Chapter 10
“Are you sure you don’t mind watching her tonight?” I ask Parker through the mirror in her living room as I check my reflection one last time.
“Of course not.” She hugs Maggie against her and tickles her stomach, eliciting excited squeals. “Miss Magpie and I are going to have an awesome time. We’re going to order a pizza, watch a movie, and roast some marshmallows for s’mores.”
“I love s’mores!” Maggie responds enthusiastically.
“Me, too.” Parker nuzzles her nose against Maggie’s, then stands, moving toward me. “Seriously, Hales. Don’t worry. Enjoy your night. And if you want, Maggie can always sleep here.”
“It’s not that kind of date,” I say in a low voice so Maggie can’t hear. Thankfully, her attention is now back on the Bluey episode currently playing on the TV. “It’s more of a business meeting than anything.”
Parker gives me a knowing look. “I seem to remember having a similar conversation a few weeks ago, although the roles were reversed. I tried to tell you the same thing when I was going to dinner with Callum.”
“That was different,” I argue, remembering all too clearly how I encouraged her to leave her options open with the sexy man who showed up with an offer to buy her property, since she was on the brink of foreclosure. She resisted at first, but eventually fell for the man she swore was her arch nemesis.
But neither could deny the attraction, and Callum Reed ended up being the Christmas miracle Parker needed. He not only gave her a reason to open her heart again but also helped save her beloved ranch.
“You and Callum have insane chemistry. I saw it the night you tricked him into swing dance lessons. It was straight fire.”
“And you and Beckham don’t have chemistry?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and arches a disbelieving brow.
“It’s…complicated.”
“So what? That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything. I’m only doing this for Maggie. And because I stupidly quit my job.”
“It was a crappy job.”
“That was responsible for the majority of my income.”
“I’ll hire you when we reopen after all the renovations are finished.”
“I appreciate that.” I squeeze her hand. “But maybe this entire situation — quitting my job and Beckham’s proposal — is the universe telling me it’s time to turn my dreams into reality. If I have to suffer through a short marriage so I can finally fulfill those dreams and make sure Maggie’s provided for, so be it. But that’s the only reason I’m doing this.” I shift my gaze to my daughter, my heart warming with a love I didn’t think possible a few years ago. “For her.”
“Whatever you say,” Parker sings. “Just answer me this.”
I take one last sip of wine, smoothing a hand down my dress. I wasn’t sure what to wear tonight. I didn’t want to seem like I was putting in too much effort, but as a single mom who spends most of my free time taking care of my precocious four-year-old, I don’t often have a reason to dress up.
So I went with a staple of every woman’s wardrobe —a little black dress.
“What’s that?”
“Did you shave?” Parker waggles her brows.
I pin her with a fiery stare for using my question against me. I asked her the same thing when she was getting ready for her “business meeting” with Callum. It may have started out as a business meeting, but when they got snowed in together and the hotel only had one room with one bed available, things got interesting.
But things are different between Parker and Callum. For one, they don’t have a shared history to complicate things. Not like Beckham and I do.
“That’s what I thought,” Parker says with a smirk when I refuse to answer.
The truth is, I did shave. Quite extensively, too. There’s nothing wrong with a little self-care once in a while.
“I’ll let you know if I’ll be any later than nine.” I walk toward Maggie and give her a big squeeze. “You be good for Auntie Parker, okay?”
“Yes, Mama,” she says, barely looking away from Bluey.
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I give her one last hug, then make my way out of Parker’s apartment that’s attached to her inn, the plush carpeting in the hallway cushioning my heels until I step onto the hardwood floor of the lobby.
It’s still decked out for the holidays, even though Christmas is over. Parker keeps the decorations up through the second weekend of January to allow any last-minute stragglers to come see it all.
Waving at Heidi at the front desk, I continue farther into the lobby, searching the cozy space for Beckham. A fire crackles in the hearth, Christmas music playing in the background as a few patrons sit at the lobby bar, enjoying a drink.
But there’s still no sign of Beckham.
Until I zero in on the tall man in dark jeans and a crisp black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up strolling toward me.
I blink repeatedly, convinced I’m seeing things. The man has Beckham’s dark eyes and the tattoos visible on his forearms are an identical match, but the rest of him looks different.
I can’t remember the last time I saw him wear something other than dirty jeans and work boots. Hell, even when I stopped by his mother’s house on Christmas Eve, he looked like he just came from the vineyard.
But tonight, he’s wearing a shirt without stains and jeans that fit his body so perfectly it should be criminal. His hair is neatly styled, albeit in a sexy, disheveled kind of way. He even trimmed his beard.
“Who died?” I ask as he approaches.
“Died?” He stops abruptly, giving me a quizzical look.
“I’m just not used to seeing you in something without mud and grime. I figured there must be some sort of explanation, and a funeral seems the most logical.”
He leans down, his lips a breath from my skin, reminding me of Christmas Eve. My heart hadn’t raced so hard in years.
Probably since the summer I lost him.
“I guess you could call it a funeral,” he says in a husky voice I feel deep in my core. “I am marrying you, after all.” He pulls back and shoots me a mischievous look.
“It was your idea,” I remind him. “I can leave right now and we’ll forget the entire thing.”
