11. Nelly
Nelly
The Honeycomb Café smells like coffee, maple syrup, and lavender.
It hits me the second Beau opens the door for me, the cool air rolling out onto the sidewalk while the little bells above the entrance jingle softly. The storm clouds outside turn the café windows silver-gray, but inside? Everything glows gold.
String lights wrap around the wooden beams overhead. Mismatched mugs line the shelves behind the counter. Someone's baking something with cinnamon, and it hangs heavy in the air alongside the smell of fresh coffee grounds.
My stomach growls loud enough that Beau laughs under his breath.
"Oh, now you're hungry," he says as he guides me toward a corner booth.
I shrug. "I've been hungry. I just ignore it. Got things to do, you know?"
"That's not the defense you think it is."
I slide into the booth across from him, stretching my sore legs beneath the table with a groan. Every muscle in my body protests the movement, and Beau notices immediately.
Because of course he does. "You overdid it yesterday."
I wave a hand at him. "I was productive yesterday."
"You were one ladder slip away from becoming a medical bill."
"See? Bossy," I say with a grin.
His mouth twitches while he opens a menu. "You know what you want?"
A waitress swings by with two glasses of water.
"Mornin', Beau," she says with a smile.
He nods. "Morning, Ruth."
She smiles at me. "Hey there, wrecking ball!"
I blink. "What?"
"Wrecking ball. Since you're the one fixin' up that old place by the apartments."
"Oh." I snort. "That sounds way less impressive than 'home renovator.'"
Ruth grins. "Honey, you're the talk of the town right now."
"That's… horrifying."
Ruth winks at me as she pulls out her notepad. "You'll survive. What can I get you two?"
Beau doesn't glance at the menu, even though he opened it. "Honeycomb cake, bacon, and coffee."
"Of course, as always," Ruth says. "And for you?"
I narrow my eyes at Beau. "You come here enough that you have a regular order? Since when?"
He just shrugs as he hands his menu off. "She knows everyone's order."
Ruth points at him with her pen. "That's true."
Then she looks at me expectantly.
"Steak and eggs," I say. "And a stack of pancakes."
"Yet you're not hungry this morning," he says.
I just shoot him a look that pulls a playful chuckle from him. The sound washes over me like warm rain, and I stuff the feeling down deep. I don't have time to parse through whatever's happening.
I've got bigger things on my mind.
Ruth laughs while scribbling it down. "Good choice, sweetheart. Y'all want some coffee?"
"Please," Beau and I say in unison.
Ruth slides her pen into her apron. "Be back in a minute with those coffees."
The café hums around us after she leaves. Coffee cups clink softly. Someone laughs near the register. Rain taps lightly against the windows while an old country song crackles through the hidden speakers overhead.
For the first time in days, I'm not thinking about the roof.
Or the budget.
Or whether my foundation is actively dissolving into mud.
Ruth comes back in a jiffy with our mugs and sets a warm carafe between me and Beau. I reach for the milk and sugar, sprinkling some into the bottom of my cup.
Then the carafe tips over it, steaming liquid pouring in.
"There you go," Beau says as he fills his own mug next. "Now, drink. You look half dead on your feet."
I curl my hands around the warm mug and sink deeper into the booth cushions. Oh, yeah. Taking a load off was definitely the right call. I should do this more often.
Beau watches me over the rim of his coffee cup as I take my first sip.
"What?" I ask.
"You look tired."
"I am tired."
"No," he says quietly. "You look run-down."
Something about the way he says it loosens a knot in my stomach.
I shrug a shoulder. "Didn't sleep much."
"Because of the storm?"
"Because my brain doesn't shut up."
He hums softly like he understands that better than most.
Which, let's face it, he probably does with all of those numbers dancing around in his head.
"You know," I murmur, tracing my fingertip along the mug handle, "my mother used to say I'd never find a mate if I kept acting like a boy."
