39. Eloise
39
ELOISE
I’ve barely set my bag down on the kitchen counter when a knock sounds on the front door, startling me. My heart skips a beat as I glance at the clock. It’s early still, the morning sun just starting to peek through the blinds. Margot and Vivie are both still asleep, the house quiet and still.
Frowning, I pad over to the door, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. I’m still in my clothes from last night, rumpled from the drive home. My hair is a tangled mess, and I’m sure I look like I’ve been fucked seven ways from Sunday.
Which would be true.
I’m sore in places I didn’t know I could get sore.
I peek through the peephole, my heart skittering in my chest when I see Beau standing on my front porch. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders and a pair of worn jeans that hug his muscular thighs. His hair is tousled, like he hasn’t touched it since I ran my fingers through it all night.
In his hands, he holds a pink box that I instantly recognize as donuts.
My heart flutters in my chest as I unlock the door and pull it open. “Beau,” I breathe, a smile already tugging at my lips. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I was in the neighborhood?” He grins, that devastating dimple flashing.
I laugh even as my heart skips a beat. “Not for a second.”
He holds up the box of donuts. “Thought you might be hungry after last night.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks at the memory of our night spent in the little cabin motel outside of Arbor Heights. The way his hands and mouth worshipped every inch of my body over and over again.
I step back, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”
Beau steps inside, his presence immediately filling the small entryway. He leans down and brushes a soft kiss against my lips, the simple touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Morning, Peach,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
I smile into the kiss, my hand coming up to rest on his chest. “How did you know where I live?”
He chuckles, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot. “I have my ways.”
I arch a brow, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. “Stalking me now, are you?”
Beau laughs, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Is it stalking if you like it?”
“You could’ve just asked me, you know, instead of resorting to your mysterious ways,” I tease.
“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be able to surprise you with these.” He wiggles the box, the donuts shifting around inside.
“You’re not playing fair,” I murmur, reaching for the sugary lifeline. I was going to settle for cereal for breakfast, but a donut sounds infinitely better.
“When it comes to you? Never.” He throws his arm over my shoulders and curls me into his chest.
I start thinking of it as his thing, the way he throws his arm around my shoulders like he’s been doing it for years. Like he belongs there.
Like I belong there. Tucked under his arm so perfectly.
“Come on, let’s go to the kitchen. My sisters should be up any minute, and Vivie’s a little bear when she’s hungry.”
Beau follows me down the hallway and into the kitchen, his arm still slung casually over my shoulders. His gaze sweeps the room, taking in the space with a quiet sort of appreciation.
The house is small, but it’s ours. The kitchen walls are painted a soft sage green, the counters a mix of original laminate and carefully chosen butcher block we installed ourselves. There’s a warmth to it—a lived-in charm—but suddenly, I can’t help noticing every imperfection.
The kitchen opens up into the living room, creating an open-concept space that makes the house feel larger than it is. Warm morning light streams in through the window over the sink, illuminating the room with a soft glow. The vintage fridge hums quietly in the corner, covered in an eclectic mix of magnets, photos, and Vivie’s drawings.
“I wondered what your house looked like,” Beau says, his voice genuine as his fingers lightly trace a pattern along my shoulder. “Feels like home.”
Heat crawls up my neck, part pride and part mortification. “Thanks. We did our best,” I say, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice. “Margot’s not one for a lot of home renovation projects.”
He glances down at me, his brows furrowing like I just said something absurd. “It’s perfect, Peach.”
The words are simple, but they send a warmth rushing through me. Still, my stomach twists when his gaze lands on the modular couch in the living room visible through the archway. The pillows are arranged neatly, the quilt draped just so, but there’s no hiding the fact that someone sleeps there.
The tension in my stomach bubbles, self-consciousness wrapping itself around me like a too-tight sweater.
“Coffee?” I ask, even though I’m already starting a fresh pot. I force myself to focus on brewing more coffee.
“Always.” He leans against the counter, watching me like he’s perfectly content to just exist in my space.
“How do you want it?” I push onto my tiptoes and reach for the mugs in the cabinet next to the sink.
His arm comes up behind me, his fingers brushing mine as he reaches for the chipped Mickey Mouse mug I found at a garage sale a few years ago. It reminded me of the one I had when I was younger, so I picked it up for five dollars.
“I’ll take it any way you wanna give it to me,” he murmurs in my ear.
My breath hitches at his words, desire stirring low in my belly despite the exhaustion from our long night. I turn my head, meeting his heated gaze. “Careful,” I murmur. “My sisters will be up any second.”
Beau chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest pressed against my back. “I can be quick.”
Margot’s footfalls give her away.
Beau steps back, placing the mugs on the counter in front of me just as Margot rounds the corner into the kitchen.
She’d be the first to go in a horror movie simply because that girl is incapable of moving quietly. She stops at the threshold of the kitchen, dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie, with her hair piled in a messy bun on the top of her head. Her eyes flick between us before a sly grin spreads across her face. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Her gaze shifts to me, eyebrows raised. “Or are you the cat in this situation?”
