Chapter 5 – Beau
BEAU
M y forearms ache as I lug the bags of groceries up the stairs to Brinley’s apartment. After my morning gym session, my muscles were sore even before I stopped by the grocery store to pick up wine, risotto rice, mushrooms, four kinds of cheese, and several pounds worth of vegetables.
I hadn’t planned on cooking for us tonight, but I need a chance to think about how to handle the Peppermint clusterfuck.
Nothing makes my thoughts untangle and makes sense like cooking does.
Maybe making my mother’s mushroom risotto will give me some idea of how to confront Brinley about her secret identity.
Because right now, I have no idea what to say after, “Brinley, I have to ask you something.”
I dig Brinley’s keys out of my pocket and unlock the door.
I’m immediately greeted by the sight of a honey blonde woman dancing through the living room with a broom in her hands.
Presumably, this is Eden. Also presumably, the music playing in her headphones must be pretty loud, because she doesn’t turn around to greet me. I clear my throat.
“Uh, hi.”
When she doesn’t turn around, I take another two steps into the apartment. I’m about to politely tap her on the shoulder when she spins around and stares at me. For a second, her eyes widen. Then she shrieks bloody murder and whacks me in the stomach with the broom handle.
Fuuuuuuuuck.
Eden might only be 5’6”, but she hits like a hockey forward. I wheeze out a breath and double over, clutching my stomach.
“Oh my god!” Eden cries, dropping the broom and bringing her hands to her mouth. “You’re Beau!”
“Uhf,” I grunt.
“I’m so sorry! You startled me. I thought you were a burglar.”
I shake my head. “Nuhf.”
Just then, Brinley emerges from the bathroom in a robe, her dark hair wet around her shoulders. She cocks her head and stares at us, confused. “What happened here?”
“Broom,” I choke out.
“Sorry, he surprised me,” Eden says sheepishly. “I didn’t realize he’d have a key, and I didn’t hear him come in. I kind of attacked him.”
“Oh, no. Eden’s stronger than she looks.” Brinley hurries over to my side, examining my face. “Are you bleeding? Any intense pain? Do we need to get you to a doctor?”
“M’fine.” My lungs are able to take full breaths of air now, anyway. I almost lean forward to brush a kiss against Brinley’s cheek, but I stop myself. There’s a witness here in Eden, and I know instinctively nobody’s allowed to see me and Brinley.
Eden knows, though. It’s allowed. I could kiss Brinley on the mouth, even with tongue if I wanted to, and no one would bat an eye. It still feels too weird, somehow.
Brinley points to the grocery bags on the floor. “Beau, it’s too much. You don’t have to buy out the entire grocery store before you come over.”
“Yes, I do, because I know your kitchen is completely empty.”
“That’s not true!” she scoffs.
“It is, and I know that because I’ve bought every ingredient that lives in your kitchen.
” Before me, Brinley’s kitchen had garlic salt instead of fresh garlic, margarine instead of butter, and frozen dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets instead of actual chicken.
Call me a snob, but I insisted on some upgrades.
Gathering what’s left of my strength, I pick up the bags to carry them to said kitchen. Thankfully, Brinley hasn’t found a reason to pile stuff on the counters yet, so I have plenty of space.
“You act like I don’t know how to feed myself,” Brinley mutters.
“The only reason you ever go to the grocery store is to stock up on more frozen dinners, Brinley ba—” I cut myself off when I see Eden lingering in the doorway. Am I allowed to use my usual nickname for Brinley in front of her? Normally, I’d only use it if we were alone.
“I cooked once,” she says, indignant.
“You set off the smoke alarm twice and had to call the fire department once.”
She crosses her arms. “Well, I’m too busy running a business to cook.”
“Didn’t you spend half the day reading a vampire romance under the counter?” Eden asks.
“It’s called research . I have to read the new books so I know what customers to recommend them to. Small businesses rely on personal connections.”
“It’s called, you have time to make a sandwich for lunch,” I remind her. “Something with actual vitamins that’s not full of preservatives and sodium.”
“Why would I want that? Sodium rules.” Brinley pokes me in the side. “How can I help?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“Come on! Give me something to chop. I can handle it.”
“I can’t. The last time I let you handle a knife, you almost cut your pinky off.”
“I’ll be careful,” she promises.
“You always say that, then you get excited and try to talk with your hands.” I hand her a box of mushrooms. “How about you wash these instead?”
