Chapter 15
Beau is gone when I wake in his bed of happier memories.
But there’s coffee and fresh pastries on the kitchen counter with a note telling me he went to campus for a few hours to get some work done.
Apparently, today’s interviewee canceled because his confession had something to do with his ex-husband, and they’d decided to reconcile.
But I do not think about Beau throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me to bed.
By late afternoon, Beau still isn’t home.
Even without furnishings, this house is one of the nicest places I’ve ever stayed.
His bathroom is bigger than my bedroom. Double vanities, a shower large enough to pirouette in, and a deep clawfoot tub with polished chrome feet.
I blast an eclectic playlist, soak in the tub, and pretend that this luxury is not a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Bianca spared the beach towels—souvenirs from Maui—so I wrap myself in a bright-pink towel covered in palm fronds, step out into the bedroom, and smack directly into someone’s chest.
I hear a scream but don’t realize it’s mine until an unfamiliar voice breaks through my terror. The person facing me is a woman about my size who yells, “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” I bite back, gripping my towel closed.
“You’re in my house. I get to ask the questions.”
“Bianca,” I say as I catch my breath. She is as pretty as her photos—with a dark pixie cut highlighting perfect cheekbones and charcoal eyelashes that must be enhanced. Round hazel eyes blink at me in incomprehension.
“Again, who are you?”
“Ophelia.” I hold on to the towel with one hand and reach out my other to shake hers. She glances at it in confusion, and then back to my face.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m staying with Beau for a couple days. We’re old friends,” I add.
“Oh,” she says, clipped, and it sounds like recognition as her gaze does a quick assessment of me. “Where’s Beau?”
I’ve never been married or divorced. So I’m not the authority on this type of thing, but I don’t think this dynamic is normal.
She takes all his stuff and then shows up asking questions?
I haven’t pressed Beau about Bianca—his marriage is a giant bruise.
But maybe I should have asked if she was the dangerous, jealous type.
She’s a taut bow, and I’m a naked, vulnerable target.
“He’s not here, and I’m not sure when he’ll be home. But I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“I’ll wait,” she says. Thankfully she leaves the bedroom with a backward glance.
I close and lock the door behind her and fire off a text to Beau. SOS. Ex-wife is making a surprise appearance. I was kidding about the boiled bunny. But I’m not in danger, am I?
A few dots pop up, indicating he’s typing a reply, but they disappear.
I wait, but it’s in vain. Nothing. No reply.
He’s leaving me to fend for myself with the jealous doctor.
She probably has scalpels in the car. She could clean the crime scene using latex gloves and disinfectant and frame poor Beau for the crime.
She’d probably inherit the house and refill it with all its rightful contents.
I get dressed in a hurry, throwing on a pair of jean shorts, a tank top, and my flip-flops, and pace before talking myself down. She took the Hippocratic oath. And she was married to Beau. She’s probably harmless.
I find her in the living room, waiting in one of the camping chairs Beau set up last night. She stands and twists toward me when I approach from the kitchen.
“Would you like some coffee? Water?” I ask.
She smiles, but her cheek quivers a bit. “I know where everything is.”
I’m sure she did —before she took everything. But I understand the territorial point she’s making.
“Of course,” I say. We hover in the barren room—not sure what to make of each other.
Would Beau want me to be polite and welcoming?
Would he want me to assure her that I’m not a threat to their relationship—whatever the status is?
Or would he prefer I ask her to leave? Because he’s been silent on the subject of his marriage, I have no idea how to play this.
I want to ace this fragile friendship we’ve reignited, but I don’t know how.
“So, what was Beau like as a kid?” Bianca asks, and I hesitate, confused by the question, and she clarifies. “You grew up together, right? Beau can’t possibly know more than one Ophelia.”
“Right,” I say. “Probably not.” I know who she is because I stalked her on social media when she appeared in Beau’s posts.
But if she knows who I am, Beau must have mentioned me.
I was a part of his pillow-talk canon. Carlos knew who I was as well.
I don’t know how to process any of this.
Should I process any of this? Even if Beau did have a well-hidden crush way back when, it doesn’t mean he feels anything for me now other than nostalgia, frustration, and a rekindled friendship.
