Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Beckett
Norma said I have nothing tying me down, no family or a spouse or kids. That my lifestyle is juvenile.
She said I should want to feel more complete. More fulfilled. Am I not complete as I am? Maybe I do need someone to complete me.
What does “future stability” even mean?
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I need to grow up. My clothes. My hair.
Am I living my life all wrong? Is there even a right way to live?
The words maybe I need to change bounce around in my head until I see red.
I hold Joey’s hands as she fills me in on her conversation with Norma, and when she’s done, she looks exhausted.
“Do you want that?” I ask a little too forcefully.
She sniffles. “Want what?”
“That life. The 2.5 kids, picket fence in the suburbs with a dog kind of life.”
With a scoff, she wipes at her eyes. “No. I don’t. Except for maybe the dog. That would be kind of nice.”
I angle in, trying to look her in the eye. “Do you want to change your style, your hair, your personality?”
A dry laugh escapes her. “Absolutely not. It’s just. . .”
“It’s just what?”
Finally, she meets my gaze and sighs. “I feel like she validated all my fears in a single conversation. That if I want to be accepted, if I want to be chosen, then something or everything about me needs to change. That I have to shove myself into a box that fits the supposed norm. No matter how uncomfortable it feels.”
I give her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Joey, your authenticity is something I envy and admire. You aren’t defined by anyone else’s standards, and you know what?
People light up when they’re around you.
They laugh when you tell a joke, their shoulders sink with relief when you show them kindness, and they smile brightly when you give them a compliment. ”
Frustration courses through me. I’m not mad at her, but at how shitty people can be.
“And if someone doesn’t like that, then fuck ’em. You can’t see it because you only see your flaws right now, but you have this energy that captivates people.”
Tears roll down her cheeks. “Do you mean all of that?” There’s a deep ache in her voice that spears me in the heart.
I cup her face and wipe at the tears, waiting to ensure she’s really listening before I say this next part.
“I mean every word.” I let out a slow breath.
“Never let anyone dictate how you feel about yourself or how you should live. How other people feel about you and what their perception is of you is not your burden to bear. Got it?”
“Got it.” Arms looped around my neck, she pulls me in for a hug. I hold her tight, ensuring there’s no space left between us, and bury my nose in her silky hair.
Her breath fans across my ear. “Thank you.”
“Always.” I place a kiss on her temple, letting my lips linger there for a bit before she pulls away.
In this moment, I know that no matter where our lives take us, I’ll always be on her team.
Standing, she wipes her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “Can I ask what we’re stress baking tonight?”
“Cookies.” I get up from my chair and make my way over to the fridge.
She brings the back of her wrist to her forehead, swooning playfully. “A man after my own heart. Put me to work, chef.”
I gather the eggs and butter and add them to the other ingredients I’ve already pulled out. “Technically, I’m a baker. Not a chef.”
“Eh. Semantics.” She comes up beside me, watching as I measure out ingredients. “What kind are we making?”
“Sugar cookies. Basic, but gets the job done.”
Joey rests her head against my shoulder as I carefully measure the ingredients. “Do we have sprinkles? The rainbow kind? I swear the artificial dyes add the best flavor. Maybe we could sprinkle the cookies with those.”
This close, when I tilt my head, I can easily count the freckles on her pink cheeks. I could get used to this. Used to us. Standing side by side, baking cookies in a tiny kitchen late at night.
The sparkle of appreciation in her eyes right now is enough to make my chest overflow with emotion.
Without a second thought, I cradle the side of her face and trace my thumb over the smooth curve of her cheek, savoring the warmth of her skin and searching her eyes for a hint that she feels the magnetic pull between us like I do.
I press my mouth to hers in a tender kiss that will forever linger in the back of my mind.
Her lips are smooth and plush, molding perfectly to mine as if they were made for kissing me and only me.
Pulling back slightly, I rest my forehead against hers, wanting to bottle this quiet, intimate moment up so I can enjoy it again later.
Her stomach grumbles, breaking the moment, and amusement floods me.
“Sorry, sorry.” She winces. “I haven’t eaten much today, and as soon as you said cookies, my stomach woke up.”
I nod to her usual seat at the island. “You sit. I’ll bake.”
“Can I make a request?” she asks once she’s in place, elbows on the counter and chin propped in her hands.
There’s a devious look in her eyes. A look that I don’t know whether to trust.
I plug the hand mixer in and set it on the counter. “I’m scared.”
“You should be. . .I mean shouldn’t be.”
“What’s the request?” I sigh.
“Could you bake like this in nothing but an apron?”
I fumble the sugar, tipping the bag over so the granules spill all over the quartz. I could have made a million guesses about what she’d ask, and I still wouldn’t have come close.
Dishrag in hand, I clean up my mess, trying to ignore the way my face heats. “I don’t have an apron.”
She breaks into a maniacal laugh. “I wouldn’t object to that.”
“Josephine,” I playfully warn, a smile twitching at my lips.
“Beckett,” she retorts, mimicking my tone. “I had a bad day. And I cried. Come on. I need a win.”
The rag falls to the counter as I survey her, getting lost in her eyes like I always do. I’m powerless against her. Time and again, she so effortlessly pulls me out of my shell. She makes me feel safe and free to be my true self.
A resigned sigh leaves my chest. “Fine. Just this once.” Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I pull it over my head.
She hums, her lips curling into a satisfied grin as she takes in the contours and ridges of my body. “Eh. We’ll see about that.”
I toss the shirt aside and reach for the button on my jeans, head shaking in amusement, knowing full well I’d give her anything she asked for.
All morning, I’ve been baking loaves of bread for my mom’s competitive gardening club. I’m not sure what makes it competitive, and frankly, I’m too afraid to ask.
Joey is helping, packaging up the last of the loaves now.
“Wanna come with me to drop these off?” I stack the boxes of sourdough. “I was going to stop by the shelter first and pick up a dog for the day. I figured it would be a good opportunity to get eyes on the pup and a good excuse to escape early.”
Joey rears back. “Uh. No way. I’m an absolute mess. Look at me!”
Several strands of hair have fallen out of her ponytail, lying limply against her navy blue sweatshirt—well, my navy blue sweatshirt—and she’s covered in flour.
“But you’re my mess.” I push a wild lock of her copper brown hair behind her ear, my fingertips lingering against the delicate curve of her cheek.
She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth turn up. “Very cute. Very charming.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Would this be the equivalent of meeting the parents?”
“Since you’ll be meeting my mom along with a few dozen other veggie enthusiasts in her overgrown backyard, I’d say yes.”
Sighing, she swipes at a streak of flour on my chest. “I could take you to meet mine if they hadn’t already washed away from shore. They’re somewhere out in the middle of the Pacific by now. Maybe we can take a boat ride someday.”
“I’m not. . .” I swallow past the lump that’s suddenly lodged itself in my throat. “I’m not sure if you’re joking or if I should be concerned or—”
“Dark humor, Beckett. You’ll get used to it.” Eyes flashing with levity, she strolls to her room. “Give me fifteen minutes.”