Page 11 of Always the Matchmaker

“I’ll take those and put them in your room,” Cohen says as he gives me a wink.

“Thanks.” We head out the massive front door. “When was the last time you were on a date?” I ask curiously.

“Never,” he admits with a shrug, taking the steps two at a time with his long legs. I can tell the question makes him apprehensive but his response is forcefully casual.

“Well I haven’t been on a date since prom. So we may very well be in the same boat about inexperience there.”

He opens the door for me to his truck and I blush as he helps me into it again, this time I’m prepared and don’t let out a ear-piercing squeak. He smiles at me knowingly. We head to his home...my home...thehome. It’s going to take me awhile to adjust to having no home in Ribbon Cove.

My house back in Denver doesn’t feel like home either. Just a place to get mail sent to and house me until I find something permanent. I often remodel and resell my homes time and time again. It’s a smart move in real estate for me and really makes my numbers look good each year leading to attracting more clients.

Dinner is waiting and ready for us, a simple meal, but it looks so good. Spaghetti with meatballs and parmesan cheese, butter soaked garlic bread, and wine is hard to mess up but definitely impresses the carb-lover in me. I’m happy to see Bracken again and spend the first few minutes of our official date with his dog, too.

“Who’s a good boy?” I ask Bracken.

“I hope it’s me,” Ben mutters behind me. I don’t let him know I hear him, and continue to pet the golden retriever a moment more.

He pulls out my chair for me at the dinner table and sits himself beside me rather than at the long end of the other side. He pours me a glass of cabernet, the color just a shade darker than my own hair, and then fills his own. I note how often he’s put my needs first.

I wonder what else he does for me first.

I chewing on a fork full of noodles. I’m not completely hungry, at least not for food.

“Your dad mentioned you’re in real estate,” Ben says in between bites of his own plate. For a mechanic, he was fairly well mannered.

“I am. It’s why I was so sad I wasn’t involved with the sale of the home.” I smile weekly.

He’s done nice touches of remodeling, keep the bones of the house but updating it where it was needed, I both recognize the home and yet feel the new ownership too. It’s hard to grasp both sides.

“I promise I gave Steve a good deal. He’d been to the shop a few times for his pickup, mentioned he was looking to sell and I was tired of rooming with Abe. We had a local agent draw up paperwork, shared the fee.”

His generosity to my father got me too easily, my family a weakness for me.

“Thank you, for being so kind to him. It’s been hard without my mother. She was a queen,” I smile as mentioning brings forth fond memories.

“I bet you get your stubbornness and temper from her,” Ben teases, refilling my glass.

I rub the back of my neck, a crick set in last night and I can’t stretch it out. “And I bet you’re only polite because a good woman taught you to be,” I counter, my tone sharp but light.

“Heck, yes. My momma was a good hard woman, raised me by herself. No man deserved my momma.” He smiles and I hope to meet his momma one day.

“Well she did a good job, I hate to say it, but it’s true. You’re not as grimy and annoying as I thought.” I giggle into my wine glass, looking over the rim at him.

“I wish I could say the same. She’d love to hear it. She’d say from your mouth to God’s ears.”

I reach over and clasp his hand. “You’ve felt that loss, too?”

He nods briefly and I know. It’s hard to say it out loud, no matter how long it’s been.

“But you’re just as hotheaded and tense as I first thought,” he says with a giant smile.

“Whoa…” I nearly choke on my wine, caught off guard at the rebuttal.

He chuckles. “But let’s see if I can change at least one of those factors.” He slides out of his seat and moves behind me, his hands on my shoulders. “Jeez, Candy, it’s a massage not , relax.” My tense shoulders grow slightly lax, dropping at the pressure of his fingers. “See, not so bad is it?”

No it isn’t. In fact, I’m starting to like it a whole lot.

Closing my eyes, my whole body grows slack in the chair, knots in my neck and shoulders at the mercy of his rough fingertips and devoted hands. I can’t help the soft moans that leave my lips as he expertly works his hands into muscles I thought could never be broken down.