“I can give you a ride,” he says. “I was on my way back to Union anyway.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just call them.”
The space between his eyebrows knits together, and he passes me his phone. I walk off a few yards and call my mom first.
“We’re sorry. The number—”
I try my dad, Jack, and Coco, and get the same thing. I pace along the shoulder, outwardly sighing and inwardly groaning as I try to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve Beau.
“Natalie, let me take you home.”
I look back. Beau’s leaning against the Jeep, arms crossed over his chest. He wears worn-out jeans and a white T-shirt, like a Calvin Klein model, which infuriates me. I toss him his phone and stalk back to his truck.
I climb in without a word, and he watches then follows, wordlessly starting the truck up again and pulling back into the lane. For a while we both remain silent, but not in the comfortable way we were the night of the party. “You should let me look at your car,” he says finally. “I might be stupid, but I know cars.”
“You’re not stupid,” I say begrudgingly.
“So just not your type,” he says. “You’re more into golden boys like Matt Kincaid.”
“I am not into Matt Kincaid,” I snap. “Not now, not ever again.” Beau looks over at me for a second, and I fight a stutter in my chest. His eyes drop down to the space between us before trailing back to the road. After a long silence, I gather my courage and say, “You didn’t have to ask for my number.”
“Oh, that’s real nice, Natalie,” he says. “Thanks for that. You know what? I have some advice for you too. Next time someone asks for your number and you don’t wanna give it to him, say so instead of giving him a fake one.”
“What? I didn’t give you a fake number,” I almost shout. “What kind of bullshit excuse is that?”
He slides his phone out of his pocket, messing with it while he drives, then holds it out to me. The screen says “Calling Natalie . . .”
“And?” I say.
“Go ahead,” he says, pushing the phone closer to me. “While we’re callin’ bullshit.”
I take the phone and hold it up to my ear just as the ringing stops. “We’re sorry. The—”
“You have to be kidding me,” I say, looking down at the screen. I double-check the contact info. “Beau, this is the right number. I don’t know what’s going on with my phone.”
He looks over at me again then back to the road, and says nothing.
“I promise,” I say. He glances over at me again, face grave. Per usual, I feel near to tears, maybe because I’m relieved Beau tried to call or maybe because I’m worried he won’t believe me. “Really, I promise.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and when he looks back at the road, he starts to smile. “So no QB1 for Natalie Cleary?”
“A quarterback is literally half of a halfback, Beau,” I say. “It’s simple math.”
“Simple for you, maybe,” he says. “You should probably know it took me five years to graduate from high school before you start overestimating me.”
“You should probably know I couldn’t possibly care less.”
A full, bright smile breaks across his face, and I look out the window, feeling my own grin spreading. We’re about five minutes from my house when I see something that makes my smile falter. “Can you pull over?” I ask.
He looks hesitantly over at me then to the parking lot on our right. “Sure,” he says, pulling off. As soon as he stops the car, I get out and walk toward the building on the far side.
“You okay?” he calls after me.
I turn back to face him. “It’s a daycare.”
“I can read,” he says. “That much, I got down.”
“No, I mean, it used to be a nursery.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A plant nursery,” I say. “Lindenbergers’ Nursery. My mom brokered the deal when the Lindenbergers bought the land.”
He scratches the back of his head and looks around. “Someone else must’ve bought it since then.”
“What happened to all the greenhouses?”
He shrugs. “Bulldozed them, probably.”
“Since yesterday?”
“I don’t know, Natalie.”
“You are seeing this, though, aren’t you? I’m not imagining it.”
He laughs and crosses his arms. “No, it’s there. What’s your point?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “Sorry, it’s just weird. My mom is friends with Rhonda Lindenberger. I feel bad that they went out of business.”
Beau looks almost suspicious, but he doesn’t ask any questions, and we get back in his pickup. Five minutes later we pull up to my house, and everything looks how it should, but I’m eager to talk to Alice again. It’s the last day of June, and time is speeding past.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime,” Beau says.
“So I guess you’ll just find me next time I need you?” I say.
“Or you could call me.”
I take out my phone and hand it to him. I’m going to have to get a new one, but at least I’ll have Beau’s number. He saves it in my phone then passes it back to me.