Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
I clenched my teeth, feeling as if I were drowning with no way to surface, unable to catch my breath. Beau was there, in front of me. Would he extend a hand to help me? He’d literally pulled Calliope out of the water and saved her from drowning.
But I didn’t want Beau to see me as someone to be saved. To be pitied.
“I’ll pay you back.” I meant it, but I had no idea how I would.
Beau shook his head. “I don’t expect you to.”
Though the gesture should’ve been kind, it didn’t feel so with Beau’s general demeanor. “I will pay you back,” I repeated. “I’m not a charity case.”
Beau’s expression changed then, softened. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something then closed it again. His Adam’s apple traveled the length of his corded throat before he spoke again. “You drive my daughter in that car. I don’t take chances with her safety, and it is part of the job.”
Then he turned his back on me. I couldn’t argue with that, and he knew it. But I wanted to. Argue with him about that. About anything.
Instead, I stared at his back and shoved my earphones in before stomping outside to hopefully run off even a fraction of the emotions poisoning my bloodstream.
The next thing happened on the first snowfall of the season. The house was already decorated for Christmas, with a tree Beau had chopped down himself. My fantasies of him gracing the covers of steamy books had come to life—axe and all. Clara had insisted I come with them to the woods by Elliot’s house to get the tree. I’d tried to refuse, mindful of it being a family endeavor and, therefore, outside the realm of my job description, but Clara was all but impossible to say no to.
So that’s how we’d ended up in Beau’s truck, driving through the woods, heat blasting, Clara chattering about the perfect tree.
That’s why I’d been standing in the woods, Clara pressed up to my legs as we watched Beau cut down a Christmas tree then haul it to the truck like a fucking lumberjack.
My eyes had been glued to his shoulders contracting, the angle of his cheekbones, the fluid way he moved his body. It felt like a primal thing, watching him cut down a tree. My body had responded in kind.
Despite the biting chill in the air, I’d felt hot, flushed.
But I’d had to get a hold of myself, given Clara’s proximity and Beau’s apparent lack of interest in my existence. He’d been as polite to me as you would be to the person serving your drinks.
So on the day the first snow fell, the living room smelled of pine, multicolored lights illuminated the walls, and handmade decorations hung from the tree. The space felt cozy, special. Magical.
Made all the more so as the snow fell quietly outside.
Clara was excited, her nose pressed up against the window when it started, watching the flakes fall.
I liked witnessing her wonder. My heart clenched at the rapidly reducing amount of time I had left with her. I’d been able to spend Thanksgiving with her—the holiday marred by her illness and the ghosts it had dredged up for Beau. Calliope, Elliot, and their father had been there. Their warmth and conversation helped quell my nerves at being around Beau for the holiday … a tad. I’d still been reeling with emotional whiplash from being sick, seeing that caring side of Beau only to have him snap back into the harsher, more familiar version of him.
I was trying to make myself not fall in love with him.
Unfortunately, it was too late for that.
Also unfortunately, I’d been unable to be fully present during the first and only Thanksgiving I’d spend with Clara and Beau.
Just before Christmas, we’d be in New York. Cole had invited me to spend it with him, to check out the city, and probably to try to convince me to move there.
It would coincide with the trip to the Natural History Museum, which Clara was cleared for as long as she was admitted to the museum after hours. Something that had been planned against my will. And Beau’s, even if he was technically the one doing the planning. At his daughter’s request. He was putty in her hands.
Though the layers of complication between me and Beau continued to get thicker and thicker, I was happy I’d get to be there for that memory. I was choosing not to think about not seeing Clara wake up on Christmas morning.
As much as I wanted to spend time with my friend, the prospect of being away from her hurt my heart.
I was getting remarkably good and not thinking about complicated or hurtful things. A real talent since I was sharing the same roof with the most complicated and hurtful person I’d ever met.