Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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I'm running along a wide, sandy beach. The soles of my bare feet burn every time I step away from the strip of wet sand on the edge of the dark blue water.
"Daddy, wait for me!" The crashing waves muffle my six-year-old's voice.
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" I keep screaming as the figure in front of me gets smaller and disappears into the horizon. "Daddy." I begin to tremble. "I can't walk that fast!"
I plop down, spraying the sand and salty water all over my white sundress. Equally salty tears run down my cheeks as the waves lap at my knees.
"Daddy, come back! Daddy." I sob, and the shudders get worse.
"I'm here." A hand on my shoulder feels comforting and familiar. I turn around and see a backlit outline of a person. The bright hot sun blinds me. "Mom?"
***
"I'm here, Amélie, wake up." The hand on my shoulder keeps shaking me. "Wake up—it's just a dream."
I squint at the person talking to me.
"Good, you are awake." Ben's sitting right next to me on the bed.
"What are you doing here?" My sleep-addled brain refuses to make the connection.
"We fell asleep." Ben moves some strands of hair off my face. "You had a nightmare. You were shouting something unintelligible, maybe calling for your Dad or Mom? Do you remember the dream?" His fingers wipe the traces of tears from under my eyes.
"I was on a beach, I think, and Dad abandoned me there? I was crying." The details are getting fuzzier as I try to recall them. "I was crying. And Mom showed up. Was I crying?" I look at Ben for answers.
"You were crying, but not anymore. I wanted to let you sleep—it's only six in the morning—but you were getting agitated. Are you feeling ok now? You can go back to sleep if you want."
Ben is holding my face in his hands, peering intently into my eyes, as if trying to read my mind.
I sniffle. Why isn't there tissue when you need one? "I think I'm ok. Thank you for waking me up." I remove one of Ben's hands from my cheek and kiss it. "I'm glad you stayed."
"I didn't intend to. I wasn't sure I would be able to sleep in a new place, a new bed, different sheets. I'm very particular about my sheets." Ben takes his hand away from me and pats the bed. "Yours are of inferior quality. I prefer the five hundred thread count Italian milled Egyptian cotton. It's a little heavier than the three hundred thread count and very cozy."
A small smile creeps onto my lips. Bedlinens might be another topic Ben's passionate about, and knowing that little fact about him makes me a tiny bit happy inside. One more puzzle piece falls into place, allowing me to see yet another facet of what makes Ben tick. The more I get to know the guy, the more I like him for who he is and not only for his handsome features. Although who am I kidding, Ben is quite a sight in the morning: naked chest, light stubble on his face only marginally shorter than his hair—I wouldn't mind waking up to that every morning.
