Page 36 of Eighteen Bowties and Counting

“Mm?” He glanced over to her as he continued to drive.

“I—” She wanted to ask him about his dating experience, and perhaps a little about why he was almost forty—Mason’s age—and had never been married. He seemed hard-working and responsible, though she had heard him laughing and chatting with his video game friends.

He laughed easily, and everyone seemed to love him—Charlotte included.

“I haven’t dated anyone in a few years,” she said. She rolled her head, stretching her neck, and sighed. “Fine, a few is an under-exaggeration. I haven’t had a serious relationship with a man, ever, and I haven’t dated anyone in oh, eight years.”

He nodded, suddenly serious too. “I feel that.”

“Oh, come on. What I just said can’t be true for you.”

“I mean, maybe not.” He smiled over to her as the first houses in town came into view. “I dated a lot in my twenties and early thirties. A lot, a lot.” He shifted in his seat and pulled his hand away from hers. She wasn’t sure what that meant, and his nervousness bled into her.

“I wasn’t serious about anything but having a good time. As I got older, I realized I wasn’t sure how to really date seriously, so I made a lot of mistakes.”

She’d suspected he’d had a lot more experience than her, and that only made the thought of kissing him even more terrifying. More exciting. And exponentially more horrifying for her if she turned out to be terrible at kissing cowboys.

“I got better at it,” he said quietly. “But since then, I’ve never found anyone I can see myself spending the rest of my life with.”

“I see.”

“I haven’t been out with anyone for about three years now. Maybe four.”

Relief she hadn’t known she needed slipped through her. “So maybe I’m not out of my league,” she said.

“Of course you’re not,” he said. “I’m only older than you, not better.”

“Yeah, well, with Mason, being older means being better.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, mimicking her. “I’m not Mason.” Their eyes met, and everything in the world turned into a sizzling, foaming chemistry experiment. He had to feel that too, and by the darkening edge in his eyes, he did. Oh, he did.

“All right, then,” she said. “I’m ready for this baked potato.” That lightened the mood, and Beau smiled. Charlotte did too, and since Felicity liked cooking, she hadn’t eaten out much. And because she was new in town, there were a great many restaurants for Charlotte to sample.

Beau chuckled and pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Charlotte wasn’t sure what they had to talk about, but she’d never struggled to be with Beau, so she put it from her mind. He got out to come around and open her door, and in the moment his door closed, the sweetest feeling of peace flowed through her.

“This is okay,” she whispered to herself. Beau rounded the front of the truck, his head down, his cowboy hat hiding most of his face. Her heartbeat clanged through her chest at the mere thought of kissing that cowboy.

Just as quickly as the nerves came, God quieted them. It’s okay, she thought, wondering if the thoughts were hers or not. I am with you.

Charlotte had often felt that Jesus walked with her, and tears filled her eyes at the reminder that while she did scary things—like dating Beau Peterson—she didn’t have to be alone. That she wasn’t alone.

He opened her door, and Charlotte swiped at her face quickly, just to make sure no tears had escaped. “Ready for your loaded baked potato, little bird?”

She took a quick breath and said, “So ready.”

“I had no idea it would take that long to eat at a steakhouse,” Charlotte said as Beau made the turn from the smooth highway and onto the well-groomed dirt road that belonged to Three Rivers Ranch. “Will you still get up and do your morning live-stream?”

“I never miss the live-stream,” he said. “Unless I’m so sick, I literally can’t get out of bed.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s fine, Charlotte. I knew we’d be out for a while.”

“Plus the drive,” she said, still worried. “It’s dark already, Beau.”

“Charlotte,” he said. “It’s fine. I was thinking we might even go for a walk once we get back to the cabin. The moon’s real bright tonight.”

She looked over to him. She felt like she’d sat on fire ants, and everything itched. She needed to get out of this truck right now, and she figured he was only driving about thirty miles an hour. She could jump and roll at that speed, couldn’t she?

“You better talk to me,” he said in that powerful voice he had when working with cattle, horses, and men.

“I’m okay.” She looked away and folded her arms. “I’m just worried that it’s so late.”

---