Beau's expression flattens.
"She said fixing houses wasn't Omega work," I continue. "Said no Alpha would want a woman who came home covered in drywall dust."
"And that's why no one liked your mom growing up."
I snort into my coffee. "You should've heard her after I came home with my first nail gun."
His eyebrows lift. "Oh?"
"She cried."
His face wrinkles. "What?"
"She actually cried, Beau. Full tears." I shake my head, laughing softly at the memory now that enough years have passed. "You'd think I announced I was joining the circus."
His fingers tighten around his mug as he takes a pull from it.
"You were right to cut contact with them, Nelly. I hope you know that."
"I know," I say quietly. "They never got it, my passions. Not really. I just…"
Outside, rainwater slides down the café windows in crooked trails. I decide not to finish the thought. There's no use in wallowing in my own self-pity.
Beau has other plans, though. "You just… what?"
I sigh heavily. "I just wish I had a family, you know? Like, an actual family. People who support me, and encourage me, and tell me I'm doing a good job."
"I support you," he says.
"I know, I know. It's just… I mean, for fuck's sake, my dad stopped talking to me for almost two months after I bought my first property. Two months, Beau."
He winces.
I hate how my voice chokes up. "He said I was embarrassing the family."
"You rebuild abandoned homes for a living." Beau's voice stays low and steady. "That's not embarrassing. It's honorable work, just like any other job in this town. You're breathing life back into this place one home at a time."
"Well, apparently I'm supposed to stay home, bake pies, and wait for some Alpha to decide I'm worth marrying."
"That's bullshit, and you know it."
The sharpness in his tone catches me off guard.
Beau clears his throat after. "Sorry."
"No," I say as I shake my head. "You're right. I'm just letting the demons in my head win today, and I shouldn't let them."
Silence settles between us for a moment. Not awkward, though. Things like this with Beau have never been awkward.
I've always appreciated that.
Ruth returns to us, balancing two massive plates, and slides them onto the table.
The smell alone nearly knocks me unconscious.
The steak bites glisten beneath melted garlic butter.
Pancakes steam beside the scrambled eggs.
Beau's honeycomb cake looks sinful beside the thick-cut, extra-crispy bacon.
"Ugh, thank you," I say as I pull the plate toward me.
Beau laughs quietly. "Thanks, Ruth."
"Anytime, honey. Y'all enjoy."
I stab a piece of steak almost immediately while Beau pours syrup onto his cake.
"You know," I say around a bite, "your family's just as bad as mine."
He sighs. "Please don't remind me."
"Your mom still trying to 'Alpha-fy' you?"
"She asked if I'd considered testosterone supplements last month."
I choke on my coffee. "She did not."
"She absolutely did."
"No!"
He points his fork at me. "I'm serious."
I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
"She slid a damn pamphlet across the table at Sunday dinner."
I shake my head at the absurdity of it all. "Oh my god."
"She highlighted sections, Nelly. Highlighted. In orange."
I cup my hand over my mouth. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but that's the funniest thing I've ever heard."
He grins from across the table. "You're a terrible friend."
"I'm an amazing friend," I say as I take another bite of food. "You need to start bringing me to these Sunday meals. You know how badly I wish I'd been there? I would've—"
Beau groans and drops his forehead into one hand. "My uncle tried to set me up with some Alpha banker from Louisville after that."
That kills my playful mood. "What?"
"Apparently, she likes 'quiet Betas.'"
I blink. "They're trying to marry you off now?"
"She asked if I cooked."
"Sure. Ramen, maybe."
"Hey," he says as he stabs at his cake. "I can cook."
My lips purse together. "And what is it that you cook?"
He takes a bite of his cake and chews slowly. "I mean, I make a pretty good bowl of cereal."
And just like that, I'm back to giggling. Beau's lips twitch despite himself before he chases his cake down with some coffee.
"I hate you," he mutters.
I toss him a wink. "No, you don't."
