Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
HATTIE
I didn’t think there was anything better than sewing.
I was wrong.
Because kissing Beck Olivier is way better than sewing.
I’ve kissed other people before. Three in fact.
Quinton Harper. Matt Robicheaux. And Camryn Bernard.
Yes. I’ve kissed a girl.
At a church retreat.
I figured if I didn’t get what all the fuss was about after kissing boys, maybe I was queer and I should try girls.
Kissing each of them felt like eating candy with the wrapper still on.
Like…
There’s got to be more than this, right?
But with Beck?
Not only is the wrapper gone, but this is Candy of the Gods.
Naked Candy Divine.
And I am a glutton.
I want more and more.
I had to tell him to hug me tighter, hold my hand tighter. But Beck is a fast learner because his hands fist in my hair and he pulls me into him as We. Kiss. Hard.
My lips are going to be bruised, and I. LOVE. IT.
The only thing I don’t love are the stupid chair arms that keep the lower half of my body away from his.
And, damn, that lower half is screaming for her turn!
I’m contemplating vaulting over the barriers into Beck’s lap when I hear my name.
And not in Beck’s rough, masculine voice.
“Harriet?!”
I ignore it, resenting the unwelcome sound like it’s a heartless alarm clock.
Beck stiffens against me, but I don’t let up. Nothing outside of this kiss is worth my attention. I’ve just unwrapped Candy Divine, for God’s sake.
So when Beck edges back, I lean forward, chasing his mouth with mine. And when I feel his lips smile against my hungry kiss, it’s even better.
“Harriet? Are you alright?”
“Hattie—Baby—” Beck grips my shoulders, so when he pulls back this time, I can’t follow.
I scowl when the kiss breaks. Beck’s face is still close to mine, but not close enough. His cheeks are flushed a lovely conch shell pink. The amber of his eyes is just a slender ring like a solar eclipse, his pupils are so huge. His nostrils flare as he takes big lungfuls of air.
No man has ever looked so good, but he may as well have pinched me.
He searches my face and his mouth crooks a smile.
“Did you just call me baby?” I ask, still scowling.
His brows lift, and he opens his mouth to say something, when a shadow falls over us.
“Harriet? Do you need help?”
Beck looks over my shoulder.
Rude.
“Hi.” He says this to the person behind me, but his jaw is tight and the word doesn’t sound like a real greeting.
But still, I’m disappointed. It’s like he’s never learned that if you don’t acknowledge someone who’s interrupting you, they’ll eventually go away.
“I was talking to Harriet,” the woman says. And even though I want to make a point of not paying attention to her, her voice is familiar, though I can’t place it.
Beck looks back at me, the conch shell flush on his cheeks all but gone. “Hattie, you want to introduce me?”
“No.” I sneer like it’s obvious, but Beck flinches like he’s been stung. Wait. Did I sting him? I rush to explain. “Sh-she’s interrupting our date and it’s rude.”
“Y-your date? Harriet, do your parents know?” The intruder asks.
And this makes me turn, and suddenly I’m glaring at Margaret’s future mother-in-law.
Merrick’s mom.
Ms. Alicia.
She’s wearing Lululemon leggings, a sports tank, and running shoes. Two ladies dressed just like her watch us from a few feet away.
All at once, I’m so disappointed.
Because I love Merrick. So much.
And I want to love the people he loves.
But his mom just derailed the best kiss I’ll probably ever have in my life, made me put that look on Beck’s face like… like I just broke his heart, AND she asked me a question that’s NONE of her business.
Plus, I don’t want to answer it.
“Ms. Alicia.” I say her name like it tastes bad. But then I clamp my mouth shut. Because Margaret and Merrick are getting married in just one month.
And I’ve already ruptured peace in the family with my cranky old twat declaration.
But Merrick’s mom just asked me—in front of Beck—if my parents know I’m on a date.
Just like that, anger and humiliation roil like lava under my skin. And since they have nowhere to go, stupid tears prick my eyes.
This is going to ruin everything.
And with that thought, anger and humiliation take a back seat to a gut-walloping sadness like I’ve never known. Because Beck will never want to see me again after this.
I don’t stand a chance. Fighting the wave does nothing.
I go from glaring to sobbing in one breath. I squeeze my eyes shut, but not before I see the startled looks on Ms. Alicia and her friends’ faces.
Oh, God. No.
I try to hold my breath to suffocate all these feelings, but it’s like trying to suffocate a hurricane. Clamping my mouth shut against the sobs only makes snot come out of my nose because my chest won’t stop heaving.
People are staring.
I cover my face with my hands.
Why? Why can we feel the need to turn to ash and blow away and not be able to do it?
