Chapter Sixteen
Ben didn’t know what had happened to the Carrie who had been in the kitchen when he first arrived, the one who’d responded so passionately to his kiss. When she came out of the bedroom, she was dressed in blue jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, and the easy smile she had been wearing had been replaced with awkwardness and distance. Before, she had pretty much been melting at his feet, and the heat and chemistry had had them both touching and reacting to the underlying currents zinging between them. It was as if she was anticipating problems, and he wondered for a moment whether the only thing she really understood, and continued to fall back on, was how to be miserable.
“You’re right. You make the best meatloaf,” Ben said, setting his fork on the side of the worn dinner plate.
