gaze dropped back to her hands. “Oh, I… if you don’t—”

“I don’t mind, Violet,” I interrupted quickly, trying to reassure her. “Or at least, I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

Her eyes lifted to meet mine again, searching for something—doubt, maybe, or hesitation. But all I could offer was honesty. There wasn’t a single thing about her that would make me back away now. Nothing she could say or do would make me want her any less.

“I don’t mind,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. It felt more like a confession than a statement, as if it were something she hadn’t quite admitted to herself yet.

I couldn’t help the tug at the corner of my mouth, a smile forming more easily than it had in years. Ever since meeting her, it felt like my world had shifted slightly, the colors just a bit brighter, the edges softer. Everything about her made existing feel lighter, less like a chore and more like something to be savored. I had even smiled at my COO the other day—an unprecedented event. She’d stopped mid-sentence, blinking in shock as if I’d grown a second head, and had nearly asked if something was wrong with me.

“Good,” I answered. “So, this summer party?” I prompted, letting the question hang in the air between us.

“Next Saturday,” she replied, her tone easing as she found a safer topic—logistics. Her voice carried a gentle warmth that always seemed to make me listen more closely. “It starts down at the park,” she added, gesturing toward one of the smaller green spaces in the area. “Jack and Denise are doing the barbecuing. There won’t be a ton of food, but enough to eat while you’re drinking. Just enough to keep you standing,” she said, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as she continued. “Afterward, we come back here and have a great time. The first hour back, it’s an open bar, so people will probably get drunk really fast and then won’t mind paying for their drinks after that.”

“You wanna get drunk on our first date?” I asked, grinning at her, amused by the casual charm of her plan. She wasn’t interested in fancy restaurants or over-the-top gestures. Instead, she wanted a night filled with beer, barbecues, and people-watching.

“Not get drunk,” she corrected, rolling her eyes, her tone playful yet firm. “But I thought a couple of drinks and some casual fun wouldn’t be so bad.” Her gaze flicked away as she spoke, and I noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor, the small tells of nervousness that made her all the more endearing.

“Okay,” I said, nodding, my hands idly turning the bottle in front of me. “It sounds like a nice time,” I added, my tone genuine. I wanted her to know that I was looking forward to it, though the truth was, I would’ve been thrilled with anything as long as she was there. Hell, I’d watch paint dry if it meant sitting next to her.

“Really?” she asked, her caramel eyes lighting up with a spark of hope.

“Most definitely,” I assured her, and her face broke into that brilliant smile of hers, the kind that made my chest feel tight. “I don’t think I’ve been to a barbecue since I lived back in Ohio,” I added, offering a small piece of myself.

“You’re from Ohio?” she asked, her curiosity immediately piqued.

Before I could answer, one of the patrons called her name from farther down the bar. She excused herself with an apologetic smile, her movements quick and efficient as she served beers and a few shots to the group. Even as she worked, my eyes lingered on her. The way she moved, the easy rhythm of her steps, the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear—it was all captivating.

When she returned, she smiled at me again, a touch of bashfulness in her expression. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, brushing back a few stray wisps of hair that had escaped her braid. “I promise it won’t be like that next Saturday.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile. Her thoughtfulness, even in moments like this, never failed to impress me.

“So, you’re from Ohio?” she asked again, picking up the thread of our conversation while drying glasses in front of her.

“I am,” I confirmed with a nod. “Grew up on my parents’ farm. It was me, Mom and Dad, my two older sisters, and my younger sister.”

“Quite a family,” she remarked, her smile softening. There was genuine interest in her eyes, and I couldn’t help but feel like she was peeling back a layer of me with every question.

“My dad died when I was a kid,” she added after a beat, her tone even. “Cancer. It happens,” she shrugged, trying to seem unfazed. But there was a flicker of something deeper beneath her casual words—an old ache she had learned to live with. “After that, it was just my mom, my brother, and me.”

“Sounds less chaotic,” I said gently, steering away from the sadness in her admission.

“Probably,” she agreed with a small smile. “Although I always wished I had a sister. Someone to talk about boys with, someone to plot with and team up against my brother.”

“They do that,” I said, nodding knowingly. “My sisters are pros at it.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, her curiosity sharpening. “Oh? You ever find yourself on the wrong end of their schemes?”

“More times than I care to admit,” I replied, shaking my head. “My sister Kristine and I even share the same type, apparently.”

Her eyes widened before she burst into laughter, a sound so warm and infectious that I couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, please tell me she’s stolen a girlfriend from you!”

“Why are you being mean to me?” I asked, arching a brow in mock offense.

“She did, didn’t she?” Violet teased, shooting me a playful wink.

“Only once,” I muttered, looking down at the bottle in my hands, which only made her laugh harder. “It was freshman year of high school, okay? I had no idea what I was doing back then. My confident older sister just waltzed in and left my date completely dazed.”

Violet’s laughter spilled over, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time,” she said, wiping under her eyes with her fingertips.

I rolled my eyes at her but couldn’t stop the tug of a smile. Kristine had always been bold when we were younger, effortlessly charming and outgoing. Girls didn’t stand a chance around her. But after she met Amber in college, she had mellowed, becoming the dependable, loving big sister I relied on.

“I’m gonna love meeting her,” Violet said, shaking her head as she turned to put something behind the bar.

Her words made my heart race. It wasn’t even a question of if—it was just a matter of when. The casual certainty in her voice wrapped around me like a promise, solid and unwavering.

Forever with her didn’t sound so bad.