“And if I do a good job, I can chop them?”
“Nope, but I’ll give you a kiss and a sticker.”
Eden shifts, glancing at the ground. “I guess I’ll leave you guys to it.”
“We have enough for three, don’t we?” Brinley eyes me. She knows there will be plenty of food. I like to leave her a few days worth of leftovers, if only so I can get her to eat something other than frozen Amy’s burritos. She’s giving me a chance to get some space from Eden.
It’s tempting to pretend I’m running short on mushrooms. Having Eden around isn’t bad, but it’s a little weird.
Brinley and I are always pretending that we’re nothing to each other.
It’s like I have to unlearn the choreography we’ve spent years mastering.
After the Peppermint blowup, it might be nice to spend the night alone with my not-girlfriend.
Except Eden lives here now. She’s going to be a part of my life, until she either gives up on Toronto or gets a job and moves out. I know Brinley wants us to get along.
“Take a seat,” I tell Eden brightly. “We’ve got plenty of food. Or we will, when I’m done cooking.”
“Really, I was craving a peanut butter and banana sandwich,” Eden says. “But I guess I can hang out for a bit while you cook?”
“Perfect,” Brinley chirps as she rinses the mushrooms. “Beau can even make your sandwich for you.”
“No.” Eden’s voice comes out sharply. “I don’t need Beau to do anything for me.”
I blink, surprised. “I don’t mind.”
Eden’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a cool edge to her gaze. Not quite a glare, but suspicious. “Maybe you should focus on giving Brinley what she needs.”
Ah. Eden’s whole attitude comes into sharp focus.
She doesn’t totally trust me with Brinley.
And honestly…I get it. Brinley deserves more than a secret relationship, more than stolen moments when no one’s looking.
She deserves a boyfriend who’s allowed to tell the world that she exists.
It stings, knowing Eden resents me for the pathetic ghost of a relationship I’ve been able to give Brinley.
Or maybe it’s more than that.
I wonder how much Brinley told Eden about…before. About the thing I’ve spent years trying to make up for. The thing I still can’t think about without my chest getting tight.
Thank god Brinley hands me the mushrooms to chop, or my anxiety might just burst through my chest.
“Eden got to meet the girls today,” Brinley says, obviously trying to brush over my silent standoff with her best friend.
“Yeah?” I ask tightly. “How was that?”
“They’re great,” Eden says. “Cat’s sweet, and Pippa’s hilarious. And Maura—I mean, what does she see in us? She seems way too elegant and talented to hang out with us.”
“Trust me, Maura has a goofy side,” Brinley says. “You just have to get to know her a little before it comes out.”
“I’m curious to meet her husband,” Eden says. “The whole contract marriage thing is…”
“Weird,” Brinley finishes. “In theory, anyway. When you see them together, though, you’ll get it. Those two make sense together.”
I swallow. Right—Eden’s going to meet my friends too, which opens up a whole new can of worms. Eden isn’t practiced at hiding things the way Brinley and I are.
She’s never had to keep a straight face around Luke or sit through a group dinner pretending she doesn’t know.
One wrong look, one offhand comment, and the whole thing unravels.
When it comes to keeping our secret, I trust Brinley implicitly, but I’m not sure I trust Eden. Not yet.
Now that the mushrooms are prepped, I pour a little oil in the green Le Creuset pot I bought Brinley last Christmas.
“What are you making?” Eden asks.
“Mushroom risotto.”
“It’s so good,” Brin raves. “The best you’ll ever have.”
Eden snorts. “You might be biased.”
“No, seriously, it’s perfection.”
I smirk. “Eden’s right. I can’t trust your feedback. Your ‘perfection’ is just a five-star Yelp review from someone who’s sleeping with the chef.”
She pouts. “Well, his mushroom risotto is my favorite.”
I shoot her a glance. “I thought chicken piccata was your favorite.”
“I can’t have more than one favorite?”
“By the definition of the word, no, you can’t,” Eden says. “You get one favorite.”
“Not fair,” Brinley moans. “Beau has too many good recipes. I need at least eight favorites.”
“Maybe you could have a favorite tier?” I suggest, watching for the oil to shimmer.
“Don’t pacify her,” Eden says. “She gets one favorite. Uno favorito.”
“Harsh but fair,” I say. “Mushroom risotto or chicken piccata, Brin?”
Brinley considers. “Hmmm…I think I have to go with spaghetti cacio e pepe.”
