At the end of the night, Izzy stood up. Very, very slowly.
“Ow. My entire body hurts. I’m going to get you back for this.”
Beau chuckled as he piled their dishes on the tray. “I’m going to warn you right now, getting out of bed tomorrow morning will be rough.”
She reached for the empty wine bottle and winced. She didn’t even know her abs could hurt like this.
“Thanks for telling me this now. At least I don’t have to get up before six a.m. like on a weekday.”
They walked to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher together, like they always did now. She took a step toward the fridge to grab a can of seltzer to take upstairs with her. But either because she was so sore her legs didn’t quite work, or she was a little tipsy, or some combination, she tripped. Right into Beau, who caught her. And held on.
His chest was so broad, so warm. It was nice to rest her head here, just for a second. His arms were strong but gentle. It felt so good to have them around her, his hands resting there, on her back. She could feel them through her thin tank top.
She’d tried, all day, to ignore the way she reacted to him. But now the little moments from the day flooded back to her. When he’d put his hands on her shoulders on the beach; when he’d touched her hand, just for a second, in the water; when she’d felt his breath on her neck and the warmth from his body in line at the ice cream shop. Now she faced what she’d tried to look away from all day: She’d wanted those moments to last longer.
She could feel his heart beating against her ear. Or was it her own?
And then he dropped his arms.
“Izzy—”
No. That’s not what this was, he wasn’t interested in her like that. Of course he wasn’t. She wasn’t interested in him like that either. This was work, remember?
She didn’t even like him, remember?
“Oof, I’m so sore I can barely stand up!” She took a step back, toward the kitchen door. “I should go to bed while I can still make it up the stairs.”
She turned to leave the kitchen, like normal, like she always did at the end of the night. This was just a normal night, that’s all.
“Good night, Izzy,” Beau said, when she was at the kitchen door.
She looked back at him. He hadn’t moved from that spot by the sink.
“Good night, Beau,” she said.
Saturday morning, Izzy stayed in bed longer than usual. It wasn’t that she’d slept all that late—she was wide-awake by eight. But at 9:30, she was still in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Because the thing was, when she went downstairs, she’d have to face Beau.
Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought. Maybe she hadn’t actually rested her head on his chest. Maybe she hadn’t enjoyed his arms around her quite so obviously. Maybe she hadn’t wished…
Ugh. She pulled the covers over her face and then winced. Just that small motion made her arms hurt. Maybe that was her excuse to stay in bed forever?
Finally, she forced herself to get up. She had to go down to the kitchen, get coffee, pretend everything was normal. Except she and Beau had decided to work in the library this morning. Oh no.
She gave herself a stern talking-to once she got in the shower.
“Look, Isabelle. It’s normal that you feel like you’re getting close to Beau—you’re living in the same house with him, you’re working closely together, you even eat dinner together. But he’s obviously not interested in you, you’re not at all his type, you know that! He dates models and actresses, remember? He’s not your type EITHER! You, unlike Priya, do not like big, brawny guys! It’s just that he’s the only man you’ve really interacted with in person for weeks, and your silly brain has latched on to him! You need to take a step back from all this! From him!”
“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?” she heard a tiny voice from the bathtub say as she turned off the shower.
“Yes, I’m sure!” she snapped. Oh no. She was talking to inanimate objects again. She had to stop that.
When she finally got down to the kitchen, Beau was there, sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and…
“Ooh, are those cinnamon rolls?” she asked.
He grinned at her and gestured to the top of the stove. “There are more over there. They might need more frosting, though.”
She looked at the pan on top of the stove, at the buns slathered in frosting, and laughed. “I’m not sure if that’s possible.”
He looked at her, and their eyes met. They both smiled.