He was also sending text messages about stupid shit—memes, cats in hats, asking me for an opinion about an outlet cover for the bar, linking me to disgusting news stories about A Florida Man—and threatening to buy me another boat. He was out of his mind.
Exhausted by his harassment, I agreed to meet him Saturday morning for coffee. As soon as I did, the messages stopped, thank the Lord.
I needed to tell Shelly about it, explain why I wouldn’t be looking at teacups with her when we woke up. I made a mental note to tell her when I saw her later in the evening at her place, once she’d returned from her appointment with Dr. West.
But to my surprise, just as I was finishing up for the afternoon, I spotted her car pull into the shop lot.
Wiping off my hands, I waited for her just inside the garage, grinning to myself as she exited her car. She looked focused and determined. It shouldn’t have been cute, especially when her normal looks were so intense, but it was.
The last week had been . . . it had been incredible. Waking up next to her each day, talking about things that didn’t matter but were fun to talk about, taking walks, going on runs, watching her work on her angels, and making love to her each night. It was how I wanted my life to be. I was planning on riding this wave for however long it lasted.
Shelly marched straight up to the garage, her glare zeroed in on me, and my grin spread.
“Hey there, cutie.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Then she blinked, took a breath, and said, “Beau, we have many things to discuss.”
“Sure. How are you doing?”
“How am I doing?” She was now scowling.
“Yeah.”
“No. How are you doing?”
I shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Really? Because you just found out last week that the woman you thought gave birth to you is not your biological mother. Your biological mother is a vile human who wants to use and manipulate you.”
. . . Right.
She didn’t look cute anymore.
“Thanks for the summary.”
“In light of this information, let me ask the question again: how are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I snapped, startling myself because I hadn’t intended to raise my voice.
Her expression immediately relaxed, her eyes growing sympathetic.
God. Sometimes it was torture looking at this woman. Watching her gaze go from fierce to soft with pity was too much. I dropped my eyes to the rag in my hands.
“Please touch me, Beau.”
“Why?”
“So I can touch you.”
I clenched my teeth, swallowing past a tight lump. Where the hell was all this coming from? We’d gone all week without talking about Christine. Why was she bringing this up now?
Dr. West. Mental health. That’s why.
Damn.
“I don’t want your pity.”
“Do you want my compassion?”
I tried to swallow again, but there was no saliva left in my mouth.
She stepped closer, into my space. “Do you want my support? Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind and in your heart? Because I want to know. I want to be there for you.”
“No.” I huffed a bitter laugh, shaking my head and looking beyond her. “I guarantee, you do not want to know what’s in my heart.”
“You are so good, generous, with everyone. Especially with me. Please let me hold the tools for you while you work on your refrigerator.”
I didn’t quite follow what she said, but I got the gist of her meaning.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why? Why not?” I sensed her eyes on me, searching my face. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you refuse to lean on me?”
“Because—”
“Is it because you don’t think I’m dependable?”
“No, of course not.”
“Is it my OCD? Do I irritate you?”
“No. Not at all—”
“You’re worried I’m—”
“I’m in love with you.”
I gave her my eyes then and rather than a mere scattering of wits, the skipped beats, gave me a one-two sucker punch directly to the center of my chest.
Her lips parted, her eyes going wide. She gaped at me—visibly dumbfounded—for a long time. Her breathing changed, grew faster, louder, like she’d just finished running.
She wasn’t going to say it back.
That’s why I hadn’t said anything.
And saying it now had been a mistake.
“Do you need to call Dr. West?” I gained a step away, stuffing the greasy rag I’d been holding in my back pocket and crossing my arms. Heat was crawling up my neck, making it itch.
“No.” Her eyes, rimmed with what looked like panic, lowered to my mouth. “Maybe.”
I lifted my chin toward the office on the first floor. “Phone’s in there.”
“Beau . . .”
“Forget it.”
“That’s not likely.” She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, and then back again. “I c-care about you.”
Motherfu—
Again, my laugh was bitter as I glanced at the ceiling, turned, and walked away.
“Beau.” She was right behind me.
“I have to close up.”
“Don’t you think we should talk about this?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think I’m allowed some time to-to-to process what you just said?”
“Take your time, you know where to find me.” I pressed the button for the back door of the garage. The sound of steel on a roller track filled the air and I kept walking, this time around the interior perimeter to the front office.
“This isn’t fair. I am not able to touch you and you keep walking away.” She was right on my heels.
“Life isn’t fair.”
“Would you stop?”
“Nope.”
Entering the office, I quickly navigated to the door facing the lot. I flipped the bolt, secured the bottom lock, checked it, then turned for the main garage again, intent on closing up the front.
“You are cowardly.” Now she sounded angry.
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“This is so incredibly frustrating.” She said this on a loud growl.
She has no idea.
Reaching up, I tugged on the handle for the big roller door and pulled it down; it was three times as wide as the one at the back, and ten times as expensive to automate. As such, we hadn’t put it on a motor yet. As far as I knew, Cletus was still saving money for the upgrade.
Shelly stood off to the side, watching me secure the shop.
“We’re going to finish this conversation before we have sex tonight.”
I smirked at that. “Honey, we’re not having sex tonight.”
“Why?”
Standing, I faced her, absorbing the echo of an ache as our eyes met. “Because, for you, it’s been just sex. Just fucking around.”
Shelly winced. “That’s not true.”
Slowly, I walked to her, getting in her space, leaving just a few inches between our lips. “Do you love me, Shelly?” I whispered.
She didn’t respond.
She didn’t need to.
Nevertheless, I experienced another sucker punch just the same. This time to my stomach, making me lose my appetite completely. But that’s what I got for asking questions when I already knew the answer.
“Have a nice evening, ma’am,” I said, giving her a polite smile as I leaned away.
Then I turned away and strolled unhurriedly to my GTO.
* * *
“I ordered you apple pie.” Hank pushed a plate toward me. It was empty.