Letting out a breath, I manage a tight smile. “Thanks for that. I am doing my best. Only sometimes I feel like I should be doing better than that. But I’ll try not to care so much about what people think.”
“Good.” He looks at me and lowers his voice. “You all right?”
He’s talking about last night. If I’ve recovered from his rejection. But even if he weren’t, if he were talking about my depression, my night, my life, the answer is the same.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “You?”
He tilts his head, remorse written all over his face. “I’m sorry. So fucking—oops, put those earmuffs on, Maisie—so flipping sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand. Even if you answer sucked, too.”
“I know you have a lot going on, and I’m sorry to add to the shit pile. Shit, I didn’t mean—goddamn—wow, you don’t realize how dirty your language is until you have a kid around.” He leans down to gently kiss Maisie’s bald head.
My heart just about explodes. This huge man, who’s been roughed up countless times, and roughed up others, too, is so sweet with my baby.
Makes me wanna do something stupid, like go up on my tiptoes and kiss him again.
I can’t. We can’t.
But Lord, if you wanted to make a new mom fall in love, this is how you’d do it.
“Hopefully the shit pile will start to diminish soon,” I say, curling my fingers around my upper arms. Squeezing hard. “Doc told me the meds take a few weeks to really kick in, but she also said some of her patients start seeing a difference—albeit a small one—a week in.”
Beau glances down at my hands and frowns, like he can tell I’m struggling not to reach for him. How is the crackle of energy between our bodies not driving him crazy?
Or is it, and he’s just better at controlling it? Compartmentalizing it all?
“Give it time, Bel. Take care of yourself in the interim. We’ve got lots of great stuff to do at the resort. Fishing, horseback riding, hiking. I know you hate guns, but we’ve got one hell of a clay-shooting program. Then there’s yoga, and the pools, of course. Some cooking courses…”
Samuel’s words from earlier float across my thoughts. Take advantage of everything we have to offer.
Beau’s happier when he’s with you.
Then Beau’s words: What if it’s our last time together like this?
The idea takes sudden shape. My stomach leaps, the brick there all but forgotten.
“Do it with me.”
“What?” he arches a brow.
“Everything you just said. Let’s do it together. All of it. If life as we know it really is ending like you think it is, then let’s live it up. It’ll help me pass the time until the meds kick in, and it will help keep your mind busy and your body engaged. That has to be good for what’s going on inside your head.”
Beau shifts on his feet. “I have to work.”
“No you don’t. You have two hundred employees at your beck and call, remember?”
He tilts his head. Shoots me a look. “Why you gotta be so goddamn smart?”
“C’mon. Show off those country boy skills. I know you’ve got ’em.”
Eyes on my face, Beau chews on the inside of his lip.
“You sure?” he says at last.
What he’s really asking: are you sure we can do this without getting hurt? Without us getting deeper into the weeds?
“Yup,” I say. Even though I don’t feel very sure at all.
Whatever. Maybe getting romantically involved with Beau isn’t worth the risk. But spending time together?
That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Because at the end of the day, I love Beau as a friend, and I know he loves me, too.
Chapter Fourteen
Beau
Sunday night supper.
It’s been a family tradition for as long as I can remember. Growing up, we sat down to dinner every night. As we got older and life got busier, family dinners happened less often. But now that we’re all back together on the farm—well, everyone except Rhett—I make it a point to gather everyone on Sunday nights.
It’s my favorite time of the week, hands down.
My family may not agree on everything, but we all love to eat. Samuel cooks and selects the wine. Milly does dessert and decor. Hank provides the music, Mama the family china and silver. When Rhett’s around, he brings some girl none of us like. And I provide the table itself, a huge antique slab of oak that was part of the original farmhouse my ancestors built on this property back in the 1700s.
Tonight, my dining room is lively as ever. Acoustic Dave Grohl playing in the background, candles lit. A small but insanely beautiful cake, hummingbird with cream cheese frosting, judging by the crumbled pecans on top, is on the sideboard.
We’re gathered around the table: me, Mama, Milly, Hank, and Samuel. I wanted to invite Annabel, her mama, and the baby, too, but considering they’re tonight’s topic of conversation, I thought I’d hold off until next week’s supper.