Chapter 5
BECKHAM
Did she even still like fettuccini Alfredo?
I mean, she had to, right? It was the only dish I knew how to cook as a teenager, so naturally, when she’d come over and I could practically hear her stomach growling, I’d make it for her.
She always loved it, but now, as I stood at the stove stirring the homemade sauce, I realized maybe she only tolerated it because it was the only meal I was capable of not ruining.
I should’ve asked her before I’d run out of her room like I’d seen a ghost.
But I had seen a ghost.
I had convinced myself I’d never see her again.
I was certain of it. Not a chance in hell had I ever thought her father would pass and his funeral would be held in Bell Buckle and she’d come back.
Not only come back, but be willing to stay.
Although the verdict on that was still up in the air.
She’d admitted she wasn’t sure how long she was staying here, but that meant she had nowhere else to go.
Right? Or did she, and she had no deadline on returning?
These are the questions I should have asked, and yet when it came to Parker, my brain malfunctioned. Words went out the window and I couldn’t do so much as form a coherent thought in her presence.
I thought about her constantly, but when I saw her standing there earlier today?
Fuck, I think I was the one that went to heaven.
As if my thoughts called to her, I heard her door open at the end of the hall, followed by slow footsteps coming this way. I focused on stirring the sauce, as if that would disguise the fact that I was thinking about her only seconds ago.
Her steps came to a stop, and I looked over my shoulder to find her rubbing her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said, her voice slightly groggy. “Sorry.”
She was so fucking beautiful, standing there in an oversized T-shirt, black leggings, and fuzzy socks. She must’ve changed into them before her nap, if the wrinkles in the fabric were any indication.
I forced my eyes back to the stove, because otherwise, I’d stare at her all night and ruin the meal. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she was really here, standing in my house.
Pregnant.
“Don’t apologize. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you sit down?”
Feet shuffled behind me before a stool scraped across the floor.
“Where’d you go earlier?” she asked.
I grabbed the drained noodles from the colander in the sink and brought them over to add to the pot with the sauce. “Had to stock the fridge.”
“It wasn’t stocked before?”
I shook my head, tossing the noodles and Alfredo together. “Just for me.”
“You didn’t have to buy me food, Beckham.”
“You’re pregnant.” I opened the cabinet to grab two bowls, setting them on the counter before tugging on a heat-proof mitt and opening the oven.
I slid out the tray of garlic bread, placed it on the stove, and turned off the heat.
“I’m not going to make you shop for your own food here.
” I piled a hefty portion into a bowl, set a slice of bread on top, and slid it across the counter to her. “Parmesan?”
She blinked, like the question of whether she wanted cheese or not had taken her off guard. “Sure.” She shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts while I grabbed the block and began grating it above the bowl.
“Say when.”
Her lips parted and snapped shut twice before she said, “When.” Then her penetrating gaze landed on me, and I had to force myself to turn around to dish up my own bowl while somehow not dropping it all over the floor. “You don’t have to feed me.”
I shot a frown her way, setting my bread on top like I had hers. “Yes, I do.”
She started to shake her head, but I set my bowl on the counter, braced my hands on the edge, and said, “I want to feed you. Let me take care of you.”
She stared up at me, and I stared right back. If she wanted to battle, I’d battle, but I wasn’t giving in. The least I could do for her, especially after her father passed, was make her food.
As if the invisible string holding us in place had snapped, we both blinked, looking away.
I crossed to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water and a Dr. Pepper.
Closing the door, I walked back to my spot on the opposite side of the counter from Parker and set the water in front of her.
Then, I cracked the top on the soda and placed it beside her bottle.
“I wasn’t sure if you still liked them. It’s not from the gas station”—my hand came up to rub at the back of my neck—“but I figured a can could make up for it until you can get one.”
She zoned in on the soda, blinking like memories were flashing behind her eyes. They sure as hell were behind mine.
Growing up, after school, we’d stop at the corner gas station on the way home every day. She’d always grab a fresh Dr. Pepper from the machine, and I’d either go for an energy drink or a water.
“You remember the slushy machine they installed my sophomore year?” she asked, causing my bewildered gaze to snap to hers.
I’d expected her to stay silent and dig into her meal, not bring up the past. I wasn’t sure if there was any unsaid rule between us that said we shouldn’t bring up old memories, so I didn’t necessarily want to be the first to go down that lane.
“Yeah.” I chuckled. “It broke two days later. You got to try one Dr. Pepper slushy. The first time, you were too scared to interrupt your routine to try it. I finally talked you into it the next day.”
