10. No. 37 Be more social #2
I turn only slightly to look at Bea as she listens to my family continue their nonsense.
She looks amused by it all, blue eyes warm and affectionate.
She doesn’t join in unless someone speaks to her directly but she’s more than happy just taking it all in.
Just being a part of it. I find myself staring at that tiny mole beneath her eye again, at the way it disappears when she smiles so wide her eyes crinkle, and her cheeks round out even more.
Her smile goes higher on one side than the other and when someone says something particularly outrageous, she looks down at the table to hide her amusement, like she doesn’t think she should have been listening, and a patch of skin on her neck turns bright red.
Every so often, she flicks her pink hair back over her shoulders where it’s fallen forward, and when she leans back in her chair, I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest where her dress scoops low enough to show the fullness of her tits.
Shaking away the direction of my thoughts, I force myself to look away from Bea only to cross gazes with my father who’s smiling at me like he knows something I don’t.
My cheeks heat like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
Luckily, that’s the moment Mum gets up to start clearing the table and Bea jumps up to help, but she’s quickly shooed back to her seat.
“The first time you’re here, you’re our guest, sweetheart,” Mum says easily. “The next time you can get your own drinks and help with the washing up.” She winks at Bea who dips her chin in gratitude.
I get up to help wash the dishes while Connor dries, Joanie puts away, and Mum finds small plates for the cake.
Dad offers coffee and when Bea hesitates, I assure her my parents have a proper coffee machine that grinds the beans and everything.
She visibly perks up and accepts the offer, so Dad sets to making the drinks with a chuckle.
There’s a long moment of silence at the table as we all try the cake Connor made. Bea gives my nephew an encouraging thumbs up after her first bite while my family and I all exchange confused looks in between staring down at our plates.
“Connor…” Mum says, trailing off like she doesn’t know what to say.
“What?” he asks nervously.
“This is…amazing!” she says disbelieving.
My too-cool-for-school nephew preens at that, sitting straighter in his chair. “Yeah?”
“This is really fucking good, kid,” I say, taking a huge forkful and shoving it in my mouth. It’s rich and sweet, soft and gooey.
“How did I not know you could bake?” Joanie says, wrapping her arms around her boy. “You clever little bugaboo.”
“Alright, get off.” He shrugs her away, trying to look disgusted but failing miserably.
“I think we all assumed you’d inherited your mother’s kitchen skills,” Dad says, quickly dodging the teaspoon Joanie throws at him.
“Mum burns beans on toast,” Connor explains to Bea.
“I see,” Bea says with a laugh. “Well, this is great, Connor. I’d love you to make it for the café when we open.”
“Really?” The vulnerable hope in Con’s eyes reminds me of when he was still a kid and I told him I’d buy him ice cream, and my mouth hitches up.
“Yeah,” Bea says enthusiastically. “You’ll help me make all the food, but this one is yours.”
Connor tempers his smile, nodding as he looks down at his plate and pushes the crumbs left on it around. “Cool, that’s cool.”
Joanie turns to Bea, a rare sheen in her eyes as she mouths, thank you.
Bea just waves her hand dismissing the gratitude.
When she turns to me and sees the serious way I’m looking at her, unsure what to do with these uncomfortable and unwelcome feelings brewing in my stomach and chest, her lips part, a sharp intake of air audible between us.
I’m staring at the gap between her lips, where the smallest hint of the tip of her teeth is showing and I suddenly feel like I can’t keep myself upright, leaning forward a bare inch before I turn away and rest my arms on the table to centre myself.
Bea gets hugged by my parents when we leave, Joanie embraces her too, and the two of them exchange numbers.
Dad gives me a back-slapping hug at the door and pulls away only to squeeze my shoulder, giving me a look I can’t quite interpret before Bea and I are slowly meandering back home.
I find myself dawdling, enjoying the walk in the gentle early summer sun and the quiet company of the girl next to me.
Darcy sniffs every inch of the ground as we go, enjoying the pace and just being a part of the day.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, cutting through the silence between us.
Bea’s head snaps up to look at me, apparently just as surprised by me initiating conversation as I am. “Sure.”
“What made you move here? Why did you leave London?” It’s been playing on my mind for a while, as far as I’m aware, those who live in the capital tend to believe nothing exists outside of London’s perimeter.
Bea puffs out a long breath. “That’s kind of a long story.”
I shrug. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”
“Well, it was my birthday, back in October, and uh, my boyfriend was going to propose to me—”
“The surfer guy?”
“I mean, I’ve never known him to surf, but yeah, the guy in the photo with the surfboard.” She slides her hands over her hips like she might be looking for pockets to shove her fingers into before realising her dress is pocketless. “Well, I kind of ran away.”
“Harsh,” I say, but find myself smiling.
“Yeah,” she sighs, sounding regretful. “I definitely didn’t want to marry him, but running may have been a touch dramatic.”
“Was he that bad?” I ask, arching an eyebrow as I look down at her. Hoping she tells me he was a complete douche but also hoping she doesn’t because if he treated her bad, I feel I might get angry and that’s not something I want to unpack right now.
She’s shaking her head. “He’s a nice guy, kind, smart, driven.”
“But?”
“But…he’s not for me. I guess he was just there and it was easy, you know? But I didn’t get that spark you’re supposed to feel.”
I make a small grunt. “You think that’s a real thing? The spark?”
She snorts a laugh that nearly has me tripping over my own feet because it’s so unexpected and so fucking adorable, my brain glitched out. “If I can feel a spark reading about fictional characters, I definitely expect nothing less from the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
I swallow and nod, just hoping she didn’t notice my near fall. “So, you ran away from London because you didn’t want to marry the sparkless guy?”
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head again. “I ran from the restaurant. When I got home, Cas and I had several cocktails and wrote the list.”
“List?”
“Yeah, the Fuck-It list.”
“That’s a thing?” I ask, scrunching my face.
“According to Cas.” She sighs.
“Right, and what exactly is on your Fuck-It list?” My arm hangs between us and for a second, our fingers touch, knuckles brushing against one another, and we both jerk away. “Uh, sorry,” I croak before clearing my throat.
She giggles nervously. “That’s okay. Um, well that’s how I got here. Number five; move to the countryside and open a café.”
“That sounds like two things in one,” I say, trying to ignore the electricity crackling up my arm from that one brief touch.
“It is, but they’ve always gone hand in hand for me. It’s just something I always wanted to do, and Cas wanted me to live a little and finally do the things I’ve been putting off for so long.”
“So, you uprooted your whole life because your friend wanted you to?” It sounds more judgmental than I intend.
She frowns, and I’m immediately grieving the loss of her easy smile.
“No, no, that’s not it.” It sounds like she’s coming to the conclusion in this moment.
“It’s just I needed a little push to do something for myself.
” She stops walking and I stop with her, the groove between her brows deepening and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
“So, I kind of…have money,” she says, stilted like it pains her, looking up at me with narrowed eyes.
“And everything my grandmother ever told me is screaming at me for saying something so crass, but it’s true. ”
My brows are somewhere near my crown, my mouth open waiting for words that aren’t forming. What are you meant to say to that?
“Have you heard of Turner Jewels?”
“Uh, yeah?” I say, more of a question than anything. The question being what has that got to do with anything? Also, who hasn’t heard of the jewellers with a shop on nearly every high street in the country?
“Well, I’m Bea Turner, my grandfather founded Turner Jewels.”
I think I choke on my tongue or my own saliva, either way, I’m spluttering a cough in her direction before apologising.