Page 3 of Cool for the Summer

With his glasses off, I can see Beck’s eyes are pale blue. A little color has come back to his cheeks, highlighting strong cheekbones. He’s a good-looking man.

“No problem.” I turn my charming smile on full force, testing the waters. Gratifyingly, Beck’s eyes widen slightly and the color in his cheeks deepens. I’m not exactly trying to pick up Pete’s new husband’s cousin, but I’m not exactly trying not to. What am I going to do for the next few hours—actually work on my play?

“So, now that you’re no longer at death’s door, you got plans?”

Beck flicks his eyes to the big wall clock behind the register. “Not for a while. Why?”

“I was going to explore Rosedale a little. Up for a walk?”

Beck puts his hand over his flat stomach. “I think so. Fresh air sounds good.”

We clear the dishes to the counter, and I slip Ruth a ten for the breakfast sandwich.

“You don’t have to do that,” Beck says.

“My treat. Ruth, can I ask a huge favor? I’m a friend of Pete Blekitny. Could I leave my suitcase here for a couple of hours?”

“Sure?” Ruth says. “I’ll put it in the back?”

“Thanks, darling.” I tuck another five in the tip jar and shoulder my backpack. “You ready?”

Beck slides his Ray-Bans over his nose like he’s donning armor. He nods carefully. “Ready.”

As we walk outside, Beck laughs lightly. “Does your charm work on everyone? I think that girl was about to offer to have your babies.”

“Mostly just on straight women and gay men,” I say, affecting false modesty.

“Oh, I hate being a cliché,” Beck says with a dramatic sigh.

I’d been pretty sure, but I like getting the confirmation. “Don’t worry. My charm is a power I only use for good.”

“And for getting hapless men into your bed?” Beck asks wryly.

“That’s what I said. I use my power for good. And I’m very good,” I say, riding the line between smug and confident.

Beck just laughs again. “Wow. Jack said you were, um, friendly. But do lines like that actually work?”

I stop on the sidewalk outside a thrift store and put a hand on my hip. “Why do I feel like I should be offended?”

“Oh, I’m not judging. But you’re an attractive, charming actor. You probably haven’t had to work for it in a while.”

How did this conversation turn into a critique of my pickup style? But maybe I need it, since it doesn’t seem to be working on Beck. Even though he just called me attractive, he seems more amused than interested.

“What about you?” I ask, prickly now. “You never fall for a line?”

“Oh, I have. That’s how I know to be wary of them. You want to go in here?” Beck gestures to the open door of the thrift shop, then walks in without waiting for me to respond.

The interior of the shop is much darker than the bright June day outside, and I have to let my eyes adjust for a moment. Beck keeps his glasses on as he starts browsing a table full of kitchen stuff.

“This is nice,” he says, lifting up what looks like an ordinary mixing bowl.

“A bowl?”

“It’s a great size.” Beck turns it over and glances at the price. “A steal.” He tucks it under his arm and continues his perusal of the shop, stopping at a rack of used books.

I watch him for a moment, intrigued against my better judgment by this young man with wholesome good looks, a faint Texas accent, preppy clothes, and a predilection for random kitchen tools. “So, you travel far for the wedding?”

“It’s complicated,” Beck says, taking what looks like an old cookbook from the rack and putting it in the bowl. “I came from Boston, but that’s because I’ve been couch-surfing for a few weeks. Before Boston, I was in Portland. Maine, not Oregon. And before that, Hackensack. I’ve been putting a lot of miles on my car the last few months.”

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