“Oh,” I say, remembering the original question.
“Exactly like Beau the adult. Smart. Sullen. Impatient. Kind. But he was scrawny then.”
She smiles, but it’s thin, wistful. It’s a strange question to ask.
It’s something you ask your new boyfriend’s family—not the woman you catch naked in your ex-husband’s house.
Bianca must still be in love with him to seek new information like it’s a treasure.
And, for some reason, this knowledge makes me uncomfortable.
“You met Beau in school?”
She nods. “At Stanford. I was in medical school. He was getting his PhD. We frequented the same coffee shop near campus and both ordered the same variety of jasmine green tea.”
I knew that—the first part, at least. But hearing confirmation of their intellectually superior meet-cute presses on my worst insecurities.
“We met when I moved in next door. His parents dragged him over to play with me, but instead, he organized my toys by alphabetical order.”
“Wow. He hasn’t changed, has he.” She laughs.
The door swings open, and Beau steps into the entryway and scans the space.
His eyes land on me and widen before he sees Bianca.
I’d told him she was here—I don’t know what the shock is all about.
He offers a strange blank smile to both of us before moving to me.
“Hi,” he says, as if his ex-wife isn’t loitering in the house she just raided.
“Hi,” I say.
And then I stiffen as his hand slides to my lower back, spreads wide across my spine, his pinkie brushing the bare skin above my shorts.
What is he doing? He stiffens too, as if he can hear me, and answers in body language, I have no fucking clue.
He leans down as I turn to figure out what the hell is going on, and his mouth collides with the corner of mine.
It’s less a kiss than a graze, but he tastes like spun sugar and homesickness and feels like the heat of the San Diego sun.
I take a sharp intake of breath, and he hesitates before pulling back, his face awash with horror.
Now I really hope Bianca isn’t the murderous, jealous type.
Perhaps this is Beau’s long con. Perhaps he’s finally getting even with me for spraying Sun In on his hair and turning it bright orange before middle school graduation.
He wants to kill me but keep his hands clean, so he’s using Bianca to pull the trigger.
Bianca clears her throat. “Ophelia and I just met. She was in a towel coming out of our bathtub.” Bianca says this with a strangled laugh in her throat, as if we’re all in on the joke. But I’m not. I’m not in on any of this.
Beau’s hand tightens on my hip, but neither of us speak.
“Beau, I have a few hours before my shift. I’d like us to get dinner and talk. Perhaps Zelda’s?”
“Ophelia and I have plans.”
Bianca steps closer. “You can make time for your wife. You’ve been gone over a month—and we need to talk.”
“Ex-wife,” Beau says.
Bianca crosses her arms over her chest. “Beau,” she says softly.
“You know what,” I say, still unsure what the hell is going on but determined to remove myself from the discomfort, “I have to finish getting ready. Why don’t I give you two a chance to talk.” I try to step away, but Beau’s hand anchors me to his side.
“You look beautiful. No need to change for our date.”
I laugh and turn into him. He pulls me closer so our waists cinch. He wants to play this game? Oh, I will play this game.
“Baby, I can’t wear cutoffs to Chez Panisse.
” I bring my palm to his chest, making gentle circles over his left pectoral.
I’ve been wanting to touch him since I’d caught a glimpse after his rodeo routine.
It does not disappoint. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt muscles this defined before.
His breath stutters, and I fear he may punish me later.
But I’m not scared enough to stop. I grab his neck and plant a kiss on his pouty mouth.
He narrows his eyes but kisses me back, his lips soft and surprisingly compliant.
I intend to make it a quick peck, but I stop breathing when he catches my bottom lip between his—and the moment slows to a crawl.
His body is warm, and his lips send a pulse of liquid heat to places unmentionable.
Especially with his ex-wife in the room.
I free myself from his grasp and escape to the bedroom, the heat of his body trailing me until I close the door and collapse on the bed.
Bianca’s voice drifts through the door. “Really, Beau? Her? If you wanted to punish me, you should have been subtler.”
Well, ouch.
I slip into the bathroom, turn on the blow-dryer, and decide to get dolled up for a night on the town. Beau may have been bluffing, but I’m going to force him to make good on his promise.