Chapter 26 #2
“I know that you make my daughter laugh.” He fiddled with a strand of my hair.
“You knit for babies you don’t know. You need coffee first thing in the morning.
Your first instinct is always kindness, even to men who were total assholes to you.
Present company included.” He leaned in to kiss my nose.
“I know that your pussy tastes like honey.”
My pussy clenched at his words. As if it hadn’t been utterly worshipped by him all night.
“I know that you cry while watching videos of flash mobs,” he continued, tracing around my eyes with his finger.
“You’re a voracious reader, you’re intelligent, you like reality shows about rich housewives.
I know that you curl into me in your sleep.
I know, Hannah Morgan, that you’re made for me.
I know you. I know I’ll only ever want you. ”
He wiped a tear I didn’t even know had fallen from the corner of my eye.
“But those are all the things I know. You’ve shown me nothing but the best of you because there is nothing more to you than the best things. I’ve shown you the worst of me, so it makes sense—”
“I want you.” I cut him off, reaching up to brush his beard. It was such a thrill, a gift that I got to touch him. Whenever I wanted.
“I want this. But it scares me.” The words sounded simple out loud, but it didn’t feel simple.
“And there are a lot of parts of me that aren’t ‘the best.’ I’ve been poor, Beau.
Really poor. I’ve been hungry. I’ve been hurt, physically and mentally by people who were meant to care for me.
I am just a little bit broken.” My breath hitched.
Beau watched me for a long time, not speaking for several heartbeats.
I expected him to tell me I wasn’t broken, to shower me with compliments, place me on a pedestal which I would inevitably fall from.
But he didn’t.
“I’m broken too, baby,” he admitted. “And I happen to think we’re … whole. Together.”
Then he kissed me.
And this time I didn’t stop him.
ONE WEEK LATER
“You look pretty, baby.” Beau’s arms curled around me, and his chin landed on my shoulder as I fastened my earrings.
His casual affection never got old. Nor did him calling me “baby.” Granted, it hadn’t had time to get old. It had only been a week.
I had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t get old even if we stayed together until I was gray and old.
If I were so lucky to have Beau’s arms around me in five years. Ten. Twenty.
Dangerous thoughts. Ones I still didn’t let myself have, yet Beau offered them casually into everyday life without hesitation.
Clara did it so effortlessly too. The transition had not been bumpy for her in the slightest. Her everyday life barely changed.
Except now we spent Beau’s nights off together, snuggled on the couch.
Now she saw Beau and I holding hands, kissing.
If she happened to wake up before me—which had happened all of once—she knew to come find me in her father’s bed.
Now that it was our bed. Beau was usually up making breakfast, though he did linger longer with me in bed, chatting about the day, mapping my limbs with callused palms.
We hadn’t yet risked any actual morning sex, too risky. Clara didn’t need to see that.
Beau and I enjoyed some heavy make-out sessions in the mornings in bed and on the sofa after Clara had gone to sleep. We kept actual sex to our bed. Or the floor in our room. Or the shower. Always behind closed doors.
Fiona had called to let me know “Tonight is the night.” According to her, the plan was “to welcome you” into whatever new group I was now a part of.
Calliope was coming to pick me up.
Another person who was delighted by the change in our relationship status. Second only to Beau’s father, who was over the moon at the news. He’d hugged me with tears in his eyes.
Not one person had blinked when they discovered we were together. Not one raised eyebrow or so much as an odd facial expression. No one seemed to be disapproving. Everyone closest to Beau was thrilled.
Although Beau didn’t hold back his affection toward me and he didn’t hesitate to talk about our future, his posture was tense, his jaw rigid when we first presented ourselves as a couple to his family.
I knew he was holding on to reservations about the age gap between us.
I wasn’t. There was probably a vaguely disturbing clinical reason as to why I was so attracted to him because of his age—hello, daddy issues —but I didn’t spend much time focusing on that.
My arousal template had been cemented in my early years.
I could use my preference for older men to destroy my life—hello, Waylon—or to enrich it.
Being in love with an older man—one who was a wonderful father, with strong moral values and treated me right—was not destructive in my book. Convincing Beau of that was another story, and something I’d given up on for the time being. I had to trust it was something he could get over.
