Bring Me Back

by Micalea Smeltzer

  BRING ME BACK

  Kindle Edition

  © Copyright 2016 Micalea Smeltzer

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by By Hang Le

  Edited by Ready, Set, Edit

  Formatted by Indies InDesign

  To Wendi and her fecking swirls.

  May you love each other until the end of time

  “Ben.” My giggles carry through the kitchen. “Stop, stop,” I plead as his fingers assault my stomach. “That tickles!”

  His laughter is like music to my ears. “That’s the point.” He grasps my hips. “You need to loosen up some.”

  My body relaxes now that he isn’t tickling me. He turns me around to face him, and then he cups my face in his hands.

  “Ah, there it is.” He grins. “Your smile. I missed it.”

  “I’m stressed,” I defend. My eyes fall to the mess cluttering our kitchen counters. We’re supposed to arrive at his mom’s house for Thanksgiving in the next hour, and I’ve yet to finish making the pie I promised to bring.

  “Don’t stress,” he murmurs, ghosting his hands down my cheeks. “It’s just a pie.”

  Such a guy thing to say.

  “It’s not that simple,” I say. There’s no point trying to explain it to him since he won’t understand.

  “Is this another one of your crazy notions where you think you need some kind of approval from my mom?”

  I frown. Maybe he does understand.

  “Babe.” He lifts me onto the counter. “My mom loves you, and you know that. You’re already part of the family.” He nuzzles my neck. “I mean, we’re getting married in three months. You have nothing to prove.”

  “I know.” I frown and duck my head so he can’t see my eyes.

  He notices and grabs my chin, forcing my head up. “Obviously you don’t, or you wouldn’t be going to this much trouble. We can pick up a pie at Wal-Mart or something. They’re always open.”

  I gasp, flummoxed that he’d suggest such a thing. “We can’t bring a store bought pie.”

  He chuckles. “No one will know the difference.”

  I smack his arm lightly. “Oh, yes they will, and if they don’t, then I’ll know.”

  “Okay, okay,” he says, hanging his head in mock-shame. The dimples in his cheeks appear, making him look more boyish than normal.

  Ben exudes boy-next-door with his all-American good looks—blond hair, blue eyes, charming smile—and while I admit that his looks are what attracted me to him in the first place, it was his heart that made me stay. I’d never met anyone as kind and caring as Ben.

  Kissing the end of my nose, he lifts me off the counter and sets me on the ground.

  “We’ll do it together.”

  I smile at that.

  I know that attempting to bake a pie with Ben will make the whole process take a whole lot longer, but I suddenly don’t mind it; I know he’ll make it fun.

  With all the ingredients needed already strewn across the counters, I begin to boss Ben around.

  We work side by side, our laughter filling the kitchen.

  I look up at him, and for a moment I’m taken aback by the fact that this guy is mine. We went to high school together, but while he was the popular jock, I was the mousy band geek. Cliché, I know, but love is. We ended up at the same college and ran into each other at a local coffee shop. He recognized me, and I’d been shocked he’d known my name. From there we started hanging out—one thing led to another and we ended up together. Now, we are in our late twenties, have bought our first house together, are getting married soon, and Ben is working to complete his residency to become a doctor while I have started my party planning business.

  “Blaire?” He grins at me.

  I duck my head, embarrassed that he caught me staring at him.

  “Blaire,” he says again, this time more sternly. I feel his cool fingers on my chin and powdery flour sticks to my skin. His eyes roam over my face, almost like he’s searching for something. Finally, he says, “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I whisper back.

  He lowers his head and kisses me.

  A fire ignites deep in my belly, and soon all thoughts of pie flee from my mind. His fingers dig into my hips and my body arches into his. My fingers wind into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth dances over my lips. My insides are doing the cha-cha. Kissing Ben never gets old. Every time feels new and I swear I fall more in love with him, like his lips are tracing a road map straight to my heart.

  “Fuck the pie,” he growls against my lips, and I giggle. He swipes his hand behind us, knocking everything on the counter to the floor, then lifts me onto the surface once more.

  He fits himself in-between my legs and presses his lips to my neck.

  My head drops back, giving him more access. His fingers skim under my loose t-shirt as he lifts it up over my head and drops it to the floor.

  When he looks into my eyes, his are a dark blue, heated with lust.

  His mouth is on mine again and his hands are pressing into my hips, keeping me from moving.

  I know I should stop him, remind him that we need to go, but I don’t.

  Life is about living in the moment; I know this one is about to take me to the highest form of pleasure.

  Breaking his lips from mine, he bends down and jerks my yoga pants and underwear off where they join my shirt in a pile on the floor. His eyes flash with a devilish glint before his mouth latches onto me. I cry out and my back falls to the cold counter top. You’d think it would be uncomfortable, but if anything, the cold only adds to the pleasure he’s giving me.

  My eyes close, and I hold my breath as my toes curl.

  Oh, yes.

  “Ben,” I pant. “Oh, God.”

  His tongue swipes against me faster, and I can feel his eyes on me even though I’m not looking at him.

