Chapter 8 #2
Beside me, Beck makes a noise that might’ve been a snort or a choke, and it turns into a throat-clearing sound. And when I look at him again, he’s smiling huge with that We’re on the same team smile.
And I really like being on his team.
I look back at Ms. Alicia, and she and her friends stare, open-mouthed.
It would be great if she walked away and forgot this ever happened.
“Well.” Ms. Alicia lifts her chin and puts on a plastic smile. “Harriet, I suppose I’ll see you soon.”
The wedding. Ugh.
Just the thought of it now zaps me like an AC current. Like I’ve tripped over a live wire, and the voltage is holding me hostage.
I don’t say anything because I can’t. And Ms. Alicia doesn’t even look at Beck before she turns and hurries back to her friends.
This isn’t over. She’s going to blab. I’m lucky if it’ll just be to Margaret. If she doesn’t call my mom as soon as she’s out of earshot.
Fuck.
Do my parents know I’m on a date?
Hell, no.
Was I planning on telling them?
Yes.
Maybe.
Under the right conditions.
Like after this Hell-Yes-It’s-A-Real-Date-Coffee-Date led to an A Priori-Dinner-Date-the-First and an A Priori-Dinner-Date-the-Second—or its equivalent—and then we maybe entered the idyllic land of We-Don’t-Have-to-Go-Anywhere-I-Just-Want-to-Be-With-You.
My heart squeezes at the thought of We-Don’t-Have-to-Go-Anywhere-I-Just-Want-to-Be-With-You. Because, honestly, what under heaven could be better than that?
Especially with someone like Beck?
But after what just happened, I think I’ll be relegated to That-One-Coffee-Date-I-Had-With-A Neurospicy-Girl.
And now I just want to lie down.
I close my eyes and dig the heels of my hands into my eye sockets.
God, I’m exhausted.
How am I going to make it home? Maybe I can take a nap in the Jeep.
But I have to get back to the Jeep first.
Shit. It’s so far away.
I turn in the direction of the parking lot, not even ready to open my eyes, but I know I have to start somewhere.
“Hattie?” Beck’s voice sounds far away, but I feel his shadow fall over me, so he must be right there.
My heart squeezes again. He’s so nice. And I’m such a mess.
“Are you okay?” The question is a rough whisper. I’m pretty sure no one in the whole world heard it but me.
I really don’t want to start crying again. I suck in a shaky breath.
“I have to go,” I croak.
“Go? W-wait. Why?”
The sigh that leaves me weighs a ton.
I am so tired.
“You’re tired?” he asks, moving closer.
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Yeah, you did, babe.”
Eyes still closed, I grimace. “Babe? Gross… God, I need to lie down.”
“How about you sit down first?” Beck’s hand closes around my bicep, and as wiped out as I am, I have to acknowledge again that he’s a fast learner.
It’s not a tentative, wimpy, light grip that I’d want to slap away.
And it’s not the stern, almost painful, corrective grip Mom resorts to when she’s frustrated with me.
It’s firm. Grounding. Solid, but not forceful.
I draw in a long breath and nod.
Beck steers me back to the Adirondack. I slump into it.
I really need to lie down. Or crawl in a hole.
His chuckle is low and close. “I can’t dig you a hole, but I’ve got a blanket in my truck.”
“Oh shit. I said that out loud too,” I groan. “I’m so weird.”
Beck’s hand moves to my jaw, again firm, but not forceful. “Hattie, can you look at me?”
I open my eyes. Beck is in a low squat beside my chair, eye-level with me. Damn. I’m really glad I opened my eyes because I wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing him squat in those jeans. But it’s the warm honey look in his eyes I would’ve most regretted not witnessing.
“If you want to go home, I’ll walk you to your car, and if you can’t drive, I’ll drive you home.
” He’s not smiling. Not really. But his expression is so kind—so down-to-his-soul good—that it sort of feels like he is smiling.
“But I don’t want you to leave. Not yet, anyway.
And if you let me go grab the blanket, I’ll lie down with you in the park for as long as you want. ”
Lie down with me?
That sounds pretty nice.
And that’s not too weird. Lying on a blanket in the grass at the park is a thing, right?
“It’s definitely a thing,” he says with a chuckle.
“Shit. I did it again,” I croak, my eyes closing.
He grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Promise me you’ll stay right here. I’ll be quick, I swear.”
I push the word from my lips. “Promise.”
He squeezes my hand again. “Be right back.”
And I think I can feel when he’s gone. If I had to guess by the sound, he took off at a run. I hate running. Which might have factored into the picked-dead-last-for-PE thing, now that I think about it.
But if Beck is running, he’s doing this horrible thing… for me.
I force my eyes open, and, yep. He’s running.
But on him, it doesn’t look like a horrible thing.
