CHAPTER 3
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I f Mallory had a great guilty pleasure in her life, it would probably be celebrity gossip magazines. She could not get enough of them, and yet she hated herself for loving them. If her time binge reading Prince Harry’s memoir was any indication, people like her were definitely a problem. But as she stood in the market’s checkout line, she couldn’t help but smile at all the fanciful headlines in front of her.
Reaching out, she snagged her favorite titles and tossed them onto the belt. While she was at it, she added a Three Musketeers bar for good measure. No reason to deprive herself when she was feeling a little lost. Mallory wouldn’t say she was depressed, but she was certainly listless. Evan’s pending engagement was simultaneously exciting and devastating. She wanted nothing but a happily ever after for Evan and CeCe, but she flinched when she thought of never getting Nana’s ring.
Flexing her hand, she missed the weight of something that had truly never been hers. Why was she moping around about that when there were real problems in the world? Like the fact that Billboard’s top performer just got divorced from her bodybuilding husband? Surely that warranted more sympathy than Mallory’s circumstances?
After thanking the clerk, Mallory pushed her cart into the parking lot, keeping her gaze down. Running errands after work wasn’t ideal, especially when she was this tired. But the notion of going home to change and then having to leave the comfort of her place felt just as draining. So when she finished with her Alice time, she’d decided to forgo vanity in the name of grocery shopping. It wasn’t like she would see anyone else she knew. Even Buckeye Falls wasn’t that small.
Yet as she opened her trunk and started putting her bags inside, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She was being watched. Standing up too quickly, her head hit the back of the trunk and she let out a muffled profanity. “Geez,” she muttered as she rubbed the tender spot. A tiny welt had already formed, and she chastised her carelessness.
Before she turned around, a hand patted her shoulder and time stood still. That was a familiar touch, a touch weighed down with memories, a touch she thought she’d never feel again.
Beckett.
“Mallory! Are you okay?” His fingers gingerly dug into her skin, keeping her steady—and slightly swoony. Suddenly, she understood all the historical romance heroines who fainted at the sight of the hero. She was one batch of smelling salts away from needing a fainting sofa.
Unable to stop her feet, Mallory turned to his voice like it was a siren’s song. She kept her hand on the back of her head, the other balled at her side. She would not touch this man, she wouldn’t. It would be tantamount to touching the center of the sun. She’d get burned; she’d be destroyed. Again.
“Beckett?” She said his name in question, although there was no denying it was him in the flesh. Finally, she dragged her gaze up to meet his, and her stomach plummeted. It had been two years since they’d seen each other, but Beckett looked perfect. His tortoise-shell glasses were still crooked and a little smudged, an endearing quality that never ceased to make her heart flutter. His red hair was mussed, like he hadn’t bothered to run a comb through it. His warm hands still clutched her shoulders, anchoring her in place.
When he smiled at her, Mallory nearly combusted right there in the parking lot. The market would have to erect a memorial for her, complete with copies of gossip magazines and cheap candy bars. She could practically hear her brother’s eulogy, documenting her teenage-like obsessions. Yes, Mallory saved countless lives in the hospital, but what we’ll all remember is how she took a day off school when Brangelina announced their divorce.
“Mallory?” Beckett gave her a gentle shake. “Are you okay?”
Letting out a deep exhale, Mallory grounded herself. She stepped back until her legs hit the tailgate, breaking free of his touch. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She shrugged and turned back to the shopping cart and the rest of her bags. “I guess I’m distracted.”
Beckett hoisted a bag onto his hip, ready to help. “You want all this in the back?”
Helpless to stop him, she got out of the way and watched him load her car. His forearms flexed with the movements, cords of muscle making quick work of the task. When her cheeks burned crimson, she forced herself to look away. Real mature, Mal, drooling over a friend in a grocery store parking lot.
As Beckett placed the last bag inside, it toppled over and the magazines slid out. One of the headlines read, Exclusive Interview with Alien Baby of Taylor Swift . She couldn’t have been more mortified if an enema kit had fallen out.
