Chapter 8
Eleanor
When I crest the most northern hill leading toward the dock and Beck’s home, I spot him opening his front door like he knew I was coming. The way his entire face lights up the moment our eyes meet does some funny things to my heart, and my answering grin matches his.
“Hi. I hope I’m not interrupting your schedule,” I say when I’m within human hearing distance, hastily checking my watch.
Beck shakes his head, his smile still in place as I come to a stop in front of him. “You’re not, but even if you were interrupting something else, I’d still be happy to see you.”
My heart practically skips a beat as he meets my eyes. “Me too,” I admit. “I was just asking because I remember how aware you were of time when we were small and you always liked sticking to a schedule. Maybe you still do?”
Tilting his head to the side, Beck stares at me with unguarded curiosity. “You remember more about me than I thought you would.”
I shrug and study my sandals in an attempt to hide the color rising to my cheeks. “I could say the same about you. Like the other night when you asked me if I still write notes in the margins of books. And how much I like lemonade.”
A few charged seconds stretch between us before Beck brings the conversation back to neutral ground. “How was Lucille? Do you like the shop?”
My head snaps up and I jokingly touch the back of my hand to my forehead. “Do you have a couch? I think I might swoon if I start thinking about how perfect The Dancing Daisy is.”
Beck instantly steps backward and holds the door open for me. “Oh yes. Come in. The couch is in the living room, straight through here.”
I mentally smack myself on the forehead for confusing Beck with my stupid choice of words and renew my silent vow to be more careful with my phrasing as I stop to take in the interior of his home.
It’s otherworldly. Ancient. Masculine. And yet, homely.
Exposed brown stone walls surround us on all sides, and a large pillar juts up from the open-plan ground floor, through the mezzanine level and up to the soaring ceiling with wooden beams running across it.
Against the right side of the pillar is a giant gear that controls the water mill on the outside.
My eyes drift toward the kitchen, the medieval fireplace and antique stove where I imagine Beck creates his breads. Pots and pans hang from hooks against one wall and large windows let in warm light, the ocean an ever-present companion to this old cottage.
Turning toward him, I say, “You have a really nice home. It looks like it has a rich history.”
“I’m happy you like it,” Beck says, relief bleeding into his tone as he lowers himself down onto the edge of the large kitchen table. “It’s one of the oldest homes on the island.”
“You know what?” I ask, stepping toward the living room, spying his game setup, hand-drawn map, and empty glasses waiting on the table for tonight, savoring all these little glimpses of who Beck is and what he values.
Beck hangs back in the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. “What?”
“I think… I never imagined a grown-up version of you. You somehow remained stuck at twelve in my mind, like the last time I saw you. You’re definitely not twelve anymore.
” This mature version of Beck may not be what I expected, but it’s so much better.
Turning to meet his gaze, I brush some hair behind my ear before I add softly, “Thank you for inviting me here. I’m glad to get to know you again at this time in our lives. ”
“It’s really nice to have you here. My oldest friend in my old home,” Beck says, his eyes not leaving me for a second as his pearlescent scales luster in the afternoon light streaming in through the kitchen window.
I’ve never believed in fate or unknown powers controlling my life, but it feels like the universe is somehow conspiring in our favor to bring us back together again at this specific point in our lives.
I don’t know what it means, yet, but for the first time in more years than I care to count, there’s a tiny effervescent bubble sitting in my chest, really excited about the future.
Leaning against the thick pillar, I say sheepishly, “I’m really sorry about earlier, the fainting thing was a manner of speaking and not a real situation. It’s just that I adore The Dancing Daisy and my brain is still spinning with everything I’ve seen and heard today.”
“That’s okay,” Beck says, bracing his arms comfortably behind him, inadvertently putting his broad shoulders on display. “When you didn’t immediately run to the couch, I figured I might have misunderstood.”
“Still, I’ll take more care with my words in the future,” I promise both Beck and myself.
