Chapter 15 Bea #2
"Yep." He doesn't look bothered. "Small towns, sweetheart. Someone probably saw us making dinner reservations and told everyone within a five-mile radius."
"This is a nightmare."
"Or," he counters, crossing to me, "it's everyone being excited for you. For us."
"They think we're—" I gesture vaguely. "Together. Like, officially."
"Aren't we?" His voice is gentle. "I mean, we're courting you. Formally. As a pack. That's kind of the whole point."
My heart does this weird flutter-thump thing. "But we haven't—I haven't said—"
"You don't have to say anything yet." He touches my chin, tilting my face up. "Tonight is just dinner. Getting to know each other as a group instead of individually. No pressure. No expectations. Just... us."
"What if it's weird?"
"Then it's weird." He shrugs. "We'll figure it out. But Bea, you can't avoid this forever. And honestly? I don't think you want to."
He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is.
"Fine," I mutter. "But if Mrs. Woodbury shows up at the restaurant with her book club—"
"I'll personally escort them out." He's grinning now. "Now come on. We've got work to do, and you've got approximately four hours to overthink everything before Seth shows up for lunch."
"What do you mean Seth shows up for lunch?"
River's grin widens. "He texted me this morning. Very nervously asked if it was okay if he took you to lunch. I said yes."
"You—you coordinated with each other?"
"We're a pack, sweetheart. Of course we coordinate." He heads toward the stockroom, calling over his shoulder. "Besides, Seth needs the practice before tonight. He's probably already stress-organizing his tie collection."
Despite everything, I laugh. Because of course Seth is stress-organizing. Of course they're coordinating. Of course this is happening.
And maybe—just maybe—I'm starting to be okay with that.
Seth shows up at noon exactly, looking nervous and endearing in his deputy uniform.
"Hi," he says, like he hasn't seen me in weeks instead of yesterday.
"Hi yourself."
"I, uh—" He clears his throat. "I thought maybe we could grab lunch? If you're not too busy. Or if you want to. No pressure. But I made a reservation at Millie's just in case, but if you'd rather go somewhere else, or if you're not hungry, or—"
"Seth." I touch his arm. "Breathe."
He does. "Right. Breathing. I can do that."
"Lunch sounds great," I tell him, and watch his whole face light up.
River watches us leave with a knowing smile, and I flip him off behind Seth's back. He just grins wider.
Millie's Diner is packed, as usual for lunch hour. We snag a booth in the back and Seth immediately starts fidgeting with the menu.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Fine. Great. Totally not panicking about tonight." He sets the menu down with too much force. "Okay, I'm definitely panicking about tonight."
"Why?"
"What if I say something stupid? What if I embarrass myself in front of you and Grayson and River? What if—" He stops himself. "Sorry. I'm spiraling."
"You're allowed to spiral." I reach across the table, covering his hand with mine. "I'm spiraling too."
That seems to help. His shoulders drop, and he turns his hand over to lace our fingers together.
"Really?"
"Really. I've been a mess since I woke up." I lower my voice. "Ben could smell my anxiety through my bedroom door this morning. It was mortifying."
Seth's laugh is startled and genuine. "At least you have a good excuse. I don't even have that. I'm just... nervous."
"About tonight?"
"About everything." He squeezes my hand.
"About whether I'm good enough. Whether I can be what you need.
Whether—" He stops again, looking down at our joined hands.
"I really like you, Bea. And I keep waiting for you to realize I'm just this anxious mess who can't get through a conversation without overthinking every word. "
My chest aches. "Seth, that's literally what I like about you."
He looks up, surprised.
"You're thoughtful," I continue. "You care. You don't just barrel through things assuming everything will work out. You think about consequences and feelings and how your actions affect other people." I squeeze his hand back. "That's not a flaw. That's a strength."
"Even when I'm catastrophizing about dinner?"
"Especially then. Because it means tonight matters to you. We matter to you."
His eyes go soft. "You really do."
Millie appears with waters and a knowing look. "You two are adorable. What can I get you?"
We order BLTs for both of us and fall into easier conversation. Seth tells me about a call he responded to this morning involving Mrs. Henderson's cat getting stuck in a tree for the third time this month.
"She keeps leaving her window open," he says. "And Mr. Whiskers keeps climbing out and immediately regretting his life choices."
"Mr. Whiskers needs better decision-making skills."
"Mr. Whiskers needs a therapist." He grins. "But I'm getting very good at cat rescue, so there's that."
"Very important deputy skills."
"Essential." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, casual and intimate at once. "What about you? How was your morning?"
"Mortifying. Ben heard the gossip about the formal courting and gave me endless amounts of grief about it. Also apparently the entire town knows we're having dinner tonight."