Without saying a word, he scooped up her magazines and candy and tucked them back in the bag. When he straightened and faced her, she didn’t miss the smirk on his face. She crossed her arms and jutted out a hip. “You might as well just say it.”
His lips quivered before the dam broke and he doubled over. “I thought they determined Taylor’s alien baby was in fact a zombie baby?” His deep voice hitched with his laughter.
Mallory shoved his shoulder before joining in with the laughter. “Make fun all you want, but when these alien celebrity babies take over, you’ll be glad I know what’s going on.”
“You’re right,” he said, shoulders shaking. “When all the little old lady readers pass on, we’ll need a full report of the state of Elvis and the Elephant Man.” Beckett pushed his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger and smiled, one of his real smiles that she liked to catalog and save for later. They’d shared a million smiles like that over the years, and she treasured them all. A Beckett Fox smile was rare and meant to be savored, like the last Girl Scout cookie in the box.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, letting his hand drop to his side.
They stood awkwardly for a moment before she finally added, “Likewise. Evan said you live here now?”
Beckett nodded, his gaze over her shoulder. His eyes seemed unfocused, like he was looking for someone far away. “Yeah, but I still have some work to do on Gramps’s house.”
Mallory’s voice was low when she said, “I’m so sorry to hear about his passing. I would have gone to the funeral had I known.” She was dying to know why he had not told her or Evan about it, but that was not a conversation for now. They were in public, and everything felt too raw, too much on display.
“I should have called, but I wasn’t sure if you...” He let his words trail off, and Mallory was a little disappointed. They hadn’t spoken in a while, not since a misunderstanding broke her heart. Remembering that feeling of humiliation brought her up short, and more importantly, back to reality.
Her palms slicked with sweat when she realized how disheveled she must look with rumpled scrubs, a lopsided ponytail, and makeup that had melted down her face from hours in a hot hospital. “I should go,” she said, turning quickly on her heel and attempting to slam her trunk.
Beckett hurriedly stepped to the side to avoid getting his hands clamped. “Do you want to—” But he didn’t get to finish his question as she stomped around the other side of her car and slid behind the wheel. He had the grace to move aside so he didn’t get run over.
Mallory’s eyes burned as she fumbled to turn the car on. “Come on,” she pleaded as she drove away, nearly leaving skid marks in the market’s parking lot. From her rearview mirror, she saw Beckett standing in place, arms helplessly at his sides. She couldn’t read his expression, but that was for the best. He was a nice guy and probably didn’t even remember the last time they saw each other. She needed to do the same; push it down until she couldn’t remember having feelings for Beckett Fox in the first place.
Because Beckett lived here now, in the same small town she loved so much. They were bound to bump into each other again—and sooner than she’d probably like. Mallory needed to learn how to coexist with him, otherwise, her brother’s wedding and her day-to-day existence would be impossible to survive.
But then Mallory had another thought. What if she and Beckett could go back to normal? What if they could be friends? What if they acted like they did throughout their childhood? Those were some of her favorite memories, and Mallory hated the thought of losing them, of not having Beckett in her life.
She’d lost him for far too long already, and even after five minutes with him, her body burned to see him again. She wanted to know what he’d been up to, what had happened to his beloved grandfather. Mallory had too many unanswered questions, and she decided she was adult enough to get some answers. She knew where to find Beckett, and she would play nice.
*
S tumbling through the market, Beckett tossed a few bags of lettuce, a random apple, and four boxes of cereal into his cart before he could think straight. Seeing Mallory again had been—a lot. There was no other way to describe it.
Somehow, she seemed both happy and annoyed to see him, which given their last meeting, he could totally understand. He had a million thoughts running through him, from potential apologies to asking what she’d been up to. Her sky-blue scrubs confirmed what Evan said about her job, but he wanted to know what Mallory the woman was doing. Was she seeing anyone? Was she happy? Did she ever get that kitten she always wanted? Was she seeing anyone? Did she still like to binge kung fu movies in her pajamas? Was she seeing anyone?