“More like you bullied me into it,” she corrected, a smile lighting up her eyes. “You and Reed were so mean about it, I had no choice but to fill my cup with that watered-down soda concoction.”
I arched a brow. “If I remember correctly, you ended up liking it.”
“Until the machine broke!” She let out a small laugh, and it hit me how much I missed her smile. “Then I had to force this narrative into my head that it was disgusting so I wouldn’t miss it.”
I shook my head, incredulous. “That’s a little insane, Park.”
Her mouth popped open, the corners still tilted up. “It was good!” She glanced at my water, condensation already building on the plastic. “I’m surprised you didn’t grab a beer. You were drinking them with dinner since before I can remember.”
My shoulders stiffened at the reminder, my tongue darting over my lips before I dropped my smile and picked up my fork. “I’m a changed man.”
Despite my focus dropping to the pasta, I could feel her studying me. I used to always be able to feel her eyes on me, and it seemed that never changed. Guess old habits did die hard.
“Who’s this new Beck?” she questioned, almost more so to herself.
But I answered anyway. “I don’t drink anymore.”
The air in the room shifted, turning from playful to serious in mere seconds.
She picked up her own utensil, twirling it in the noodles. “There a reason for that?”
“Sort of,” I offered, unsure how to put into words that I went on a bender I couldn’t even remember the duration of because at the time, I’d have rather lost myself in a bottle than face the reality of my best friend being gone.
“Want to share?” Her fork was growing more full of pasta with each spin, a bite far too large for her to take, but she didn’t seem to be paying attention to the food. Like I was the only thing she wanted to focus on.
I both loved and hated it, because if I got used to her being here, being real and right in front of me, I’d never want her to leave. Hell, I feared that was the case the moment I saw her at the funeral.
“Not really.”
A simple nod, and she was scraping the pasta along the side of the bowl so it fell off her fork. Then she twirled a single noodle onto it and stared like it was the most interesting piece of food she’d ever seen.
I’d deflated her. Killed the mood. I seemed to be real fucking good at that lately.
“Park, it’s not that I’m keeping anything from you—”
“You have no obligation to tell me anything. We’re…”
Her words trailed off, but I knew what she was trying to say. The one thing that stood between us like a house fire, but neither of us had the heart to acknowledge. We’d both rather it burn us down in the process simply to avoid putting it into words.
“Not what we used to be,” I filled in.
She nodded, and after a few strained seconds of silence, we began eating.
I remained standing on the opposite side of the counter, not trusting myself to sit beside her and not want to inch closer to her.
To purposefully knock my elbow against hers or brush my knee along her thigh.
She didn’t need complicated right now, and well… I was complicated.
“So, what are you doing for work?” she asked after finishing her bite of garlic bread.
“Right now I’m helping Wyatt at his mechanic shop. Other than that, I’m working here and there on my parents’ ranch.”
“No more rodeo?”
I forced a breath. Forced the next words, too. “No more rodeo.”
She was quiet, like she expected me to go on. For her sake, for not feeling like I was hiding everything, I did. “It was time to call it quits. It’s dangerous, you know? I was lucky I got out with minimal injuries. Not everyone can say the same.”
Instantly, my throat tightened. I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut, because she noticed the strain in my words and lifted her gaze to the side of my face.
I swallowed. Quietly tried to clear my throat. Sipped some water. “What about you? Any plans to go back to traveling and working on ranches after the baby comes?”
“Not really, no.” She set her fork down, the metal clanking against the ceramic bowl. “I was making money off social media for a bit, but I need something more stable.”
I finished the bite I’d taken while she spoke. “Like an influencer?”
She shrugged. Nodded. “Yeah. I post a lot about the western lifestyle and collab with brands. They pay me in return.”
I smirked, finally mustering the courage to look at her again.
The tiny freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose seemed heightened under the golden glow of my kitchen lights.
Her blonde curls were frizzy, likely from her nap, but that only made her more beautiful.
More real. Like I could finally let go of being scared to blink for fear she’d disappear.
“So you’ve got fans, huh?” I teased.
She laughed, and I think my heart skipped a beat. “Something like that.”
Her eyes met mine, and we both froze. She searched my face, like she, too, was realizing I was actually here. In the flesh and in her presence.
It was fucking surreal, if I was being honest. Like being given a second chance after you’d accepted there was no hope.
“What?” Her voice was breathy.
I shook my head, my chest warming. But still, I couldn’t look away from her. “I just never thought I’d hear that sound again.”
Those soft cheeks of hers tinged pink, and it was like the world stopped moving.
Parker Summerhill was back in Bell Buckle.
And I was going to find a way to keep her.