Chapter 26 – Beau
Chapter Twenty-Six
Beau
The elevator dings open, and there’s Alise.
For half a second, it’s like I’ve stepped into a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.
It’s one of my favorites, playing on repeat in my mind since she asked for space, the one where she’s mine and I don’t have to pretend that seeing her doesn’t hit me like a slap and a prayer at the same time.
Her arms are crossed, leaning against the wall outside my condo like she’s part of the building—if the building had curves and smelled like vanilla and trouble.
And God, I’ve missed that smell. I’ve missed her.
Weeks of wanting, needing, to just be near her.
Weeks of pretending I don’t feel like half a man when she’s not around.
I almost told Cole the truth today, almost let it spill out how she’s the only thing that feels real anymore, but I didn’t because once I say it out loud, I can’t take it back.
Her eyes catch mine like they’ve been waiting for me, like she didn’t just stop by, but she needed to see me. And maybe I’m desperate enough to imagine her need where there’s only convenience, but right now, none of that matters because she’s here.
My heart stutters, then slams hard enough into my ribs that I swear she can hear it. I should say something real, like I’ve missed you or You’ve been in my head every damn day, but those words are too raw, too dangerous, especially after my recent conversation with Cole.
So, I do what I always do: smile before I can stop it and go for the joke, which is much safer than the truth. “If you’re auditioning for a hallway cryptid, you’re crushing it.”
“Extenuating circumstances.” She lifts a brow, unbothered and effortlessly in control, but I see the tension in her jaw.
“You remember where the spare key is, right?”
“I do.”
“Yet here you are, loitering like someone trying not to look like they’re loitering.”
She smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She doesn’t answer, just pushes off the wall and slips past me when I unlock the door.
Her arm grazes mine, soft and warm, and the contact sparks straight through me.
It’s something casual, a normal brush of the skin, but it short-circuits every rational thought in my head.
“You weren’t supposed to be home for another ten minutes,” she says as she toes off her shoes like this is something we do every day.
“You timing my elevator rides now? Creepy.” I shut the door behind us, slower than I need to.
“I was going to Ramona’s.” Her voice is breezy, but her fingers toy with the hem of her shirt like she’s wound too tight to play it cool. “She had a flash of inspiration for the reception table layout a few days ago. I wanted a buffer before she ropes me into another rhinestone debate.”
“Ah, so obviously, you detoured to harass me.”
She shrugs, fingers skimming the edge of the counter like she’s trying to ground herself. “Also, to remind you about the tux fitting in two weeks. Don’t make me chase you down.”
I step closer, not enough to crowd her, just enough to feel the pull tighten between us.
“You came all the way here to remind me about something on my calendar two weeks from now?”
She meets my gaze, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “You forgot last time.”
“Once. And it was a Zoom call. You act like I ghosted a kidney transplant.”
Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, grateful for the distraction.
Under the joking and banter, the air feels charged with something I can’t name.
Alise isn’t fidgeting, but she’s not still, either.
There’s a hum in her body, a tension she keeps shifting from side to side as if motion alone could hold back the words she won’t give voice to.
I’m aching to close the space between us, to tip my forehead against hers and tell her I haven’t slept right in weeks because every time I close my eyes, all I see is her. Her laugh. Her scent. The way she used to look at me like I was something more than a man learning to keep it together.
We stand there, a breath apart, pretending this is normal.
Pretending I’m not acutely aware of the way her hair’s falling into her face or how the heat of her skin still lingers on my arm.
I don’t touch her, but I want to. I want to run my fingers along the apple of her cheek, letting them linger there as she nuzzles into me.
I want to say her name in the dark, just to feel how it tastes in a moment that finally doesn’t require pretending.
I want to kiss her so hard she forgets why she ever tried to stay away.
But I just lift an eyebrow and smirk. “So what’s the real reason?”
“What?”
“You didn’t just stop by for calendar management, Alise.”
There’s a beat where everything holds its breath.
Her lips part like she’s going to deny it and throw out one more excuse we can both pretend to believe, but nothing comes out.
And in the silence, everything we’ve been avoiding presses in.
Her hurt, my longing, and all the moments we never let ourselves have.
