Chapter Thirty-Seven: A Guest with Ulterior Motives
1150 Words
Anna's POV
The doorbell rings just as I’m tying my hair back, the elastic snapping against my wrist when I fumble it.
“I’ve got it!” I call, already moving down the hallway.
I open the front door without thinking—and stop short.
Ben stands on the porch, a little straighter than usual, dark jacket buttoned neatly, a bouquet of fresh flowers cradled in his arms. They’re beautiful in an effortless way—soft creams and pale pinks, greenery spilling out around the edges like they were arranged by someone who actually cared.
My brain stalls.
“Oh—” I manage, then immediately regret sounding like that. “Hi.”
For half a second, my heart does something strange and traitorous, the way it always does when I’m caught off guard. The sight of him here, like this, feels too intentional.
Ben notices, of course. He always notices.
He lets out a quiet chuckle, easy and warm. “Relax,” he says gently. “They’re not for you.”
I blink. “They’re… not?”
“Nope.” He lifts the bouquet slightly. “For your mom. She invited me for dinner.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Oh. Right. Of course. Sorry, I just—”
“It’s okay,” he says, smiling. “You look like I just proposed.”
I groan softly. “Please don’t ever say that again.”
Before he can reply, my mother’s voice floats down the hall. “Anna? Who is it?”
“Ben!” I call back, stepping aside. “He’s here.”
My mom appears almost instantly, hands already reaching for the flowers. “Oh, Ben! You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” he replies, handing them over. “My mom would’ve killed me if I showed up empty-handed.”
She beams. “They’re lovely. Come in, come in.”
My father appears behind her, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Ben! Good to see you again.”
“Good to see you too, sir.”
They usher him inside like he belongs here, and maybe that’s what unsettles me the most—how easily he slips into the familiar rhythms of my house, like no time has passed at all.
“Smells amazing,” Ben says as he steps into the kitchen.
“That would be the roast,” my mom replies proudly. “Anna’s helping me.”
Helping is generous. I’m mostly hovering.
My dad gestures toward the dining table. “So, I hear you’re still playing hockey over there.”
Ben’s eyes light up. “Whenever I can. It’s not the same league, but—”
My dad nods enthusiastically. “A game’s a game. What position?”
They’re off immediately, talking stats and strategies like they’ve been waiting for this moment. I slip back into the kitchen with my mom, grateful for the temporary escape.
She sets the flowers in a vase, humming softly. “He’s grown into such a polite young man.”
“Mm,” I reply noncommittally, reaching for a stack of plates.
She watches me for a second, then says gently, “You don’t need to look so tense, sweetheart.”
I pause. “I’m not tense.”
She gives me a look. “Anna.”
I sigh. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
She leans against the counter, crossing her arms. “I want you to know something. I respect your relationship with Marcus.”
That gets my full attention. “You do?”
“Yes,” she says simply. “You seem happy. That matters to me. Richard McKay be damned.”
Relief loosens something in my chest. “Thank you.”
“But,” she continues, “I did promise Ben’s mother that while he’s in town, you’d keep him company.”
I freeze, plate halfway to the table. “You promised what?”
She winces apologetically. “Nothing inappropriate. Dinners, showing him around, making sure he’s not lonely. You two were always close.”
I set the plate down carefully. “Mom, Marcus and Ben didn't quite hit it off when they first met.”
“Oh honey, boys will be boys,” she says quickly. “And I’m not asking you to do anything that disrespects Marcus. Just… be kind. Be present.”
Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“I guess,” I say slowly. “I can do that.”
She smiles, satisfied. “Thank you.”
Dinner unfolds easily enough on the surface. My dad and Ben sit across from each other, deep in conversation about hockey leagues and old games. I take my seat, nodding along, answering when spoken to.
Ben is charming, attentive, asking my parents about their work, their travels. He laughs at my dad’s jokes, compliments my mom’s cooking. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a carefully rehearsed performance.
Halfway through the meal, Ben turned to me. “I ran into a Leith professor I worked closely with while I was still abroad.”
My fork pauses midair. “You did?”
“Yeah,” he says casually. “We talked about internships. I mentioned you.”
My parents perked up immediately.
“You mentioned Anna?” my mom asks.
Ben nods. “She’s an obvious fit. Strong academic record, clear passion. He asked me to pass along that he’d be happy to recommend her for the Leith internship this summer.”
My heart starts pounding. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
My dad’s face breaks into a grin. “That’s incredible, Anna.”
My mom reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “That’s such an opportunity.”
I look at Ben, a mix of gratitude and unease swirling in my chest. “Thank you,” I say softly. “That means a lot.”
He smiles at me, something earnest in his eyes. “I just want to see you succeed.”
The words linger, heavier than they should.
Dinner continues, my parents buzzing with excitement, already talking logistics and applications. I nod along, my mind elsewhere.
On my phone in my pocket, I feel a phantom vibration that isn’t there.
Marcus.
I picture his crooked smile, the way he looks at me, like I’m the only person in the room. The steadiness of him. The certainty.
When dinner finally wound down, I help clear the table, my mother chatting happily beside me.
“Ben’s always been good to you,” she says.
I pause. “He’s… a good friend.”
She studies me, then nods. “As long as you remember what you want.”
I do.
As I glance back into the dining room, Ben catches my eye and smiles, hopeful and warm.
And I realize—keeping him company might be far more complicated than I ever intended.
- Writer
