Donovan's Child

Ben put on a frown. “So then you don’t want this cake….”

She grabbed for it, laughing. “Don’t you dare take that away.”

He handed over one of the plates and she gestured him inside. They sat on the couch as they always did when he brought dessert.

She took a couple of slow, savoring bites. “I don’t know how Anton does it. Red velvet cake always looks so good, you know? But as a rule, it’s a disappointment.”

He nodded. “I know. It’s usually dry. And too sweet.”

“But not Anton’s red velvet cake.” She treated her mouth to another slow bite. “Umm. Perfect. Moist. And the cream cheese frosting is to die for. So good …”

Ben laughed. “You should see your face.”

“Can you tell I’m in heaven? Good company and a really well-made red velvet cake. What more is there to life?”

“You’re happy. I like that.”

She gave him a bright smile, ate yet another dreamy bite of the wonderful cake. “You know, we really should go into that little town, Chula Mesa, one of these nights.”

He swallowed, lowered his fork. His dark eyes shone. “We?”

“Yeah. You. Me. Donovan.”

“Donovan.” Ben spoke flatly now. “Of course, Donovan.”

“No, really. I think it would be good for him, for all three of us, to get out of this house for a while. We could invite Anton and Olga, too. Make it a group outing.”

Ben wasn’t exactly jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect of a night out with his boss. “Have you brought this up to him?”

“Just that first night.” She made a show of rolling her eyes. “You remember how well that went.”

“What can I say? You can’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”

“Ben, he needs to get out. He’s … hiding here. He’s made this house into his fortress—you know that he has. It’s not good for him.”

Ben lowered his half-finished plate to his lap. “Listen to you. You’re getting way too invested in him.”

“What’s wrong with that? You said it yourself, that first night. You said he needed someone like me around.”

“I didn’t mean that you should make him into a … project.”

“But I’m not.”

“Abilene. You’re his protégé. Not his therapist.”

“Which is a very good question. Does he have a therapist—a counselor I mean, someone to talk to? If he spent half as much time trying to figure out what’s going on inside him as he does in the gym downstairs, he’d be a much happier person. Not to mention, more fun to be around.”

“No. He doesn’t have a counselor.”

“Well, he should. And he should get out. We should work together on this, you and me, make it a point to get him to—”

“Abilene. Stop.” Ben set his plate down, hard.

She blinked. “What?”

“I’ll go with you, okay?” He spoke with intensity. With passion, almost. “Into Chula Mesa, to Luisa’s. We can have a few drinks. A few laughs, just the two of us.”

Just the two of us.

Suddenly, the rich cake was too much. She set it down, half-finished, next to Ben’s. “Ben, I …”

He sat very still. And then he smiled. It was not a particularly pleasant smile. “Not interested, huh?”

“Ben …”

His lip still curled. But now, not in any way resembling a smile. “Just answer the question.”

There was no good way to say it. “No. I’m not. Not in that way.”

He let out a slow breath, and then smoothed his hair back with both hands. “Well, at least you didn’t say how much you like me. How much you want to be friends.” “But, I do. On both counts. You know I do.” She wanted to touch him. To soothe him. But that would be beyond inappropriate, given the circumstances. “But my liking you and wanting to be your friend … neither of those is the issue right now, is it?”

“No, they’re not. The issue is that I want more. And you don’t.” Now he looked openly angry. “It’s Donovan, right?”

She gaped. “Donovan? Not on your life.”

He grunted, nodded his head. “Yeah. It’s Donovan.”

“Ben. Come on. I don’t even like him.”

“Yeah. You do. You like him a lot.” He stood. “I think that you and I need to redefine the boundaries.”

She hated that. But he was right. “Yes. I agree. I think we do.”

“If you want to know about Donovan, you should ask him yourself. If you want to go to Chula Mesa with him, tell him so. If you think he needs a shrink, say so. Say it to him. Leave me out of it. Please.”

He left her, shutting the door a little too loudly behind him.

“What did you do to Ben?” Donovan demanded when she walked into the studio the next morning bright and early.

As if she was answering that one. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, come on. I know he’s got a thing for you.”

She took a careful breath. Let it out slowly. “If you knew that, you might have mentioned it to me before now.”

“I thought it was none of my business.”

“Oh, right. Because you’re so considerate of other people and all.” She was standing in front of her drafting table.