She’s standing in my kitchen like she doesn’t know whether to run or beg me to keep her here, and I’ve never wanted anything more than to close the distance and make her choose me.
But I don’t move, not yet. I promised her time, and I’m going to do my damndest to give that to her, even if it’s killing me inside.
Alise looks away first, blinking like she needs to shake it off or she’ll say something she can’t take back.
Her fingers skim the edge of the counter again, but this time, she doesn’t stop.
Instead, she walks past me, slow and aimless, like she’s trying to create distance between me and her feelings before stopping in front of the bookshelf.
My eyes focus on her fingertips as she trails them along the edge of the bookshelf, the same way she touched the counter, like she needs something solid to hold on to, and then her hand stills.
“Beau,” she breathes, her body freezing in place. “This just came out.”
I glance at the cover in her hand, Our Vicious Oaths. N.E. Davenport is her favorite, and she’s been waiting for this book to release for months.
“I ordered it a few weeks ago,” I say, trying to keep it casual, like I haven’t memorized every little thing that matters to her. “Figured you’d want something to read next time you crash here while I’m on the console.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes it and then opens it again.
“You don’t even like her.” She presses the book to her chest like it’s something precious, and she isn’t used to someone seeing her the way I do.
“No, but you do.”
“You bought it… for me.”
“It belongs on that shelf. It’s the same one you always reach for when you drop your purse, grab a blanket, and curl up like that corner of the couch was custom-made for you”.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and unguarded, as if I pulled something raw out of her without asking.
“Beau…”
My name in her voice does something to me.
My chest tightens, making it harder to breathe.
A part of me aching for weeks leans forward, desperate and stupid with want, but there’s something in her gaze that stops me.
Alise looks confused, like she doesn’t know what to do with the way I see her.
It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“You remembered the exact release date.”
“I’m thoughtful like that.” I shrug, going for nonchalant.
“You’re trouble,” she mutters, cheeks flushed as she presses the book tighter to her chest.
“And you like it.”
Her eyes drop like she can’t look at me too long without coming undone. “I do not.”
“Alise…”
She turns just as I step in, and now we’re toe to toe, breath to breath. The air between us shifts, alive with the ache of everything we haven’t said. Her breath hitches when she realizes how close we are. We’re drowning in it now, in everything we haven’t said and tried to keep buried.
“You really came here just to remind me about the fitting?”
“Maybe I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she whispers so low I almost miss it, and it hits me like a punch to the ribs.
“I’m fine.”
“You’d say that even if you weren’t.”
“True, but I mean it.”
She nods, but I can see it in her eyes that she’s not ready to believe me, hugging the book tighter as she turns toward the door.
“I should go. Ramona’s waiting.”
“You could stay. I’ve got ten minutes and the worst shootout mode in history cued up.”
I follow her slowly and reluctantly. I don’t want her to go, not when it finally feels like we’re on the edge of something real.
“Tempting. But if I stay, I’ll get crumbs on your sofa, and you’ll complain.”
“I never complain when you’re here.”
That makes her stop a half-step from the door, the words hooking into something she wasn’t guarding.
“You should stop saying stuff like that,” she says, quieter now. “I might start believing you mean it.”
“I do.” I take a step forward, slow and certain.
Her eyes meet mine, shining with something she doesn’t want me to see but doesn’t know how to hide.
It’s devastating the way she looks at me.
It’s as if she’s one heartbeat away from shattering, and I’m the only person who’s ever noticed.
She tries to cover the crack in her armor with a smirk, the kind of teasing jab that’s safer than admitting the truth.
She copies my tone, soft and mock-serious, as if daring me and herself to go there.
“Yes, Daddy,” she mutters, the smirk in her voice cracking at the edges.
I step in again, close enough to feel the heat rolling off her in waves. Close enough to ruin everything as my mouth finds her ear, voice rough and full of every ounce of want I’ve tried to swallow down since I saw her standing at my door.
“Don’t call me Daddy unless you’re ready to be my good girl.”
Her breath catches like she wasn’t ready for my response, but she likes it. I know based on the way her whole body stills, it’s not retreat—it’s anticipation.