“Me too.”
Fidgeting with the fabric of my dress, I look down and try not to ogle those shoulders. But I have eyes and this girl is weak.
You’re friends, I remind myself. New friends. Technically old friends who are new friends again. But friends. And friends don’t ogle friends.
Clearing my throat so I can interrupt my own thoughts, I start hesitantly, “Talking about the future, I might have a favor to ask you.”
“Anything,” Beck states, the word sounding like a promise.
I take a deep breath, squash down my insecurities as much as they’d let me, and explain, “Well, Lucille and I have cooked up some plans for the shop and I’ll need to come out here more often.
Like, every Saturday. Do you think it’s possible for you to pick me up again next weekend?
And maybe the weekend after? For a while? ”
“Of course. Anytime. For as long as you need me.” The words come effortlessly, and the relaxed set to those shoulders makes me believe he really means it. Still, I never want to take advantage of his generosity.
Before I can start doubting myself about inconveniencing him again, Beck asks, “What kind of plans do you have for the bookshop?”
I pad over to the kitchen and pull out a chair on the opposite side of the table as I explain, “We’re still busy brainstorming a couple of ideas and we’ll need to see if they’re practical in the Starry Hill setting, but our first plan we decided on is starting a book club.
We’ll do a trial run with one pick and if there’s some interest we can expand it to other genres.
My task this week is to find a good mystery book that other residents might like.
If Lucille approves, I’ll try to design some flyers so we can start telling other residents about it. ”
Beck hops down from the table and pulls out the seat next to mine, his brow furrowed as he looks at me. “Aren’t you very busy at your lawyer job? When will you have time for it all?”
Appreciating his concern, I pat the top of his hand.
“Trust me, I’ll be using every single thing related to The Dancing Daisy as a coping mechanism to get through my week.
I’m already looking forward to next Saturday.
But that’s enough about me. How are you?
What do you have planned for the boys and their knights later? ”
I track a flurry of sparkles cresting down Beck’s forearm as he rests it on the table, his eyes following the scales before they disappear under his skin again. He frowns down at his smooth arm before shifting his gaze back to me.
“We have our first battle coming up. I’m going to be nice tonight and challenge them with a small fight so they can practice using their ability scores to try to control the narrative. I’ll leave the twists and larger battles for another week when they’re more settled into the game.”
“That sounds like a really good plan from what sounds like a thoughtful Game Master,” I say, hoping Beck hears the sincerity in my compliment. Judging by what he’s told me on the phone and the map and files laid out on the gaming table, Beck is not only diligent but a skilled narrator too.
Leaning forward, Beck asks, “Do you want to play?”
I’m quick to shake my head. “Oh no, I don’t want to intrude. You boys have fun while I go curl up with a book at home and get started on my research for book club.”
“But you know Knights and Castles isn’t a game for only guys, right?” Beck’s eyes implore me to understand, his slumped shoulders pulling on every single one of my heartstrings.
I don’t know who messed with him and made him lose confidence in voicing his opinions, I just know I never want to meet them. We’d totally have words. They might even deserve a slap. Or two.
Tamping down my anger, I focus on reassuring Beck, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. “Totally. Maybe I can join in on a future campaign if the others don’t mind me playing?”
“I’d like that,” Beck says, staring down at my hand for a second before placing his on top of mine.
Our gazes meet as I reply softly, “Me too.”
Two months of a similar routine passes by in no time at all.
Beck picks me up on Saturday mornings once he’s finished gathering the island’s orders, and I bring him bread to try from different bakeries I like.
Then, we have a quiet boat ride while I marvel at him without trying to make it too obvious.
The way Beck relaxes while he steers such a large vessel by simply placing his hand in the water truly intrigues me.
With each additional trip, my fear of the ocean melts away a little quicker until my nerves are simmering at a manageable level—a level I hope doesn’t bother Beck anymore.
