“Yeah, for the Chestnut Springs Herald. Did it for all my other kids. You two aren’t getting off scot-free. Plus, it’ll keep all the lady callers of Beau’s away if we get it out there. Some of them are relentless.”
“What?” Beau sounds genuinely confused.
He waves a casual hand. “Ah, yeah. I can’t even go to the grocery store without some woman walking up and inquiring about you like I’m a pimp or something.”
I bristle, shimmying my shoulders taller. I shouldn’t care—I don’t care—it just seems rude that Harvey can’t even get his food in peace.
Sloane’s mom, Cordelia, pats his hand, giving him an amused look. “Harvey, I think that’s enough for one night.”
Somehow, that changes the entire vibe at the table. It’s like everyone’s attention latches onto that one motion. Her hand on his. His eyes on hers. The way he takes her hand, turns it over and links his fingers with hers. I watch the sentimental way he squeezes her hand, an expression of pure adoration on his face.
Then their eyes snap up.
Then they pull their hands back and scoot away from each other.
The table instantly becomes awkward.
Now, I wonder if this is what it was like watching Beau and me staring at each other.
“I got new shoes,” Beau announces, attempting to grab everyone’s attention. “Bailey took me shoe shopping. Ditched the dorky white runners. Got some black runners, suede sneakers, even a pair of leather boots.”
No one talks, wide eyes still moving around the table. Harvey’s ears have turned pink, and he’s gulping water down as though that might save him from having to talk right now.
“New socks are making all the difference. Got some of these double-lined ones to reduce friction and a super thin wool pair. See?” He stretches a foot out toward the end of the table, but his monologue about shoes and socks is barely registering. “Come onnnnn.”
I think it’s sweet how he’s trying to save his dad from this moment. For a guy who wanted his family to stop paying him so much attention, he sure is happy to throw himself center stage.
Beau crosses his arms and gazes away from everyone dramatically. “Why is no one asking me how fast I can run in my new shoes? Being an adult sucks.”
And it’s Luke who comes to his rescue, drawing a few chuckles. “I’ll race you, Uncle Beau!”
“Do you really think my dad is hooking up with my dead mom’s little sister?”
It’s the first thing Beau says to me when I pull up beside him at his house and step out of my truck. We met at the main house for dinner and drove back separately.
“Yes.”
“But like … how?” He slams his door and rounds his truck, meeting me at the front grill of mine. His eyes are wide, and he looks … adorably naive.
“I—” My head quirks at him. “Well, I don’t have any first-hand experience with how it works, but I’ve done extensive video research. I think the basics are that he would put his—”
His hand covers my mouth. “Whatever you do, never finish that sentence. We’re talking about my dad.”
I laugh against his palm and nod my head.
When he removes his hand, I hold his gaze and shrug. “I think it’s nice he has someone.”
Beau scrubs at the back of his neck, clearly trying to work his brain around the familiar way Cordelia and Harvey had held hands at dinner.
“I guess. Kinda weird that it’s my mom’s sister.”
“Is it? Maybe it makes perfect sense it wouldn’t threaten her. Maybe it’s okay for your dad to still love her because they both love her? Or like,” I shrug. “Maybe it’s nice for them to have her in common?”
Beau winces. “She died a long time ago. It’s just weird. He’s never brought someone around. And he hasn’t told us anything.”
“It’s almost like you don’t need to tell your family every single thing that happens in your personal life, huh?”
He points at me and says, “Fair,” while walking closer.
I thought the heat coming from the front of my truck was uncomfortable to lean against, but the way Beau is stalking toward me has me pressing back against it like it’s the more comfortable option.
His black sneakers come almost close enough to stub my toes through the tips of my sandals.
“Nice shoes, soldier. They look fast.” I toss him a wink and cross my arms, trying to be casual.
Probably failing.
“They are.” His eyes assess me. “How’s the trailer treating ya?”