Izzy laughed, partly at the story, but also at how chatty Beau suddenly was. It was like he’d been bottling up all his conversation for months and was letting it all out at once.
“Michaela seems very reliable that way.” Izzy took the glass of wine that Beau handed her.
He laughed again. “She definitely is. That’s also sort of how the snack cabinet came to be: She kept asking me what I wanted her to get for me at the store, and finally I just told her to get me every snack she could think of. And so she decided to take me literally.”
Yes, that sounded like a thing Michaela would do.
“Well, I fell in love with the snack cabinet immediately, it’s the love of my life, and we’re getting married in a few weeks,” Izzy said.
Beau tore off a hunk of bread and dipped it in his soup. “Sorry, no, I can’t allow that, you’re not taking my snack cabinet away from me.”
They grinned at each other.
“I think Michaela really has fun with it,” he said. “At first it was just chips and pretzels and crackers and beef jerky and stuff, but then she started stocking it with stuff from the Mexican grocery store, and then the different Asian grocery stores, and now there’s so much good stuff in there. I’m obsessed with these spicy veggie straws, I don’t even know what they’re called or where they came from, but I love them.”
Beau reached for the remote, but Izzy knew there was something she had to say before he turned the TV on.
“Um, I want to apologize, too,” she said. He sat back and looked at her. “I kind of…I just assumed you were being a jerk last night and today. I think you just pushed my buttons, and I got mad. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I was an ass when you got here, of course you would take everything I said the wrong way.” He picked up the remote. “Anything you’re in the mood to watch?”
How should she answer? This always seemed like a test question, especially from guys—like you were supposed to answer something “smart” and tell them about the documentary you’d been dying to see, or the TV show about the angry man that you just love, or that superhero movie you couldn’t wait to watch again. But it had been a long day. She might as well just be honest.
“Obviously, with the rain outside and with this bowl of very cozy soup, all I want to watch is some sort of luxurious period drama with lots of sweeping views of the countryside in England or Italy or somewhere like that, and people drinking tea and eating tiny sandwiches and scones. Do you know the kind of thing I mean?”
To her surprise, Beau nodded. “Good idea.” He flipped through his many streaming services, and landed on something. “What about this one?”
“This Provincial Life,” Izzy read on the screen. “I don’t even need to read the description, the title is enough for me. Sold.”
So for the rest of the night, they sat there, at opposite ends of the couch, eating soup and bread and drinking wine and watching a period drama. At one point, Izzy heated up more soup for both of them, another time, Beau made them popcorn, and right when Izzy was thinking about going to bed, Beau brought out a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies, so Izzy had no choice but to stay for one more episode.
They didn’t talk much, but that was okay. Izzy was surprised by how comfortable it was to be here with Beau Towers. She didn’t feel like she had to fill the silence with conversation. She didn’t feel awkward, sitting here with him.
She still had no idea why he’d been shut away from the rest of the world for the past year, or why he was struggling so much with his book. He’d hinted at some realizations he’d made about himself, but she didn’t want to ask about that, at least not yet. But if they were really going to work on his book together, she’d have to push him to write about those things, whether he actually shared any of it with her or not.
Could she really do this? She’d offered to help him, because the pain in his voice and the look on his face had made her want to reach out, want to do something to help. But did she know how to do this? Did she have enough knowledge, enough experience, to coach Beau through writing a memoir?
She had no idea. But she knew she had to try her best. If this was going to be her test to decide whether to stay in publishing, she was going to give it her all, and if her all wasn’t good enough, then that would be her answer.
But, she realized, she wanted this for Beau’s sake, too.
The episode ended, and Beau turned to her. “It’s getting late. Do you want to pick this back up another night?”