Chapter 22
I lean my head against the cool porcelain of the claw-foot tub in Beckham’s bathroom as I relish in the warmth of the water enveloping me. The aroma of lavender wafts through the air, making me feel more relaxed than I have in a while.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve slowed down enough to just soak in a tub. Since Maggie was born, I’ve had no choice but to dedicate every waking minute to working and finding a way to provide for her.
But Beckham’s right.
How can I expect to take care of Maggie if I don’t take care of myself first?
And after today’s unexpected encounter with Oliver, this is exactly what I need.
Noticing my fingertips beginning to prune, I reluctantly get out of the bath and wrap myself in a plush towel from the warmer Beckham installed after he saw me throw a towel in the dryer before jumping in the shower one day.
It’s just one of the many things he’s done for me over the past few weeks.
That’s the thing about Beckham. He doesn’t do these things for the fanfare or in expectation of anything. He does them because he wants to. I’m not used to that.
After toweling off, I slip into a halter dress and cardigan, pausing to apply a fresh coat of eyeliner and lip gloss before making my way back downstairs. I tell myself the only reason I put on a dress is because of the gorgeous weather.
Not because I love the way Beckham looks at me whenever I wear one.
When I emerge into the kitchen, my heart melts at the scene that greets me. Beckham and Maggie stand by the counter, Maggie on her step stool as she helps Beckham prepare a marinade.
“That’s it. Just a little more brown sugar,” he encourages.
Despite his towering height, he bends down to Maggie’s level, gently guiding her small hands as she scoops a spoonful into the mixing bowl.
“Like this?” Maggie asks.
“That’s it. Perfect. Are you sure you’re not a trained chef?”
My daughter’s infectious giggles echo in the space. I lean against the wall, watching them interact with ease, as if Beckham Lawrence cooking dinner with my daughter is a normal occurrence. He’s always been so good to her, even when he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Now that he’s softened up, it makes me want all the things I have no right wanting.
Especially after everything he lost because of me.
“I’m too young to have a job, Beck!” Maggie says through her laughter.
“What? Aren’t you eighteen?”
“I’m only four.” She holds up her hand, demonstrating how many she is.
“Are you serious? Only four? Wow.” He shakes his head in amazement. “You could have fooled me. I thought for sure you were much older than that.”
“Stop trying to wish time away,” I interrupt, moving toward them. “You’ve already grown up faster than I like.”
“Mama!” Maggie jumps down from her stool and runs toward me, giving me a hug. “We’re making you dinner!”
“Is that right?” I look from her toward Beckham, meeting his dark eyes.
“Yup.” Maggie answers enthusiastically. “I just finished making the marinade for the ahi.”
“You’re making ahi?”
“Seared, if that’s okay,” Beckham says softly.
“I love seared ahi.”
“I know.” He flashes me a grin that I feel deep in my soul. Then he wipes his hands on a dishtowel and pours some red wine into a glass, handing it to me.
“Red wine with fish? Are you feeling okay?”
“Ahi is a substantial fish. If it were a flaky white fish, this would be a sauvignon blanc or chardonnay. But ahi works well with a light red, like a pinot noir. And this one from the Santa Barbara Valley is one of my favorites.”
He tilts his glass toward mine, and I clink with him before bringing the wine to my mouth, taking a sip. I can see how it would pair well with ahi. It’s not too heavy, but not too light, either. The perfect medium-bodied red.
“You look better,” Beckham remarks after a beat. “Not that you looked bad,” he adds quickly. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to look bad. But?—”
“I feel better,” I interject as heat rushes over my face.
Why does it feel like that one summer all over again? We were awkward around each other then, too. At least when I realized my feelings for him went deeper than that of him merely being a boy I once knew as a child.
“What can I help with?” I ask, needing to do something to distract myself from the mounting tension between us.
“My sous chef and I have everything covered in here. Why don’t you go relax outside? Enjoy the sunset.”
“I’ll show you to your table!” Maggie offers, looking at Beckham and giving him an exaggerated wink.
“What are you two up to?” I ask suspiciously.
“Just play along,” Beckham whispers.
Maggie grabs my hand and pulls me through the living area and onto the back patio. A few strands of twinkling lights hang overhead as soft jazz music sounds from the speakers. There’s a slight chill in the air now that the sun has started to go down, but Beckham lit the space heaters, as well as the nearby fire pit.
“How many?” Maggie faces me, playing the perfect hostess.
I look at the table to see it’s already set for dinner, a hand-drawn menu placed on each plate.
“Three.”
“I have the perfect table! This way, please.”
She whirls around, her curls springing with her movements, and walks the few steps toward the long wooden table, gesturing toward a chair for me to sit.
Once I do, she retrieves a small notepad and pencil from the pocket of her apron.
“What would you like for dinner?”
I open the menu and laugh to myself when I see there’s only one thing written in her shaky handwriting.
“I’ll have the ahi.”
“Excellent choice.”
She spins around and heads back inside, hurrying into the kitchen to tell Beckham my order. Then she climbs back onto her step stool and Beckham moves behind her, wrapping his hand over hers as he shows her how to whisk the marinade.
Just like I do whenever we bake together.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Beckham glances up and treats me to a smile so sexy it should be illegal. When he returns his attention to Maggie, I shift my gaze forward, admiring the acres upon acres of vines in the distance, tiny buds starting to appear on them.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve learned more about the process of making wine than I ever thought possible, mostly from Maggie asking Beckham questions about the “juice” he makes.
According to Beckham, this time of year when the buds form on all the vines is referred to as “bud burst” or “bud break”. He mentioned it’s one of the most difficult times of year, aside from right before the harvest. Because of the dips in temperature at night, he has to monitor everything closely, often turning on giant fans overnight to protect the budding vines from falling victim to frost.
I never thought much about the technical knowledge required to do what Beckham does, but it’s impressive. Makes me appreciate him even more. The amount of care with which he’s tended to this land over the past several years is nothing short of remarkable.
His job is so much more than just mixing ingredients together. As he says, his work starts with the vine. He can’t make good wine without good grapes. He can’t expect good grapes unless he takes care of the vines.
And soon, this will all be his.
He’s really come a long way from the boy I knew all those years ago.
“Here we are,” Beckham’s voice cuts through, pulling my attention to him as he sets a plate in front of me, the scent of garlic and ginger invading my senses. “Seared ahi with Asian slaw.”
“This looks incredible,” I tell him.
And I mean it. It looks like something I’d order at a nice restaurant. Certainly not something I’d expect Beckham to cook for me.
“You deserve it.” He assumes the chair beside me as Maggie sits on the other side.
Her plate consists of a few bites of fully cooked ahi, but also some chicken nuggets and apple slices.
While she’s pretty good at trying new foods, she’s still only four and likes to stick to what most kids her age like.
“Bon Appetit.” Beckham lifts his glass, and both Maggie and I do the same, all of us clinking our drinks together.
If I could choose any moment to freeze time, it would be this precise instant, the three of us enjoying dinner like we’re a real family.
Because there will eventually come a time when it’ll just be Maggie and me once more.
Weeks ago, I looked forward to that day.
Now, I hate the idea of never experiencing this again… Whatever this may be.