Chapter 23 #2
Beau walks to the door, and when his hand is on the knob, I say quickly, panicked, ‘Beau!’
He turns to face me, lines relaxed, smile in place. My heart skips a beat. ‘The people downstairs … they’ll see you.’
‘So?’
‘So they’ll know you spent the night here. With me.’
He winks slowly. ‘Honey, you’re probably not the only lady staying up here.’
His arrogant smirk hits me hard at first, but then I laugh and reach for a pillow, tossing it after him. ‘You think you’re so irresistible, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, Bailey, I do.’ He winks at me, then pulls the door shut behind himself, leaving me to fall back on the pillows and stare up at the ceiling, last night playing through my mind like a movie.
By the time Beau returns, with two coffees and a bag of pastries, I’m showered and dressed, looking more like my normal self even if I don’t completely feel like it. Something about last night shifted a part of me that I can’t quite explain, but I feel different today.
‘You got dressed.’
I tilt a brow. ‘We need to get moving.’ I hold my hand out. ‘But first, coffee. Always coffee.’
He walks it toward me, eyes latched to mine, and despite the expression I maintain, my pulse starts to gallop out of control.
He puts his hand casually on my hip, like it belongs there, and my body responds instantly.
Memories of last night slice me, perfect illusions of happiness—the kind of happiness that’s meant to last forever.
I tamp down on that idea, shudder at the thought of ever believing in something like that again.
Beau’s not Kirk, but in a way, he’s even worse.
Or rather, trusting him would be. Kirk broke my heart.
If Beau ever betrayed me, it would rip it to shreds, utterly beyond repair.
I know instinctively that the pain he could inflict is so, so much worse.
Better to stay strong and in control, to walk away at the agreed upon time, and have this to look back on as a perfect but temporary relationship in my rear-view mirror.
I take a sip of the drink, closing my eyes as the first hit of caffeine assails me. ‘Bliss,’ I murmur.
He makes a growly sound of assent; our eyes meet and we both smile.
‘I need to grab some things from home before we head off,’ he says. ‘But I can pick you up in a bit?’
My lips pull to the side, considering that. ‘Actually, I thought I could come with you. There’s one other person I wanted to speak to.’
He makes a show of looking impatient. ‘About me?’
‘You are the subject of my article, aren’t you?’
He sips his coffee, eyes roaming my features. ‘You’ve spoken to everyone, haven’t you? Or do you need to fact check some of the bullshit Austin no doubt told you?’
‘Austin is a paragon of virtue and truth, as you well know,’ I respond, flicking his chest teasingly.
He makes a noise of scepticism. ‘Then who else?’
I rack my brain for the name Beth had mentioned. ‘Your neighbour.’ I click my fingers as it comes to me. ‘Ash.’
His reaction is unmistakable. Surprise, then caution, and finally unease. ‘Why Ash?’
A familiar sense of desperate caution floods my body, a screeching sound of panic launches in my ears. I know I’m being paranoid because of Kirk. Because of that moment I saw with my own eyes that everything was a lie. This is Beau, not Kirk, and I’m probably misunderstanding his response.
I take in a quick breath, to calm my fluttering nerves. ‘Beth said you guys were close,’ I murmur, surprised my voice doesn’t come out all high pitched and weird. ‘That you’ve been friends since you were kids.’
‘Yeah, we have been,’ he agrees, but he’s holding something back, and now I know it’s not just paranoia.
‘What’s the problem?’ I use the pretence of putting the cup down across the room as a way to get some space between us, perching my butt on the old timber windowsill.
The distance gives me a better view of him, as I try to employ my analytical reporter brain instead of my very jealous sleeping-with-him heart.
But both brain and heart, every part of me, is telling me there’s something off here—that for some reason he doesn’t want me talking to Ash.
As a reporter, looking under rocks to find things people want to keep hidden is part of the job.
‘Surely you have all the information you need for this thing?’
His voice is relaxed but his body is as tense as if he’s watching me step into the bull chute.
I sweep my eyes over him, taking in the wide set of his legs, the way one hand is jammed into his pocket, the other gripping his coffee, and narrow my eyes slowly.
‘It shouldn’t take long,’ I say noncommittally.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask her to sell her soul for the sake of my article. ’
A muscle throbs in his cheek as he clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything else.
A pit has opened up in my gut. I angle my face toward the window, looking down on the main street.
I’m too shaken to even appreciate how beautiful it is, with the quaint old buildings and pretty flowers in pots lining the sidewalks.
It’s quiet down there, except for the coffee shop, which is abuzz with early-morning activity. I take another sip; it doesn’t help.
‘Look, Bailey.’ His tone is gruff. ‘It’s not a big deal, but you should know, Ash and I—we used to have a thing.’
My heart stammers and trips. I slowly turn to face him. ‘What does that mean?’
‘We grew up together, and at some point, I guess we grew into each other.’ He walks toward the dressing table and rests his butt on the edge of it. Memories of last night slice through me, briefly disorientating me with their ferocious heat. ‘It was just a casual thing, when it worked.’
‘You were sleeping with her,’ I say for clarity, even when I don’t really need it.
That same muscle ticks as he moves his jaw, but he nods, once.
‘She’s one of my best friends.’ Like that explains it.
Or like it helps. Because Beau fucking around with random women he meets in bars is one thing, but imagining him making love to a woman he’s known since they were kids, running around this beautiful place together then falling into bed, is pulling at me in a way I haven’t felt since Kirk.
The sense of being shoved into the huge abyss in my belly is impossible to fight.
My free hand trembles a little; I curve it over the windowsill and hold on tight.
‘So?’ I say it like ‘why does that matter?’, but it’s a question I can’t answer myself.
Why does it matter so much? He hasn’t done anything wrong.
This isn’t a betrayal. He didn’t say he’s still sleeping with her, he very clearly used the past tense.
‘I just didn’t want you to be blindsided, if she mentioned it. Not that she probably will.’
I take another sip of coffee, but it’s almost impossible to swallow over the thickening in my throat.
I’m being ridiculous. Of course Beau has a past, and of course some of his past is here in Goodnight.
Why is the thought of him with someone else, someone Beth spoke of with such easy affection, sticking into me like a blade?
‘Thanks for the warning.’ I force a flicker of a smile. ‘But it’s really not a big deal. I’m well aware you have a vivid history, Beau. It’s none of my business who you did what with before we met, unless it’s relevant to the article.’
He frowns.
‘It’s fine,’ I assure him, even when I’m far from feeling it.