Chapter 13
Ellery
WhenBeckham decides something, he goes all in. Several weeks have passed since the day of our reconciliation. In that time, he has found a million and one ways for us to spend time together, all without raising any suspicion.
We went swimming at Lily Pond. Took the horses out riding several times. One night, when I was working late at the McAllister estate, Beckham surprised me with a picnic under the stars. His crew has also been helping out with the estate renovations, so I see him there a few times a week. We hang out with Lena at our place, or with Hawk at his, who are both more than happy to provide cover.
We even managed to have dinner with Simon a few times without raising suspicion. I’m honestly amazed he never caught on. Being around Beckham and unable to touch him is a special brand of torture, and I’ve discovered that he enjoys making me squirm.
However, Beckham has quickly learned that I give as good as I get.
In the time we have been together, I have found many fun and creative ways to torment him. Wearing outfits that drive him insane. Finding excuses to brush up against him when he can’t touch me back (payback’s a bitch). One time, I even surprised him with lunch in his office wearing a skirt—sans panties.
He locked the door and punished me for that one. Thoroughly. And I will never again be able to look at his desk without blushing.
So, yeah. Things have been going well between us. Every time we’re together, we learn something new about each other, I find something more to like about him, and Beckham keeps finding new ways to surprise me.
???
Lena has been acting strangely all morning. She hovers like a mother hen while I spend time sketching in the living room. Or when I eat something in the kitchen. Or when I try to take a nap. She finds any excuse to keep me from going out, only to turn around and send me on the most ridiculous errands.
By late afternoon, I’m starting to think she’s suffering a stroke. That’s when Beckham shows up at our doorstep and announces that he’s taking me away for the weekend.
Lena pops up behind me while dragging a magically packed suitcase behind her. The Cheshire Cat grin on her face tells me that she has been in on this little surprise from the very beginning. At least that explains the extra-weird behavior.
Lena hands the luggage off to Beckham before tugging me away from the door.
“Back in a sec,” she cries out over her shoulder.
Ten minutes later, I am appropriately attired and presentable—her words—and being shoved back toward the front door. Once there, Lena issues strict instructions: I am not to video chat, call, or text her or any other human being on the planet. She doesn’t want to see or hear from me until I get back on Sunday evening.
Then she tries to take my phone.
“What are you doing?” I shriek.
“Making sure you have a good time!”
Lena lunges for my purse. I slap her hands away. “Get off, you gremlin!”
“Fine.” Lena steps back, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Keep your precious technology.”
“I plan to, weirdo.” I clutch my purse to my chest.
“Ugh, just go already.” She shoves me further out the door. “Your prince charming is out there waiting to sweep you off your feet, yet here you are, arguing with me.“
Fair point.
“Did he really do this?” I whisper, peeking over my shoulder. Beckham is leaning against the front wheel well, watching the two of us with amusement. “This isn’t some elaborate dream?”
“Nope. Not a dream, bestie,” she says with a smile. “Now go have fun with that fine male specimen. I expect all the details. But not until you get home! Love you!”
“Love you more,” I shout, heading to the car. Once Beckham is standing in front of me, I smile shyly up at him, blushing like a schoolgirl. “Hey.”
“Hey, back.” He smiles back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It is one of those rare, genuine smiles that I never see him give to anyone else; just for me.
“Ready?” he asks, and I realize he is holding the passenger door open.
“Depends,” I quip. “Do I get to know where you’re taking me?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”
“Well, then.” I pretend to think about it. Then, with a dramatic sigh, I step up to the car and slide onto the leather seat. “Fine. But I get to pick the radio station.”
Beckham chuckles. He waits until I get situated. Then, just before shutting the door, he bends to kiss me. Which, of course, sets off a thousand fluttering butterflies in my stomach, because that is exactly the type of thing Dad always did for Mom.
After rounding the hood, he gets into the driver’s seat and pulls out onto the street. While he directs his SUV through town, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he threads our fingers together over the middle console while he focuses on the road. I turn to look out the window. I am fighting off a goofy smile while my cheeks heat.
I’m being ridiculous, and I don’t even care.
One small gesture, one tiny touch, and this man turns me into a blushing, giggling teenager.
I kind of am living in young Ellery’s dream, though.
Can I blame myself for floating on cloud nine?
That floaty feeling carries me through the town and its outskirts. But when we drive past the town limits, Beckham merges south on Interstate 95. My cloud nine quickly turns into a ball of curiosity.
“Now can you tell me where we’re going?” I ask.
His gaze stays focused on the road. “No.”
“Not even a teensy little hint?”
He shakes his head.
“Boo.” I flop back against the seat, pouting.
“Not even Lena knows the specifics,” he says.
Like that will make it better. (Spoiler: it does not.) But, his statement does remind me of something nagging at the back of my mind:
“How did you rope her into this, anyway?”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t too hard. All I had to say were the words ‘romantic’ and ‘surprise’ and she was happy to help.”
Of course, she would be. Lena is even more in love with love than me, despite her cavalier attitude toward dating and men in general. And it wouldn’t take much convincing on his part. Beckham only has to smile that panty-melting smile of his and he could get a Catholic nun to convert.
Lena never stood a chance.
I huff and peer out the window. Secretly, though, I’m excited. Elated. Nobody has done anything like this for me in a long time. I can’t even think of the last time I’ve done something like this for myself.
Almost two hours later, I finally have my answer to where we are headed. Looking up, my attention snags on a sign ahead—one that points toward a very familiar exit. I immediately perk up. Beckham gets into the far right lane. Filled with child-like glee, I grab onto his arm and tug.
“Beckham!” I am practically squealing. “You’re taking me to Hilton Head?”
He chuckles, glancing over at me with a fond expression. I am bouncing in my seat like a child. Ask me if I care. If Beckham wasn’t driving right now, I would kiss him.
“Good surprise?” he asks.
“The best.”
Our family once owned a beach house in Hilton Head. After they passed, Simon was forced to sell it, but for years beforehand, Mom and Dad would often take us there (Beckham included). No matter the reason for the trip—simple weekend getaways to holiday celebrations—it was always magical. This seaside town holds some of my very favorite memories.
I sit back and watch the scenery while Beckham drives us closer and closer to the ocean. Some of the twists and turns he takes are familiar. I recognize an old-fashioned ice cream parlor we frequented on one corner and my Dad’s favorite coffee shop on another. We pass Mom’s favorite strip of stores across from the beach. Then we drive along the stretch of road where Beckham and Simon liked to go running back in high school.
During all this, we pass resort after resort. Beckham doesn’t stop at any of them. We keep right on going while he drives us farther and farther south. We drive on even when beach homes start lining the streets. Ones I recognize.
My heart jumps into my throat when he pulls into a small driveway behind one two-story bungalow in particular.
“How?” I choke out. “H-how did you…?”
My words taper off. I am in awe, staring up at the cozy house that used to be ours. Painted a sunny yellow with white trim, it looks almost exactly as I remember it. Even after all these years, it still feels like a home away from home.
Blinking back tears, I turn to Beckham and try again. This time, I’m able to ask him, “How did you even get this?”
“Just asked around,” he replies with a shrug. “The most recent owners often rent the place out. It happened to be available this weekend, so… here we are.”
Nothing to it. Sure. He just managed to do something I never could. Since moving out on my own, I have tried renting this place. Several times. But it has never been available as a rental property. Someone always owns it outright.
And Beckham did all this for me.
Because he knew it would make me happy.
This man.
How did I ever think I stood a chance?