Chapter 21
Fable
Happy Birthday to you . . .
“Cowgirl?”
There was a knock at the bathroom door, and I turned off the sink, wiping my hands and then running them through my hair.
It wasn’t just embarrassment—it was the deep, sinking kind, the kind that made my skin feel like I needed to claw my way out of my own body just to escape it.
I hated that this was my first reaction. Running. Hiding. Standing over the sink, scrubbing at my hands like I could wash the embarrassment off me. It never made me feel better.
I wished I could just laugh it off. Like Harleigh would. Like any of the guys out there probably would. Instead, I stood over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, cheeks burning as I replayed it all in my head. The noise, the stares, the damn mashed potatoes—God.
A soft knock pulled me back.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
I took a slow breath, straightened my shoulders, and forced a brave face. No big deal. Just some mashed potatoes and a bruised ego. I could shake it off.
Cracking open the door, I tried to keep my voice even. “I’m fine, I just need a second. The mashed pota—”
The door swung open wider before I could finish, and suddenly, he was right there.
Beau stood in the doorway, eyes raking over every inch of me. His expression was intimate, the kind of look that could unravel me in seconds, but beneath it, I saw something else. Concern. Genuine, real concern.
And . . . that almost did me in.
My past told me that people didn’t care. Not really. Not enough to come check on me. Not enough to stand by me and make sure I wasn’t falling apart.
“Are you okay?” His gaze dropped, and before I could figure out why, he pointed toward my hands.
I followed his line of sight and realized they were still hovering near the sink, fingers clenched tight and bright red from scrubbing. I tucked them away, pressing them against my sides.
“I-I just hate being dirty and the potatoes and—” I bit back the rest of the sentence. God, I sounded ridiculous.
“I get it.” No teasing. No judgment. Just quiet understanding. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pull you like that. I was just messing around.”
I let out a shaky breath, my muscles slowly unwinding.
“That was flirting, and it has to stop.”
Beau’s lips twitched. “Hey now, that wasn’t me flirting—that was my foot. Can’t control the damn thing sometimes.”
A startled laugh escaped me before I could stop it, and like that, the tension cracked.
Before I could say anything else, Harleigh rounded the corner and practically shoved Beau out of the way.
“You okay? What happened? You choked?” She grabbed my hands, inspecting the redness on them as her eyes flicked over her shoulder at Beau, narrowing slightly. “I’ve got this,” she snapped at him.
Beau didn’t move. He just shook his head, completely unfazed. “I think I’ll stay to make sure she’s okay—if that’s alright with Fable.”
Harleigh’s sharp gaze snapped to mine, her head cocking in silent question.
I hesitated for half a second before nodding. “I’m fine, truly.” I swallowed, forcing a casual shrug. “I, uh, tripped on Beau’s foot and then swallowed wrong.”
Harleigh frowned, but I shook it off.
Not because Beau was still standing there. If anything, his presence steadied me. He was a comfort, even if I didn’t quite understand why.
I glanced behind me as Harleigh fussed over me, checking my hands and brushing at my clothes. I barely registered her voice, too aware of the way Beau was still watching me.
His gaze softened, a flicker of something indiscernible crossing his face. His eyes stayed on me, dragging slowly over every inch. He stood against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest.
My pulse jumped. I was locked in place under his gaze, my breath shallow and uneven.
He pushed off the wall, exhaling slowly.
“Roger’s got pie out,” he said casually. Like he hadn’t just stripped me bare with a single look.
I exhaled, nodding as I latched onto Harleigh’s elbow. “Come on, let’s go get some dessert.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked as I used my hip to push her out of the door and walk back down the hall toward the dining table.
“It’s just a silly misunderstanding.” I tried to brush it off.
Harleigh linked hands with me, guiding me back to the table, but it was impossible to ignore the way Beau’s gaze stayed locked on mine. Even as I sat down. Even as I eased myself back into the conversation.
Even as his foot tapped mine under the table—a reminder that he was still there.