Quite the opposite.
Beck looks damn good running.
He looks easy. Natural.
Beautiful.
Like his body was built to move with ease and grace.
I can’t imagine anything worse than running in jeans. But his muscled butt in the back of those jeans? Hot damn.
Am I an ass girl?
It’s only when a skateboarding kid on the bike path whips his head around to look at me that I realize I’ve said that out loud too.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Beck disappears behind the Beignet Box truck, so I close my eyes again. Even if I could keep them open, I might be quieter with them closed. It’s worth a shot.
And I could fall right back into the mental hellscape of my run-in with Ms. Alicia and the near certainty that my parents are about to find out I went on a date without telling them or the humiliation of hearing Merrick’s mom tell Beck I’m not independent.
But I didn’t like that moment while I was living it and reliving it isn’t going to be any better.
Not that willing myself against unwelcome thoughts has ever really worked for me, but leaning back in the wooden chair with the sun on my face and the sounds of children shrieking with glee on the swings, the trill of—what is that, frogs?
—frogs, then, at the edge of the pond, and the fall breeze twirling through the trees are way better focal points.
Especially since my arms and legs are so heavy. I suppose there are worse places to feel like you can’t move.
I’ve hardly had my eyes closed for a minute before I hear him. When I open my eyes, Beck is shaking out an olive-green fleece blanket at my feet. He’s not even out of breath. How is that possible?
“It might look old, but I promise, it’s clean,” he says, tugging at the edges so the blanket smooths out. Then he takes a knee, reaches a hand out to me, and cocks his head to the side. “Lie down with me?”
I may have zero strength, but I’d have to be dead not to accept that offer.
As soon as I take his hand, Beck helps me out of the chair, and even though I feel like dead weight in a cute dress, I somehow manage to go horizontal without all of Moncus Park seeing up my skirt.
Beck keeps his hand banded tight around mine as he stretches out beside me. The ground is hard and a little lumpy beneath the blanket, but I don’t care. It’s like the earth is solid enough to take my weight, so I give it, letting my eyes close on the hyper blue sky.
I feel Beck shift onto his side, one knee pressing into the side of my thigh. Our bodies touch in just two places, but I like it. And I sense I’d like a lot more.
One day.
When I don’t feel like a zapped battery.
“This okay?” His voice is low and close. I like that too.
I turn my face toward him and open my eyes. He’s close, but I wish he were closer.
God, he’s so beautiful.
So golden and warm.
He’s asked me a question. I’m not even sure what it was, but I think the answer must be yes, so I nod.
The corner of his mouth lifts, giving him that little parenthesis smile. Damn, I really love that smile.
“Thank you for staying.” His brows draw in a little. “I hope it’s not too much to ask.”
Oh, right.
He’s talking about me. About me shutting down.
“No. It’s okay,” I manage, my eyes drifting closed again. “But…”
A moment passes.
“But what?” he asks gently.
I inhale to gather my strength. “I don’t want to talk.”
He squeezes my hand. “We’ll be quiet then.”
I frown. That’s not what I meant. “No… I’ll be quiet. You talk.”
His chuckle is my favorite. “You want me to talk?”
I don’t bother opening my eyes. I just nod.
“As you wish,” he says, and I immediately remember our first meeting. When I called him Farm Boy like Buttercup in The Princess Bride. A little shiver tickles my back.
I hear him draw in a long inhale. “Well, first, thank you. For agreeing to this… what did you call it? Hell-Yes-It’s-a-Real-Date-Coffee-Date?”
I smile, and, thank goodness, he doesn’t require more of a response before continuing.
“Knowing I was seeing you again is what kept me going this week,” he says, sounding a little tired himself.
Keeping my eyes closed, I croak, “Why?”
Beck sighs. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned that my dad’s sick, have I?”
I frown. It takes me a second to form the thought. “Like COVID?”
“Um… no.” He takes his own time responding. I don’t mind. Maybe he’s just as tired as I am. He’s a farmer, after all. His job has to be physically exhausting. Plus, he ran across the park for me.
“Like… Parkinson’s.”
My eyes fly open. “What did you say?” But I’m pretty sure I heard him. And when I see the bleak look on his face, I know I did.
“My dad has Parkinson’s.”
I squeeze his hand before really even thinking about it. “Beck…”
I don’t know a lot about Parkinson’s, other than that it’s degenerative and a lot of older people have it. But I do know Beck has already lost his mom, and if his dad is sick with a degenerative disease, then his life is probably really hard.
“Yeah.” His eyes soften, and I think he must be reading my face. “It sucks.”
“Did you just find out?”
Confusion narrows his brows. “No. He’s had it for a few years. Why?”
I blink. “You said knowing you were seeing me again kept you going this week. I figured—”