12. Chapter Eleven #2
The conversation flows easily, touching on everything from the town's history to Beau's favorite hiking trails. He's more talkative than I've ever seen him, and I realize this might be the most I've heard him speak at one time.
When the food arrives, I understand why people make pilgrimages for Sarah's cooking.
The mac and cheese is a masterpiece—perfectly cooked pasta in a sauce that's creamy and rich and has just enough kick from the green chilis to make my lips tingle.
The chorizo adds a smoky depth that pairs beautifully with the cheese, and the sourdough bread is warm and crusty and perfect for soaking up every last bit of sauce.
"This is insanely good," I say around a mouthful of pure heaven.
"Better than anything in the city?" Beau asks, and there's something almost vulnerable in the question.
I think about all the trendy restaurants Riley used to drag me to, places where the portions were tiny and the atmosphere was cold and I always felt like I was being judged.
"It's not even close," I say honestly. "This feels... real. Like food that's made with love instead of pretension."
Beau's expression softens. "Stone River's good at real things."
"I'm starting to notice that."
I watch Beau's hands as he breaks apart his bread, the careful way he tastes his food, how he seems to savor every bite.
There's something deeply satisfying about watching him eat, like witnessing someone who treasures moments like these.
"It's not just the food, though." I gesture around the warm space. "It's this place. This town. The way everyone seems to know everyone, but not in a judgmental way. In a caring way."
Beau shifts uncomfortably on his seat, swirling his wine with a hand that looks too big, too hardened for such a delicate swish of the wrist.
"I know. Took me a while to get used to it when I first arrived. I was used to anonymity."
"But now?"
"Now..." I can see him considering his words carefully. "Well, some days are harder than others. I can sit in a restaurant without wanting to bolt for the door. Most of the time."
I study his face, noting how he's not quite meeting my eyes. "Just most of the time?"
"Maybe I tolerate it better," he admits grudgingly. "When I'm not being ambushed by knitting committees."
"What about right now?" I ask, nudging his knee under the table. "How do you feel right now?"
He finally looks at me. "Right now? Some things make it easier."
The way he says it, the weight behind those words, makes my chest tight. He's not talking about the town or the restaurant.
He's talking about me.
After lunch, we walk slowly back to the truck, and I'm reluctant for this perfect day to end. The afternoon sun is warm on my face, and Beau's hand is warm in mine, and I feel like I'm floating on a cloud of green chili mac and cheese and pure happiness.
We're almost to the truck when Beau suddenly stops, tugging gently on my hand.
"Let's just go this way for a minute," he says, nodding toward a small storefront with " Mountain Electronics " painted on the window.
"Why are we going in there?" I ask, confused.
"You'll see."
The store is small but surprisingly well-stocked for an isolated mountain community that doesn't look like it's set up for the modern world.
I follow Beau, past the latest phones, the sleekest laptops and tablets, all of them displayed behind glass cases. A young guy with hipster glasses and a carefully groomed beard approaches us immediately.
"Hey, man. What can I do for you?"
"Need a phone," Beau says grumpily. "Top of the line. Whatever's newest and in stock."
I look around confused, wondering why we're here. Does his phone not work? It seemed fine when Mountain Rescue called last night.
"Looking to upgrade?" The young guy asks, pulling out a sleek display model. "This one just came in yesterday. Brand new. All the latest features."
"Not for me," Beau says, his eyes finding mine. "For her."
My eyes widen. "Beau, no. You don't need to—"
"You said you threw your phone out the window. Few days ago, when your car broke down."
I stare at him, completely speechless.
He remembered that? A throwaway comment I made in Betty's café when I was having a complete breakdown?
"I can't let you buy me a phone," I protest. "They're expensive, and I don't even know how I'd pay you back—"
"It's a gift," he says firmly. "No paying back required."
His voice is so matter-of-fact, right to the point as if this is a completely normal thing to do.
"But—"
"Molly." His voice is gentle but brooking no argument. "Let me do this."
The guy behind the counter is watching our exchange with delight, like he's witnessing the most romantic thing he's ever seen.
"You'd be getting the newest iPhone," he offers helpfully. "Just came in yesterday. All the bells and whistles."
My mouth opens as I try to argue, but thirty minutes later, I'm walking out of the store with a brand new phone. It's sleek and beautiful and completely unnecessary, and I can't stop staring at it.
"This is too much," I say for the hundredth time as Beau snatches it from my grasp and programs his number into my contacts.
"It's a phone," he says dismissively. "Everyone needs a phone."
"Not everyone needs a phone that can run NASA. One of the older ones would have been fine, Beau."
He snorts, a sound that might be laughter. "Not for you it wouldn't."
I watch as he types on the screen, and I notice he's not just adding his number to my contacts. He's in the phone emergency settings, setting the 'ICE' call information.
"Um. Did you just make yourself my emergency contact?" I ask, reading over his shoulder.
For a second, he almost looks almost embarrassed. But then he just shrugs and hands the phone back to me. "Yeah. I mean, if that's... if you don't want—"
"I want," I say quickly, surprised by how much I mean it. "I definitely want."
Our eyes meet, and I feel my heart kick it up a notch. Who wouldn't want this man to be the person they called in their moment of need?
"Good," he says quietly. "And look at it this way. At least now with this new hone, when I drop you off tonight, I'll still be able to talk to you."
Drop me off? Shit. Back to Sienna's house. Back to being a guest in someone else's life, back to the reality that this perfect day has to end eventually.
But maybe…
Maybe it doesn't have to end yet.
"What if," I say, surprising myself with my boldness, "I don't want to be dropped off?"
Beau goes very still. "What do you mean?"
"I mean maybe I want to see where you live. Your cabin. Your world." My heart is hammering against my ribs, but I force myself to meet his eyes. "You've shown me around the entire town, Beau. But there's still one place I'm yet to see."
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Then, Beau swallows thickly and looks into my eyes.
"Molly," he says finally, his voice rough. "If you come up to my cabin..."
"Yes?" I step closer, letting my breath touch his lips.
"I'm not going to want to let you leave."
The honesty in his voice, the raw need I hear there, makes something hot and desperate unfurl in my chest.
I bat my lashes and swipe my tongue over my lips. "And what if I don't want to leave?"
His eyes darken, and when he looks at me, I feel like he's seeing straight through to my soul.
"Then get in the truck."