  I hold my breasts, pinching my nipples between my fingers as my hips rock.

  I scream out a moment later, and then his mouth is on mine quieting my cries.

  As I come down from my high, he steps back and pulls off his clothes—all the while his eyes are glued to me spread out on the counter before him like a feast. He grabs a condom from one of the drawers and rolls it on before climbing onto the counter with me.

  He lays me down on my back with my hair spread around me. I’m sure the dark strands are covered in flour by now, but I don’t care.

  He guides himself inside me and my hips rise to meet his. I touch my fingers to his stubbled cheek and rub my thumb over his plump bottom lip.

  How’d I get so lucky?

  He puts his hand over mine where it rests against his face, then intertwines our fingers together and pins my hand above my head. He does the same with the other.

  His chest presses into mine.

  Heart to heart.

  He kisses me the way he makes love to me. Slow. Deep. Hard.

  He lets go of my hands, and I press my palms flat against his muscled chest. They fit perfectly there, like the curvature was carved just for them.

  When I come again, I wrap my arms around his neck, trying to get lost in him.

  He’s not far behind me, and when he comes, he cries my name and whispers “I love you,” in my ear.

  We lay together on the counter—a tangled, sweaty mess. He rests his head on my chest, his ear pressed to my heart. I rub my fin
gers through his messy hair and roll my head to the side. I’m completely spent.

  “That’s my favorite sound,” he breathes into the quiet.

  “What is?”

  “Your heartbeat.” He rises and cups my face in his hand, angling my head so I’m looking at him. “Every day, I’m thankful for you; for what we have together. It’s special, Blaire. Once in a lifetime.”

  I smile at him and let out a small laugh. “You’re always at your most romantic after we have sex. I think it turns your brain to mush.” I wink.

  He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m always romantic.”

  “You wish.” I jokingly smack his shoulder.

  He brushes a piece of hair off my forehead. “Okay, so maybe not always,” he agrees, “but I try.”

  He’s right. He does. I know I’m much luckier than most women. Ben’s always surprising me with my favorite flowers, gift cards for my favorite stores, books he thinks I’ll enjoy, date nights, and notes.

  Every day he leaves me a note inside a paper crane.

  He wants to make a thousand before our wedding so he can wish for us to have happiness in all our days together. After that, he says he’ll start again, because there’s always another wish to be had. I hope he makes them forever. They’re always the best part of my day—finding them in the random spots he’s hidden them in and reading the heartfelt words he’s written.

  Ben kisses me quickly and slides off the counter.

  I sit up as he ties off the condom and throws it away.

  He lifts me down, even though I’m perfectly capable of getting down myself. We then take turns dressing each other—a few kisses stolen here or there.

  We clean up the mess together and then completely forget about the pie. It’s a lost cause at this point, and I resign myself to the fact that we’re eating Wal-Mart pie.

  We head upstairs to get ready, each taking separate showers since we know what will happen if we take one together. When my hair is clean, I blow dry it and curl the shoulder-length strands. I shake them out, trying to make the curl appear more natural.

  Ben steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. His chest glistens with droplets of water, and I stare.

  He chuckles and kisses my cheek as he passes.

  My cheeks blossom with a red hue.

  Even after seven years together he still manages to make me blush.

  That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

  I finish my hair and apply my makeup, using a smoky gray around my whiskey-colored eyes and magenta on my lips. I’m normally more subdued in my makeup choices, but I feel like being adventurous today.

  Ben comes back into the bathroom dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a maroon-colored sweater. He steps up to the other sink to try to tame his wavy hair.

  Leaving him to finish up in front of the mirror, I move out of the bathroom and over to our walk-in closet.

  I step into a pair of dark-wash jeans and pull an oatmeal-colored sweater over my head then add some bracelets to my wrists and my large gold watch. I opt for a pair of chestnut colored boots to dress up the look more.

  By the time I step out of the closet, Ben has finished in the bathroom and is sitting on our bed waiting for me. Our Siamese cat, Winnie, sits on the bed beside him. She gives me a murderous look. I don’t know why, but that cat has always hated me.

  I pick up my purse and fluff my hair.

  Ben stretches and stands from the bed.

  “Ready?” he asks, looking me over.

  I nod. “Yes, but knowing me I’m probably forgetting something.”

  “Pie.” He winks.

  My blush returns, and I duck my head. I’ll never think of pie in the same way ever again.

  We head downstairs and we each shrug into our coats. Ben locks up behind us, and then hurries to open the passenger door on his Mazda SUV for me.

  “Thank you.” I smile graciously and slide inside.

  He jogs around the front of the car to get in the driver’s side.

  His blond hair sticks up from his brief jog, and I reach over to smooth it down. He smiles at me in appreciation.

  He drives over to the local Wal-Mart and I sit in the car while he goes inside to get the pie. I feel bad that there are people working on the holiday when they should be with their families. It doesn’t seem fair.

  Ben returns a few minutes later with a pecan and apple pie. Surprisingly, they don’t look that bad. He sits them in the back and starts the car.