“What?” Eden sputters. “Since when did that get on the shortlist?”
“I told you I need eight favorites!”
I chuckle as I stir the mushrooms. Even if Eden’s not my biggest fan, it actually feels refreshingly normal to have her around. I can be just a guy, hanging out with his girlfriend and her best friend. I can pretend the whole setup Brinley and I have is normal, just for a little while.
Eden sighs. “Well, I should probably get back to working on my portfolio. If any of these jobs call me back, I’m going to need it.”
“Should I knock when your sandwich is ready?” I ask.
“Sure,” Eden says after a moment. “That’d be great.”
She slips out, leaving Brinley and me alone in the kitchen. The mushrooms are soft and browned, so I empty them into a bowl and grab some garlic. Brinley shakes her head. “Do you really need four cloves of garlic for this? Isn’t that a little too much?”
“No such thing as too much garlic.”
“Says the man hoping to get laid later with his garlic breath.”
I lean over, my lips an inch from hers. “Says the man who knows he’s getting laid later, because you’re too hot for me to let a little garlic get in the way.”
Brinley’s eyes grow hooded with want, and I wink. She always wants me after watching me cook. I see the way her gaze lingers on my hands as I grab a bottle of olive oil and pour more in the pan. She loves my hands almost as much as she loves my muscles, and I never get tired of giving her a show.
I wish I could just enjoy this, Brinley perched on the counter and giving me shit while I cook for her.
But I can’t forget the conversation at Luke’s today.
I was able to steer the conversation away from any mention of Brinley, but I don’t know how long I can keep doing that.
Eventually, someone else is going to figure out that she has the motive and opportunity to be Peppermint.
I could ask her, now, and end the whole thing. It’s not the right time for that conversation, though. It’s too soon after the article went viral—too confrontational.
Or you’re just scared .
Because if she confirms she’s Peppermint, then I’m officially lying to the guys to protect her. I already know I can’t betray her, but it’ll tear at me to betray them, too. For now, I just want to live in the unknown for a little longer.
Except Brinley must be reading my mind, because she says, “I heard about Luke’s deal with Air Canada falling through. That’s awful.”
I glance up at her. “Yeah. He’s really pissed about it.”
Something flashes across her face. I don’t know if it’s guilt, regret, or sympathy.
“Poor Luke,” she says. “I know he was proud of that deal.”
“Yeah.”
The air feels full of all the things I can’t mention. That it’s Peppermint who ruined the deal. That normally, Brinley wouldn’t give a single shit about Luke being disappointed. That she still resents him for what he did—and what I was part of.
Brinley pulls out her phone and turns on some lo-fi music. Gentle melodies fill the room, pushing out some of the intrusive thoughts.
While Brinley dishes out the risotto and uncorks a bottle of wine, I make up Eden’s sandwich. I leave it outside her door with a light knock.
I take my usual seat at the kitchen table, and Brinley slides into my lap before I can push my chair in. I wrap my arms around her.
“I thought you wanted risotto,” I say.
“I thought maybe you could feed it to me,” she says in a low voice.
“You like being spoiled that much?”
“I love when you spoil me.” She shifts on my lap, the weight of her body making my cock stiffen. Brinley grins, and I know she feels it.
I draw small circles on her hip with my thumb. “Did you want to skip dinner?”
“No, I’m starving. I’m just a little…impatient.” She leans in and nips gently at my earlobe. It sends a wave of heat down my spine. Fuck, if we keep this up, we’ll never get through dinner.
I force myself to take a forkful of risotto. Brinley opens her full lips, a silent invitation to feed her. Ignoring her, I eat it myself, making her pout dramatically.
“You’ll have to feed yourself, Brinley baby. I promise, though, I’ll make it up to you by spoiling you later.”
I squeeze her hip, almost as impatient as she is. I know I need her tonight, because cooking and working out weren’t enough to quell the anxiety pounding through my blood.
Holding Brinley is the one thing left that can make all the noise stop.
Five years and I've never been caught. Not once. Not by Luke, not by my mother, not by the gossip mill or at any of the four restaurants we've fucked in. There's a part of me—a part I'm not proud of—that thinks I'm the kind of man who gets to keep this.
Who gets the girl and the friends and the family. I should know better. I'm half Italian. I grew up Catholic. I know only a cocky sinner thinks the rules don't apply to him.
I’m that kind of man anyway.