Beckett didn’t want to invade her privacy with her groceries, but the sight of the magazines and candy warmed his heart. That was the Mallory he knew. He’d bet his whole paycheck she was going home after a long day to read magazines in the bathtub while scarfing down a candy bar or two. When they were kids, Evan would lament her habit when he needed to get ready for baseball practice or needed a shower after a game.
Not having siblings, Beckett could not fathom not having free rein over his house, but he was jealous that Evan had so many sisters to keep him company. Growing up with his grandparents had been great, basically the American dream. After his parents’ divorce, neither parent wanted to stay in Ohio. His mom followed her new fiancé to his home in Boston, while his father decided he wanted a fresh start out west.
Beckett remembered sitting with his parents and grandparents in the farm house, everyone wearing matching expressions of trepidation. He was young, but he wasn’t blind. It was clear his parents were headed to Splitsville, but Beckett didn’t know where that would take him.
“Beckett, honey,” his mom started, licking her lips and keeping her tone light. “Roger and I are going to move up to Boston. You know Boston, right?”
At seven years old, all Beckett knew about Boston was the Red Sox, baked beans, and lobster rolls. “Yeah?” he asked, although his mother likely wasn’t looking for more questions.
His mother’s cool hands reached out, pulling him closer until she met his gaze through his crooked glasses. “How would you feel about moving up north with us?”
Not even allowing Beckett ten seconds to absorb the invitation, his father soldiered on. “Now come on, son. Wouldn’t it be more fun to go out to California with me? We can ride horses and swim in the ocean.”
Beckett had horrible allergies and didn’t know how to swim, so the notion of doing either of those things caused him to grimace. “I don’t like to swim,” he said quietly, too afraid to disappoint or upset his father. It was easy to fail his old man, and Beckett loathed being the source of his father’s disappointment.
For a moment, no one spoke. The old clock on his grandparents’ mantle kept time of their racing hearts; counting down the last moments as a familial unit. Not realizing it at the time, Beckett’s childhood was evaporating into the ether. Carefree days with his whole family would soon be a distant memory; a source of heartbreak for years to come.
Finally, Gram spoke up. “Richard and I had a thought,” she offered, her eyes meeting Beckett’s. Her expression was warm, caring. The delicate skin around her mouth stretched into a smile. “Why doesn’t Beckett stay here with us? We can keep him in school for the rest of the year and decide over summer break.”
The suggestion was the right one, as everyone let out an exhale and fell back into their seats. “That sounds good to me, Mom.”
Beckett’s dad shifted on his seat before awkwardly patting his son on the shoulder. “Gives Beckett time to take swimming lessons.” His joke fell flat and the room shifted back to uncomfortable silence.
Summer break arrived and no one came back for Beckett. His mother and Roger had married, announcing they were pregnant before Beckett turned eight. While out in California, his father reconnected with a college friend and moved to a ranch on the central coast. Whether because of his son’s allergies or not, an invitation was never extended beyond the occasional holiday break.
Beckett didn’t really mind, as his grandparents were always enough. They were there when he needed help with his homework, they took him to the sporting supply store when he needed a new baseball glove, Gram taught him how to bake with the apples from their farm, and they always made time for his doctor’s appointments. He couldn’t have been more cared for, and he appreciated all their sacrifices.
The Lawsons were kind to him, too. Their family always inviting him to dinner and summer picnics. Evan welcomed the break from all the girliness his sisters brought into the home, and Mr. Lawson liked having someone else to talk sports with over the dinner table. He never was alone, except for now.
The only thing more uncomfortable than that memory was his stilted interaction with Mallory in the parking lot, and it didn’t sit right with him. He and Mallory were thick as thieves, or at least they used to be. He couldn’t understand how they’d gotten to where they were now, but he knew he was to blame. A few careless words said in jest, and everything he shared with Mallory shriveled up faster than a discarded apple core.