"No," he admits softly. "I don't."
Our conversation drifts after that. Talking with Beau is always easy. We talk about the good ol' days back in high school while the rain falls steadily outside. Not violent or gusty. Just the rhythmic pitter-patter that comes with summers in Honeysuckle Grove.
"You know what I'll never forget?" Beau asks.
"What?" I ask as I take a bite of my eggs.
"The time you backed that rental truck into the mayor's mailbox during your first landscaping job."
"That was an accident."
"Oh, sure," he says, making air quotes. "Accident."
"I didn't mean to do it on purpose!"
"Oh, I know," he says with a chuckle. "It's the first time I've ever seen you cry."
"I didn't cry, Beau."
He snickers. "Oh, you absolutely cried."
"I panicked. There's a difference."
"You cried while holding a shrub. I'll never forget that phone call."
"Well, that mailbox came out of nowhere. Really, those things should have reflectors on them or something."
Beau laughs into his coffee, and I try to ignore the warmth that percolates through my veins.
It's the coffee.
It has to be the coffee.
At some point while we eat, the light outside brightens enough to turn the café windows gold again. Our plates sit empty. A carafe refill appears without us asking. But eventually, Beau checks his watch and groans.
"I need to get to the office."
My shoulders sink. "Right."
He points at me. "And you need to stop trying to rebuild a porch with no breakfast in your system. Eat before you work."
"Yes, sir," I say as I give him a playful salute.
He gives me a flat look, but there's no malice behind it. "Come on, you silly goose. I'll walk you back to the house."
I smile despite myself while we slide out of the booth.
Beau insists on paying for breakfast even though I've got cash, and I'm silently thankful for it.
He's been kind enough not to ream me for being less financially grounded on this project than my others.
But I've had my eye on this house for a while now.
I'm glad to be fixing it up, even if I don't turn much of a profit from it.
The warmth outside hits differently when Beau opens the door for me. It's heavy and humid. A storm-soaked mess that feels just like home. We stroll back toward the house, talking about everything and nothing. It's a nice distraction from the worries swirling around inside my head.
But eventually, the house comes into view.
"There she is," I murmur, eyeing the sagging porch again.
Beau follows my gaze. "You're thinking about the railing already, aren't you?"
"I'm always thinking about the railing."
"That sentence sounds insane out of context."
I grin and bump my shoulder against his arm.
We walk up the crooked porch steps and stand at the front door. For a second, neither one of us says anything. Wind rustles through the wet trees overhead, and somewhere down the street, thunder echoes.
"Thanks for breakfast," I say.
Beau smiles. "Anytime."
"You have a good day at work, okay?"
He just nods. But… neither of us moves.
"Hey, Nelly?" he asks.
"Yeah?" I ask, the word coming out a little too quick for my liking.
He takes his time before he speaks. "You know that if you ever need anything, I'm just a phone call away."
"I know."
"I don't think you do. I know you feel alone some days, but you're not. You've got me. Always."
The female Alpha who claims Beau is going to be so lucky. "I really appreciate that, thank you."
"You look like you could use a hug."
Actually, that sounds amazing.
I open my arms for him and he wraps me up. My head falls to his chest, and his soft scent of fresh linen and clean air drapes over me like a cloud. His long, lean arms wrap around me, holding me close against him, and I let my eyes fall closed.
"Please take care of yourself," he whispers into my hair.
My heart stumbles hard against my ribs. "I always do."
Beau looks down at me like he's trying to figure something out. "No, you don't. So please, be intentional about it, okay?"
As I tilt my head back to look up at him, I realize we're doing the same thing: neither of us is letting go of the other. Neither of us steps back. The air between us thickens, charged with a type of electricity I don't usually feel.
My pulse pounds loud enough I swear he has to hear it.
"Beau," I whisper.
His hands flex against my back. "Yeah?"
Then, his gaze drops to my mouth.