“Harriet,” Ms. Alicia is hovering by my chair. When she puts a hand on my shoulder, I slap it away with a yawp of protest.
“D-don’t… t-touch me…”
“I’m so sorry, I—should I call Margaret?”
What the hell?! What is happening?
“No! J-just go away!”
I feel Beck stand, and I want to throw out a hand to stop him. To wail, Not you! But, of course, he wants to go. Walk away and forget the weirdest date of his life. I can’t beg him to stay.
“Ma’am, I’m Beck Olivier, Hattie’s friend,” Beck says in a voice that sounds almost calm. Almost. “Who are you?”
Wait.
He’s not leaving?
I want to look up, but that would mean uncovering my face, which is tear-streaked and snotty. And my sobs are still coming in rapid-fire wheezes.
“I-I-I’m Alicia Milton. My son is engaged to Harriet’s sister.”
“Mmhm. I see,” Beck says in that almost calm voice that I’m starting to realize might not be that calm at all. It… it might be angry.
And now I really want to look up.
Instead, I hiccup another sob and try to get my breathing under control.
“You and your friends are enjoying the park? A long walk, I’m guessing?” he asks, and, yep. That’s anger. Tightly leashed but anger all the same.
Another sob squeaks past me. I suck in a shaky breath and fight harder for control.
“Y-yes, and when I saw—”
“When you saw us kissing, did Hattie appear to be in distress?” It’s like he’s balancing on a tightwire. How can he sound so eerily calm and yet clearly pissed at the same time?
I have to see this. I’ve got nothing but my sleeves to mop up my face, but at least I’m not wearing makeup. No smears.
But because everything good has been ruined, tears are still slipping from my eyes. My face and neck are still hot. So I tug one sleeve over my hand and start blotting.
“No, but—”
“But you assumed something was wrong,” Beck finishes for her.
When I finally look up, Beck is staring down Ms. Alicia. Not glaring. He’s not giving her an ugly look, but something about the hardness in his eyes makes him seem…
Powerful.
Ms. Alicia must not like it because she lifts her chin as her lips thin. “I did. I’ve known the Merciers for years. I know that Harriet is…” She glances down at me. Beck might stare, but I glare for fuck’s sake. “Isn’t… independent.”
What the hell?!
“That’s not true!” I shoot to my feet. But even I can hear the uncertainty in my own protest.
Is it true?
Yes, I live with my parents. But I’m not the only twenty-three-year-old who lives at home. I’m in college.
Sure, it’s online because going in person would drain me too much, and I’m only taking a few classes a semester, but I’m taking them. And passing them.
Mostly.
No, I don’t have a job. But I’ve had them.
Not any I liked.
Or was very good at.
Or stayed in longer than about three weeks.
Or ended the jobs on awesome terms with my bosses.
Or my coworkers.
Or the customers.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not independent.
Does it?
Expecting to see uncertainty on Beck’s face too, I risk a peek at him from beneath my brows, but he’s not looking back at me. He’s still staring at Ms. Alicia.
On second thought, he might even be glaring now.
“She’s independent enough to consent to a first kiss. I know because she asked for my consent beforehand.”
I stand a little taller.
I did! I did ask for consent!
Ms. Alicia’s mouth falls open like she’s going to say something. Then she looks at me and closes it again.
“We’re on a date,” I blurt, my voice thick with tears but finally steady. “It’s just a coffee date, but it’s still a real date. I know because I asked on Wednesday, and Beck said Hell-Yes-It’s-A-Real-Date.”
I glance at Beck’s profile. He’s biting his bottom lip while the corner of his mouth tugs to the side.
“Mutual informed consent from the get-go,” he mutters, his gaze snagging mine.
And the look in his eyes? The look he’s giving me? It makes me feel like… like…
Like we’re on the same team.
But how can that be? I’ve never been on a team in my life.
Not one that wanted me.
Because I spent a decade in Catholic schools getting picked dead last in PE, thank you very much.
“So it’s a date you planned?” Ms. Alicia asks, blinking. “And your parents know?”
I’ve calmed down enough to stop crying, but this is the second time she’s asked about my parents knowing, and fear and anger threaten anew.
I do not want to start crying all over again. I clench my teeth against the swelling emotions.
“It’s a date we planned,” I growl. And screw Margaret and Merrick’s wedding. Screw peace in the family. If I’m not supposed to be rude to my elders, they shouldn’t be rude to me, and nosiness is R.U.D.E. “No one else is invited.”
Judging by the way Ms. Alicia’s eyes bug, I’ve said this kind of loud. Maybe really loud.
So I do try—I really do try—to lower my voice. “And since you’re not me or Beck, that means you’re not invited either. You need to go, Ms. Alicia, so we can continue with our plans.”