  “Ready?” He waggles his brows.

  I laugh and smooth my hair back. “You bet.”

  An hour later, he parks in the driveway of his mom’s house. It’s a decent size, Cape Cod style, with white siding and red shutters. A porch wraps around the front.

  My parents used to live a few neighborhoods away, but when I left for college, they decided to pack up and move to Florida. I can’t blame them since lately the Virginia winters have been brutal.

  Ben slips from the car and grabs the plastic bag. He meets me at my side of the car and entwines our fingers together. He smiles down at me so big that his dimples make an appearance.

  “Next Thanksgiving we’ll be husband and wife,” he says.

  I smile as my stomach is flooded with warmth at the thought.

  Ben. My husband. I love the sound of that. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to call him that. He proposed to me our senior year of college, and I was the genius that decided it would be best to postpone the wedding until his residency was complete or close to it. I regret that now. I should’ve made him my husband a long time ago, but the day is fast approaching.

  “Why do you want to marry me?” I ask him in jest.

  He pauses on the porch and looks down at me. “Because I love you.”

  “Good answer.” I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him.

  He rings the doorbell, and the door swings open a second later.

  “Benjamin,” his mom cries, throwing her arms around his neck.

  Even though we live close, we rarely get to see his mom or his brother, Jacob, and his family. We’re both too busy with work, especially Ben.

  His mom lets him go and pulls me into a hug. Loraine has always treated me like the daughter she never had, and for that, I’m thankful. Sometimes I go overboard trying to please her, like with the pie, even when I don’t have to.

  “Come in, come in.” She steps back to let us inside. “It’s cold outside.”

  Almost immediately, Ben is attacked by his six-year-old niece, Bella, and two-year-old nephew, Jackson.

  “Hey, guys.” He bends to hug them. “I’ve missed you guys.”

  I smile. Seeing Ben with his niece and nephew always melts my heart.

  “Mom, take the pies before they get squished.” He holds out his hand with the bag.

  She takes it and chuckles when she looks in the bag. “I think it’s a bit too late for that.”

  Ben sighs. “Well, we’ll all know they were squished with love.” He picks each of the kids up in an arm and cries, “To the kitchen,” before running with them down the hall. The children’s laughter trails behind them and my smile widens.

  “How have you been?” Loraine asks me.

  “Good.” I shrug. “Busy with the business. It’s taking off.”

  “That’s amazing, Blaire. I’m so proud of you.” She beams. “How’s Ben? Is he getting enough sleep? I worry about him working these crazy shifts,” she rambles.

  I frown slightly. “He’s doing okay, I guess. They’re taking a toll, but he doesn’t complain. This is what he wants to do, and it’s part of the job.”

  She nods. “Still, it’s hard on a person.”

  “It is,” I agree.

  With a sigh, her shoulders fall like she has accepted defeat to the situation. “I just put everything out on the table before you guys arrived. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starving,” I tell her.

  She smiles up at me and then moves on into the
kitchen with the pies to sit them on the counter. Everyone is gathered around the counter eating from a vegetable plate.

  Bella runs over to me then and wraps her arms around my legs. “Aunt Blaire, look.” She points to an empty gap in her teeth. “I lost a tooth and the tooth fairy came. She left me five whole dollars.”

  “Wow,” I say, bending down to her level, “that’s awesome, Bells.”

  Her nose crinkles when she smiles and she hold her hands together while swaying slightly. “Daddy said I could buy a candy bar.” She frowns and adds in a whisper, “But mommy said that will rot my teeth.” She looks torn. “I really love candy, though.”

  “Maybe you can get a piece of candy and not eat it all at once?” I suggest.

  Her lips purse as she thinks this over. “I can live with that.”

  “Dining room, everyone.” Loraine begins ushering us into the space.

  Ben’s brother sits at the head of the table, with his wife and kids to his right. Loraine sits on his left and Ben and I take our spots beside her.

  We bow our heads to say grace and then Jacob stands to carve the turkey. While he’s doing that, Bella begins to rattle off facts about Thanksgiving and the Pilgrims that she’s learned in school. Once the turkey is carved we pass around the food in a circle until everyone’s plates are full.

  A glass of water already sits beside my plate, but I decide to pour a glass of wine.

  “I’ll have some too,” Ben says and takes the bottle from me when I finish.

  “No drinking and driving.” Loraine points her fork at him and her eyes narrow. “House rules.”

  “But, Ma—”

  “No buts,” she counters.

  Ben shrugs and takes a sip of wine. “Fine.”

  She smiles.

  Knowing Ben, he won’t drink any more than the glass, and it’ll be worn off by the time we’d leave, but I can tell Loraine wants us to stay. I feel bad. Her kids are grown and gone, and while Jacob and his family live nearby, they’re usually busy. She substitutes at the local high school some to pass the time, but I know she gets lonely.

  “This is delicious, Loraine,” I say, taking a bite of homemade macaroni and cheese.

  “Thank you.” She smiles.

  “How’s it goin’ at the hospital?” Jacob asks Ben around a mouthful of food.