‘At least let me carry it for you.’
‘Thanks, but I can manage,’ he spoke quietly.
‘Ben...’
‘I can manage, Thea,’ he repeated firmly, softening his words with a smile.
The hospital might not have been prepared to discharge him unless he had someone to take care of him, but he’d be damned if he’d let his presence interfere with Thea’s life—even for a moment.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder and ignoring the flash of pain—less pain now...more an intense discomfort from his arm—he urged his reluctant legs to follow Thea through the door.
Was it really only five years earlier that he had handed the keys of this house over to Thea? Both of them had been in a daze of grief and shock, but he recalled muttering something about decorating it any way she liked, since he spent so much time away on back-to-back tours.
Even through the fug, he remembered he had seen the place through her eyes. Her small flat had been full of colour, and life and memories. The Army cottage had been bland mimosa walls, brown carpets and standard issue grilled-lightshades. Much like his Officer’s accommodation in barracks had been before marrying Evie. Not to mention his abject lack of any personal effects.
That was something Ben had picked up as a kid. His father had loathed ornaments—dust-harbourers, he’d called them. Not even a photo of Ben’s beloved mother had been allowed, because of the dust which would collect on the glass. And Ben had become accustomed to bareness, nowhere ever felt like a home—it was always just a place to lay his head.
Thea had changed the cottage. Army accommodation or not, this was like a completely different place. The walls were a warm colour and she had replaced the carpets with engineered floorboards, which made the place look clean and fresh, and somehow bigger.
‘New curtains...nice...’ He gestured, feeling he ought to say something.
The curtains were held back from the windows with pretty metal ties and light flooded into the downstairs room, bouncing off the two couches in the centre, one a vibrant purple and one a rich red. In his head he knew it ought to clash, but it didn’t—it all came together beautifully. She’d injected colour and a real sense of fun into the place.
His sense of unease grew.
It felt like a proper home. Not girly or overly feminine, but somewhere he could instantly feel comfortable. And that made him feel disquieted. Yet what would he have preferred? That everything would be as it was the day he’d walked out? With boxes still in the hallway?
Whatever he’d expected, this wasn’t it. He didn’t like the way it welcomed him...suited him.
But Thea definitely wasn’t the same girl he’d left. She had grown up a lot in five years, and her home, like her, was sophisticated and yet still with that irrepressible sense of fun and a zest for life. He was glad. His one regret had been that his actions might have crushed that vibrancy out of her. It was good to see that in some ways she was still the same Thea who had once so captivated him.
And that was what was most worrying.
‘Um...do you want to sit down?’ Thea asked abruptly. ‘You’re making the place look...’
‘Look what?’ he prompted uneasily. This was going to be even harder than he’d feared if she was so used to living alone that she thought he’d disturb everything in the place just by setting foot in it. ‘Unsightly?’
‘Not unsightly...’
Thea chewed the inside of her lip nervously. It was a trait he suddenly remembered from long ago.
‘Ben, we’re not going to get very far if you think I feel you’re getting in the way. It’s just...you’re kind of filling up the door frame.’ She wrinkled her nose, her cheeks flushing slightly. ‘It makes the cottage look a little...small all of a sudden.’
‘Right,’ Ben acknowledged. What was that supposed to mean?
‘It’s a compliment,’ she offered uncertainly.
‘Oh, right. Thanks, then.’ He tried to smile, but it felt taut on his cheeks. It hadn’t sounded very complimentary. It had sounded definitively put out. ‘Well, I’m pretty beat...it’s been a long day. Mind if I hit whichever room is mine and freshen up?’
‘Sure. I’ve set up the dining room.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The dining room.’ She gesticulated, as though he might have forgotten where it was.
‘Is there something wrong with the actual bedrooms?’ He hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so menacing, but he caught the nervous flicker of her eyes.
She licked her lips. ‘I thought it you might prefer to avoid the stairs. You’re healing well, and I know you’re walking normally on level ground again, but the physios did say that stairs could still be a problem for a few months. I’ve ordered a temporary stairlift, so you can get to the bathroom, plus there’s a downstairs toilet and—’