“Jesus, Margot.” I groan, pulling the coffeepot off the warmer. “It’s not even nine a.m.”
Margot shrugs, unbothered, and bounds into the room. Her eyes light up when they land on the pink box on the table. She tilts her head, grinning up at Beau with an air of appraisal, like she’s sizing him up. “Donuts are a nice touch,” she says, nodding approvingly.
Beau chuckles, ass leaning against the counter next to me. “I aim to please.”
“Did I hear donuts?” Vivie asks, voice thick with sleep. She trudges into the kitchen, rubbing one of her eyes.
Vivie stops short when she sees Beau, her eyes widening. She blinks a few times, like she’s not quite sure if she’s still dreaming. “Who are you?” she asks, accusation and curiosity in her tone.
My stomach twists, a sharp pang of guilt shooting through me. In all the excitement of seeing Beau on my front porch, I didn’t even think about how to introduce him to Vivie. She’s never seen me with a guy before, not like this. And now here he is, standing in our kitchen like he belongs there.
“Vivie, this is Beau. He brought donuts for us.”
Vivie looks from me to Beau to the pink box. “What kind of donuts?” she asks, like the answer is a deal-breaker.
Beau nods like he was expecting this question. “I wasn’t sure what your favorite was, so I got a little bit of everything.”
“Custard?” she asks, arching a brow.
“Custard, raspberry jelly, fried crullers, cinnamon twists, chocolate frosted cake, some long johns, even an apple fritter.”
Vivie’s eyes grow wider with every word. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “That’s like all the flavors.”
Beau flashes her a grin, his dimple appearing. “You’ll have to try them all and rank your favorites. I hear you guys are into that.”
Vivie’s wide eyes dart from Beau to the donut box and back again. “Okay, you can stay,” she declares with a decisive nod. She marches over to the table and flips open the lid of the box, her face lighting up when she sees the colorful array of donuts inside. “Oh my god, they all look so good!”
Margot snorts, sidling up next to Vivie and peering into the box. “He’s trying to buy his way into our hearts, Vivie. Stay strong.”
Margot reaches into the pink box and grabs a chocolate frosted donut, taking a large bite as she turns to leave the kitchen. “Mm, not bad,” she mumbles around a mouthful of sugary dough. “But it’s gonna take a helluva lot more than a jelly donut to win me over, Carter.” She tosses a wink over her shoulder at me before disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps echoing on the hardwood.
Vivie, meanwhile, is fully engrossed in the donut selection process. She hovers over the box, her face scrunched up in concentration as she mumbles over the selection.
I turn toward Beau just as someone pounds on the front door.
“Eloise! Open the damn door!”
My heart stops at the sound of my mother's voice, her fist pounding against the front door like a battering ram. Panic claws up my throat, choking me.
Oh god, why is she here? She never comes here. Not since?—
“Louie? What’s going on?” Vivie asks, her eyes wide and brows furrowed as she looks at me.
I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I set down the coffee mug with a jarring clatter. Anger is swift on the heels of fear. I wrap it around me like a fleece blanket, letting it warm me from the inside. I have an endless pit of anger when it comes to my mother, so it’s hard not to draw upon it. I just didn’t realize I needed to dig deep so soon.
“What’s going on, Peach?”
Oh god, I almost forgot that he was here. I turn to Beau, my heart pounding. “It’s fucking Darla,” I hiss, my voice barely above a whisper.
Beau’s brows furrow in concern. “Who’s Darla? Do you want me to handle it?”
God, I could kiss him for the offer.
The pounding on the door grows more insistent, my mother’s shrill, slurring voice echoing through the house. “Eloise, open this door right now or so help me god!”
Vivie shrinks back against the counter, her eyes wide and scared. And I hate my mother all over again for putting that fear in her eyes.
I force a smile and cross the room to my sister. I smooth her wild hair back off her face. “Don’t worry about it, Vivie. Beau’s going to help you rank the donuts while I go take care of that . . . neighbor, okay?”
Vivie nods, but I can see the uncertainty lingering in her eyes. I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile before turning to Beau. “I’ll be right back,” I murmur, my voice tight.
Beau searches my face, his jaw clenched with tension. After a beat, he nods, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. The tender gesture threatens to undo me completely.
“I’m right here when you need me, Peach,” he says softly, his voice firm with conviction.
Squaring my shoulders, I march out of the kitchen toward the front door, anger and dread swirling like a storm in my gut. I hesitate for just a second before yanking the door open.
Darla stands on the porch, her fist raised mid-pound. She blinks at me, surprise flickering across her face before it twists into a sneer. Her bleached blonde hair is a tangled mess, dark roots visible at the scalp. Her eyes are bloodshot and ringed with smudged black eyeliner. She reeks of cigarettes and stale booze.
“Where’s my fucking money, Eloise?”