His parents leaving shaped Beckett in ways he only now was coming to understand, thanks to copious amounts of therapy. When he thought about the important people in his life, it was always his grandparents, Evan, and Mallory. It was one of the reasons he always kept Mallory at arm’s length, even though he wanted her in his arms. If things went south, not only would he lose Mallory, but he’d lose Evan. He couldn’t stand the notion. The Lawsons were the only people he had left.
Back at his apartment, Beckett decided he needed to do something or he’d crawl out of his skin. After kicking the same box over for the third time that day, he went to work. Three hours, ten boxes, and a million dust motes later, Beckett had the living room almost unpacked.
His collection of sci-fi paperbacks filled the shelves, and his PS5 was plugged in and connected to the router. If he finally washed the sheets and made the bed, he’d practically be ready for a housewarming party. Which, if he were honest, he wasn’t in the mood for. Chuckling at Evan’s suggestion, Beckett went in search of dinner. Even through his musings at the market, he’d managed to pick up the fixings for one of his childhood comfort foods—French bread pizza.
As Beckett retrieved the bread knife from the block, he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He lived on the first floor of a low-rise outside Buckeye Falls’ downtown. It wasn’t where he wanted to stay permanently, but he couldn’t handle living at the farm house on his own. There were too many memories that weren’t ready to be unpacked.
Tiptoeing to the peep hole, Beckett saw a figure in shadow. It was clearly a woman judging from the puff of hair visible in the fading sunlight—or perhaps a hipster barista who made house calls?
“Hello?” he said through the door.
He heard a squeak before “Um, hi.”
Mallory.
Beckett flung the door open and found her standing there, a box in her hand and an anxious expression marring her lovely face. “Mal, what are you doing here?”
Mallory held up the box and shook it, the sounds of metal and plastic scraping together. “I’m bringing a few odds and ends to help you move in. Ev said you might not have a tool box yet.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Beckett felt his muscles relax at her presence. Mallory had this amazing ability to calm him down while simultaneously causing him to burn with lust. “Oh yeah, he’s right. All the tools are still at the farm.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of cicadas in the night air surrounded them, their nightly song echoing through Buckeye Falls. Mallory finally cleared her throat and gestured with the box toward the door. “Can I come in?”
“Erm, yeah.” Beckett stepped back and held the door open for her, catching a whiff of her perfume as she slunk inside. Mallory always smelled like summertime: sweet and tangy like a handful of blackberries.
Mallory took a few paces inside and looked around. Beckett said a silent prayer of thanks that he had the forethought to start unpacking. It was a mess, but at least it looked like his mess. “Cute.” She said the word with a small smile, plopping the box on top of the coffee table.
She turned like she was going to leave, her presence not required beyond the delivery. Instinctively, Beckett blocked the way, letting the door close behind him on a soft click. “Where are you going?” he asked, his pulse kicking up at the idea that he wouldn’t see her for more than another moment.
Shrugging, Mallory pointed to the door. “Home?”
Before he could think better of it, Beckett blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Stay. Have dinner with me.”
Mallory didn’t respond at first, but he didn’t miss the flush that crept up her neck. “You want to have dinner with me?”
“Yes?” he replied, although it was far from a question. Beckett wanted Mallory to stay as long as she liked—for dinner or the rest of her life. He wasn’t picky.
Holding his breath, he watched her face shift from confusion to acceptance. Her shoulders were tense, but the popping of her jaw subsided. He knew he’d won this round. “Sure, that sounds nice.”
“Cool.”
For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved. Beckett took in Mallory, from her change of clothes to the new color of her hair. It had always been waves of chocolate, and now there were tinges of red, catching the light and reminding him of old copper pennies. He was still in love with this woman, and he needed to make the situation right. Mallory had clearly moved on, judging from her pinched expression and how she barely tolerated his dinner invitation.
But Gramps’s words echoed in Beckett’s head, and he couldn’t stop thinking about them. Go find your girl...
The trouble was, he’d found her. Beckett needed to figure out how to keep her.