“And miss being able to irritate the piss out of you every day for the next few months? Baby, I’m just getting warmed up.”
“Why did I agree to this?” I mutter under my breath, although I’m secretly grateful for the comfortable banter.
To be fair, I’m somewhat surprised by his sudden easy-going attitude toward me. It reminds me of how things once were between us. I’ll happily take this over the heated glares and clipped responses any day.
He places his hand on the small of my back and steers me toward the restaurant. I try to ignore the warmth spreading through me from the innocent touch, but there’s no denying the way my body reacts.
We approach the host stand, and he doesn’t even need to give his name. Everyone around here knows Beckham. As we follow the hostess through the restaurant, several locals look our way and whisper amongst themselves. No doubt this will be front-page news tomorrow, especially given our past.
“I had Parker reserve us a more secluded table,” he says once the hostess has left us alone at a table overlooking the lake, the entire property twinkling with thousands of lights. “This way, we don’t have to worry about anyone hearing something they shouldn’t. Or worry about people looking at us.”
“They still haven’t forgotten, have they?” I absent-mindedly muse as I place my napkin on my lap and grab my menu.
“Have you?”
I dart my eyes toward his. “Of course not. I just… I figured people would get over it. Find something else to talk about.”
“Not sure this town has had another juicy story since then. It’s not every day the rich beauty queen is sent to the hospital by the town delinquent.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Plus, you weren’t a delinquent. Your dad was sick.”
He stares at me for several long moments, a response seemingly on the tip of his tongue. But instead of talking about it, he closes up, grabbing a large binder the hostess left.
“Red or white?” Beckham asks as he flips through the pages.
“You’re the expert,” I say around a sigh.
If we’re to spend the next several months together, I may as well get used to him being purposefully evasive about our past. Maybe some things are better left unsaid or forgotten.
“What are you thinking of ordering for your meal? If you want seafood, I’ll order white.”
“I don’t mind drinking red with fish.”
His jaw drops, a look of horror and disgust filling his expression. “You can’t seriously be okay pairing a full-bodied cabernet with a flaky white fish.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I feign confusion.
I’d never do that, but I need to do something to pull him out of his funk. To cut through the tension of the past lingering between us.
“Everything, Haley. Everything is wrong with it.” His voice is firm, determined. “The flavors, the texture. It’s all wrong. Just…” He trails off when he sees the smile I struggle to hide. “You’re fucking with me. Aren’t you?”
I pinch my lips together. “Maybe.”
“You’re going to regret that.”
His threat shouldn’t send a shiver of anticipation down my spine, but it does, especially as my sex-deprived libido considers all the ways he might exact his punishment.
Does Beckham like it rough in the bedroom? When we were together all those years ago, we were teenagers. Sex was new to both of us. At least to me. We weren’t sure what we were doing, but we figured it out together. I can only imagine he’s gotten better with age.
“Parker’s chef makes a fantastic filet,” I suggest in an effort to take my mind off Beckham’s proclivities in the bedroom. Then I inhale a sharp breath when I realize it’s one of the more expensive dishes on the menu. “I don’t have to get the filet. It’s kind of pricey. I’ll just get?—”
“Order whatever you want,” he interjects.
“It’s fine. I don’t?—”
“Get the goddamn filet, Haley. If you don’t, I’m going to order it for you anyway, so you may as well just do it yourself.”
I bring my eyes toward his and softly say, “Thanks.”
He gives a subtle nod as our server approaches. “What can I get you to drink? Will you be having one of your bottles, Beck?”
“I drink enough of it at work. We’ll have a bottle of the Grgich Hills cabernet.”
“I’ll go grab it, then come back to take your order.”
“Are you ever able to enjoy it?” I ask once we’re alone.
“What’s that?”
“Wine. Can you ever enjoy a glass without it reminding you of work?”
“It’s not work for me. Sure, the tedious process of checking the soil and vines can feel like it. But tasting someone else’s finished product, knowing all the effort they put into making it…” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing better.”
My lips curve slightly in the corners as I take in the excitement in his expression. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak so passionately or animatedly about anything before.
“You love it, don’t you?”
“I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”
“Then I’m glad I can help.” I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine.
The instant our skin makes contact, he darts his gaze toward our joined hands, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
This might be the first time I’ve felt his skin in years. Sure, he teased me the other night as he leaned into the crook of my neck, torturing me with the heat of his breath. But it’s been years since I actually felt the warmth of his touch.
And damn him for scrambling my insides even more.
“Here you go,” our server sings as she approaches our table, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.
I quickly pull my hand away and straighten in my chair, acting as if Beckham’s touch hasn’t left me completely breathless.
I keep my eyes averted as she expertly removes the cork and pours a small amount of red liquid into a glass for Beckham to taste. After he approves, she pours more into both glasses, then gives us some privacy.
“To the future,” Beckham says, raising his glass.
“The future,” I repeat, clinking my glass with his before bringing it to my lips and taking a sip, savoring the delicious wine.
Once I return my glass to the table, Beckham peers at me expectantly. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know what the big deal is. That would go fine with tilapia.”
Beckham’s jaw tenses as a subtle growl tumbles from his throat, sending my girly bits aflutter once more.