"Yeah, I heard about that too." He doesn't look bothered. "Sheriff mentioned it this morning. Said it was 'about damn time' one of us 'got our head out of our ass.' His words, not mine."
"The sheriff knows?"
"The sheriff knows everything. It's his job." Seth's smile turns softer.
"I'm going to die of embarrassment before we even make it to dessert."
"No you're not. We're just... figuring this out together."
The sandwiches arrive, and we eat. But I can't stop thinking about what he said. We're figuring this out together.
Not him figuring it out. Not me figuring it out. We.
"Tell me something," he say after a few minutes.
"Like what?"
"Anything. Something I don't know yet." He takes a bite, watching me with those warm brown eyes. "We've kissed and held hands and you've met my anxious disaster of a brain, but I still feel like I'm learning new things about you every day."
I consider. "I wanted to be a marine biologist when I was ten."
His eyebrows rise. "Really?"
"Obsessed with dolphins. Had posters all over my room. Drove my parents crazy talking about echolocation and pod dynamics."
"What changed?"
"I realized I'd have to spend a lot of time on boats. I get seasick." I shrug. "So marketing it was."
He laughs—genuine and delighted. "That's very practical of you."
"What about you? Did you always want to be a deputy?"
His expression shifts, going more serious. "Not always. For a while I thought I'd go into crisis counseling. But then I realized I could help people more directly in law enforcement. Be there in the moment when they need someone."
"That fits you," I tell him. "The helping people part."
"Yeah?" He looks pleased. "River said I have a savior complex."
"You kind of do. But in a good way."
We eat and talk, and it's easy. Natural. The kind of comfortable conversation where you lose track of time because you're so focused on the other person.
When he walks me back to the hardware store, he stops just outside the door.
"Thank you for lunch," he says.
"You paid."
"Thank you for letting me pay for lunch. And for holding my hand. And for—" He touches his lips, that shy smile appearing. "For the kisses."
"Anytime, Deputy."
He leans down and kisses me one more time. Slow and sweet and perfect. When he pulls back, he's grinning.
"See you tonight."
"I'll be there."
"I know." His hand finds mine one last time, squeezes.
Then he's gone, heading back toward the station, and I stand there watching him go, still feeling the warmth of his kiss on my lips.
The afternoon drags on forever and also passes too quickly.
When I walk back into the hardware store, River immediately notices my kiss-swollen lips and Seth's satisfied expression still lingering on my face.
"Good lunch?" he asks, not bothering to hide his amusement.
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it very loudly."
He grins. "How's Seth doing? Still panicking about tonight?"
"A little. He's very sweet when he's nervous."
"He's very sweet always," River corrects. "But yeah, dinner has him in knots. He texted the group chat three times this morning asking about tie colors."
I laugh despite myself. "What did you tell him?"
"That he'd look good in anything and to stop overthinking." River hands me a clipboard with inventory notes. "Same thing I'm telling you."
"I'm not overthinking."
"Bea. You've reorganized the plumbing display twice since lunch."
"It needed organizing."
"It was already organized." But his voice is gentle. "Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful, chaotic brain?"
I set the clipboard down with more force than necessary. "What if this is a mistake?"
His smile fades. "Do you think it's a mistake?"
"I don't know." The honesty feels raw. "Yesterday with Grayson was... it was amazing. And lunch with Seth was perfect. And you and I—" I gesture vaguely. "But together? All four of us? What if it's weird? What if we can't make it work?"
"Then we figure it out." River's voice is steady. Calm. "Bea, no one expects you to have all the answers tonight. We're just... having dinner. Getting to know each other as a group instead of just pairs."
"But everyone will see."
"Good." He reaches out, tucking hair behind my ear. "Let them see. I'm not ashamed of wanting you. None of us are."
"What if I mess it up?"
"Then we'll unmess it." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "You keep acting like there's some perfect way to do this. There isn't. We're all making it up as we go."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's honest." He drops his hand but doesn't step back. "Look, I get it. This is scary. It's new. You've been burned before. But Bea—we're not him. We're not going to trap you or control you or make you choose between us and your dreams."
My throat feels tight. "How do you know that?"
"Because we've spent weeks watching you bloom at this job. Seeing you get excited about marketing strategies. Hearing you talk about starting your own business someday." His voice softens. "Why would we want to dim that light? That's the best part of you."
"River—"
"Seven o'clock," he says gently. "Bella Notte. We'll eat pasta, drink wine, probably make some awkward small talk. And then we'll see where it goes. No pressure. No expectations. Just... us."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Good." He presses a quick kiss to my forehead—tender and sweet—then heads back to help a customer.
And I'm left standing there, realizing that I don't want to run.
For the first time in a long time, I actually want to stay.