He’s never said anything but I’ve noticed he does this adorable nose twitch when my heart beats extra fast, so it’s clear that he’s aware of my nerves even if he’s been nice enough not to mention them.
We talk often, at least twice a week on the phone now, and I find myself craving more time in Starry Hill and more time with him.
I’ve never been a huge fan of Cape Easton, and certainly not my job, but leaving the island each Saturday afternoon, right when the sunset is at its prettiest and my heart feels the fullest, is becoming more difficult with each week that passes.
As the sun touches the horizon and Beck walks me to my car in the harbor’s parking lot, I nearly drag my feet, not quite ready to say goodbye.
I know Beck’s friends will be waiting for him if I keep him too long, so I tamp down the inconvenient flutters in my stomach as I wrestle with the words I’ve been practicing all week.
“Thank you for bringing me back. Again. You still sure you don’t mind the trip twice every Saturday?”
“I told you not to ask me that again. You know I’m always happy to see you,” Beck states matter-of-factly, unknowingly igniting those butterflies once again.
A warm breeze gusts between us and I quickly clutch at my dress with both hands, not wanting to show the whole harbor what underwear I have on. When I look up at Beck through the hair whipped across my face, he’s already got one tentative hand reached out.
I forget to breathe as Beck gently brushes his fingertips against my face and pushes the strands behind my ear. My heart speeds up as he holds my gaze, momentarily dipping his eyes to my mouth before his nose twitches, then swiftly placing both hands in his pockets.
I swallow while I try to collect myself and finally push the practiced words out in the most nonchalant way I can manage. “Next Saturday, if you have errands to run in the city again before we’re meant to meet up, maybe I can go with you?”
Beck quirks his head to the side. “You’d want to do that? With me? Even if it’s boring?”
“Well, yes. I could help you source some of the items too, if you want? Use my vast city-girl knowledge for the good of Starry Hill. And it could be nice to squeeze in a little more time together. Again, only if you want. But I also understand if you don’t.
” Stop talking, Eleanor. Rambling is not cute, I scold myself.
Articulate clearly and concisely, that’s the way to get yourself heard, my mother’s voice echoes in my head.
Just before my shoulders curl with embarrassment, Beck bends down to meet me at eye level.
“You mean that? You really like spending time with me that much?” he asks, his pale blue eyes holding so much hope it makes my heart ache.
In this moment, Beck looks completely vulnerable, and I know it’s an honor that he lets his guard down so easily around me.
I resist the desire to brush a lock of pale blond hair behind his ear, and clutch my tote tighter to me instead. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Beck’s silent for a while as he stares down at me, his gaze flitting all over my face. “No one… I’ve never… I mean… Yes. That would be nice. Really nice. Thank you.”
I press my lips together, trying to contain my smile as I mumble, “You’re welcome. Now get going before the other boys eat all of that yummy brioche. I’ll see you next week.”
“Yes. Saturday. Call you Monday?” Beck asks, needing to confirm with me the same way he always does before saying goodbye.
I take a quick fortifying breath and, hoping it doesn’t sound too forward, say, “Whenever you want.”
Beck rubs at the scales on his neck. “I don’t think I can call you on my way back.”
“What?”
He shrugs. “I like talking to you. So if I was allowed to call you whenever I want, we’d be on the phone all day. Including while I’m on the boat on the way back to Starry Hill. The guys said I should give you a little space, but also not too much. That’s why I thought Monday might be okay.”
Don’t read too much into it, Eleanor. He’s just being thoughtful. “You could call me on Sundays, too?” I suggest cautiously. “I go grocery shopping in the morning and do some chores around the house in the afternoon. Nothing too exciting. In the evenings I just read. You can call then?”
The biggest, most radiant grin I’ve seen to date spreads across Beck’s face. “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I confirm, my heart feeling lighter than a feather being swept on the wings of the wind.
Life is looking good lately. Really good.