I was still getting used to getting ready in Beau’s—our, according to him—bathroom, my clothes in his—our—closet. Small everyday routines now felt pivotal, terrifying. Never in my life had I been given so much.
Like looking in a mirror and seeing Beau behind me.
“Thank you,” I said, turning to face him.
He placed his hands lightly on my hips, eyes scanning my face. I’d opted for a little more makeup than I usually wore.
It felt fun, now. Dressing up. Even though I was self-conscious about the lack of variety and expensive pieces in my closet.
Beau’s gaze ran over me like I was wearing the finest things money could buy.
He looked at me like that when I was naked, in sweats, my running clothes. I hated that a man boosted my self-confidence, but he did.
Though his daughter did as well. When she asked me questions like I knew the answer to everything, when she listened to me intently, like every word I said mattered.
When she told me I was the prettiest woman she knew and then made me promise not to tell her Aunt Loppie she said that.
She loved me unconditionally, for who I was. That made me feel worthy. Special.
“Do me a favor?” Beau tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “Get drunk tonight.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me?”
His hand settled around my neck. “The night you came home drunk, crawling on your hands and knees…” His grip flexed around my neck, and his eyes flared in a way that made my insides clench deliciously.
“It took every ounce of my willpower not to take you on all fours,” he growled.
Sensation erupted over every inch of my skin, most notably between my legs. The area in question had been well taken care of this past week. I had a delightful ache from the previous night, but I still wanted more.
I didn’t consider myself a greedy person, but when it came to Beau Shaw, I always wanted more.
“You were so fucking sexy that night,” he continued.
“Cheeks flushed. Ass in the air. Happy.” He looked into my eyes.
“There’s nothing more beautiful than my happy woman.
” He paused, teeth scraping his bottom lip as his eyes slid over me.
“Well, maybe my freshly fucked woman. You’ll be both tonight. ”
My toes curled in my boots as Beau leaned in to kiss me slowly, leisurely, with promise.
“I’ll get drunk,” I agreed, voice breathy.
“And no fucking rideshares,” he ordered roughly. “Elliot is under strict instructions to drive you home.”
I rolled my eyes. “Overprotective.”
He cupped my jaw. “No, Hannah. You are one of two things in this world that is irreplaceable to me. I’m just sensible about how you’re taken care of.”
I stared back at him, my breathing shallow. Beau could talk dirty and tender. Plus, he had a kick-ass beard, a six-pack, and made excellent sourdough.
I was done for.
A faint knock at the door tugged me out of my lovestruck haze.
“I’ll get it!” Clara yelled. The patter of her feet could be heard from down the hallway.
Beau kissed my head and released me, already walking in the direction of the door. It was most likely Calliope, but he didn’t take any chances. He never did. Not with Clara. And now me.
I took one last look at my reflection. My cheeks were flushed, and there was a brightness in my eyes that hadn’t been there before. Even my hair looked shinier.
I was happier.
A quick glance around the room told me why. Some of my things were mingled with Beau’s on the dresser. A library paperback sat on my side of the bed. My clothes were in the closet.
Before I could get too misty-eyed, before I could give myself the chance to conjure up all the ways this could go wrong, I walked down the hall.
Beau and Clara were standing at the door with Calliope.
“It’ll be dark soon,” Clara was telling Calliope. “You can look through my telescope.”
The birthday gift had not lost its novelty. Clara learned more about space every day and was deciding whether she was going to be an astronomer or astronaut.
Calliope grinned at her with obvious love, her features softening whenever they touched upon Clara.
“Although I would love nothing more than to be the one to discover the black hole that will eventually destroy us all, I’m here for Hannah.
” She looked up as I approached, smirking knowingly when Beau’s hand instantaneously went to my hip as soon as I was within touching distance.
“Can I come too?” Clara asked, wide-eyed.
Calliope bent down to eye level. “As much as I would love to share champagne with you, I think we’ll wait another ten years.” She winked.
“You’ll wait another sixteen years,” Beau barked at her.
Calliope didn’t break her gaze with Clara. “What’s the fun in trying champagne for the first time when it’s legal?”
“Her prefrontal cortex won’t be developed, so there’s that,” Beau grumbled, even though he knew Calliope was just trying to get him to bite, as she always did.
And Beau always bit.