Page 146 of Banter & Blushes

Reaching the storage room, Beck fumbled around in the dark until he found the edge of a shelving unit filled with empty cardboard boxes, paint cans, and extension cords. He was familiar with the layout, so he kept moving in the dark, feeling his way through a mess of crates and plastic bins until he finally felt what he was looking for. A stack of faded, folded fabric. Jackpot. He grabbed two sweatshirts, shook them out, and headed back toward the main room of the bait shop.

He wanted to make sure he misread nothing before he finally told Caroline the real reason he had to go away. As he entered the retail portion of the store, he heard Caroline lightly singing, her voice lifting above the noise of the rain.

Love.

He could almost hear a distant, teasing chorus in his head:Oh, Beckett. What have you gone and done now?

She stopped singing when she heard him approach. “I found a candle in the drawer. I know it isn’t ideal.”

“It will work just fine. Here.” He held out a sweatshirt. “Not sure if this is your style. It’s got a vintage bait shop vibe.”

She lifted the shirt up to the flickering candlelight, her laughter echoing softly as she examined the quirky logo: a marlin sporting a pair of stylish sunglasses, leaping energetically from a field of vibrant bluebells. “How have I never come across this before?” she mused, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“You definitely don’t want whoever designed a giant fish jumping out of flowers setting foot anywhere near the town,” came the lighthearted reply.

Caroline slipped the garment over her head, the well-worn, faded blue fabric enveloping her petite frame. “Not exactly haute couture, is it?” she quipped, twirling slightly and inspecting her reflection from different angles. “But at least it’s cozy,” she added with a satisfied grin.

Beck, meanwhile, casually tossed his shirt onto the counter before peeling off his current attire. He then tugged on the sweatshirt, allowing the soft fabric to embrace his skin. As he maneuvered his head through the opening, he caught sight of Caroline observing him intently. Her gaze quickly darted away, a subtle blush creeping onto her cheeks as she turned in the opposite direction, pretending to be preoccupied.

“Want me to kill the lights and turn up the stereo?” Beck teased.

“Retro clothing and a romantic soundtrack against the thundering of the storm? You know how to set a scene, Beckett.” She crossed her arms, watching him with a playful glint, which refused to hide her affection. “Who can resist ambiance?” He turned more serious, meeting her eyes. He needed to know if he was right about her feelings. If he could admit his own.

“Caroline, about what you said?—”

Her cheeks deepened to a darker pink. “Can we pretend I didn’t say it, please?” Her voice wavered with uncertainty.

It was the first time Beck had seen her this vulnerable, without the armor of plans and goals. It tightened something in his chest.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“We should probably eat,” she suggested, her voice echoing slightly in the empty, unfinished room. She grabbed the crinkled paper bag filled with their makeshift dinner and moved to where large, white paint buckets were neatly lined up on the bare concrete floor. “Sorry, I don’t have plates or fine silverware,” she said as she settled onto a bucket, using another as a makeshift table. With a playful grin, she held up a packet of plastic silverware. “I do have a spork.”

“Sharing banana cream pie and a spork? The wonders never cease,” he replied with a chuckle, settling onto a bucket beside her. He reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of napkins, setting them down before retrieving a Styrofoam container. As he pried open the lid, a cloud of steam wafted up,carrying the savory aroma of meatballs and gravy. “I’m surprised it is still warm,” he remarked, his stomach growling in anticipation.

She handed him the plastic utensil, a hybrid between a spoon and a fork. With a gentle motion, he scooped up a piece of the savory meatballs nestled alongside a mound of creamy mashed potatoes. Carefully, he guided the bite-sized portion towards her, the rich aroma of seasoned meat mingling with the buttery scent of potatoes as they approached. She took the bite, her lips dragging over the plastic utensil.

He lifted a spoonful of creamy gravy and potatoes to his lips, savoring the rich aroma before taking a bite. With a gentle smile, he scooped another portion onto the spork, turning to Caroline.

“Are you trying to feed me?” she asked as the container switched hands. Beck watched her devour another bite, her expression delighted. “It’s pretty good,” she said, modestly. “Even without a fancy table or a cozy porch.”

“You know…” Beck’s voice lingered, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air.

“What?” Caroline’s cheeks flushed as she attempted to evade his inquiry, her gaze focused on the contents of the container. She kept her eyes downcast, watching him chase some mashed potatoes with the spork.

“Nothing.”

Beck offered her the last bite, but she shook her head. Polishing off the last of the dinner, he closed the container and put it back in the bag.

“Do you want the pie now or later?”

“I can wait. Just don’t forget where the spork is.”

Caroline’s eyes finally met his again, and the intensity in them was undeniable. She swallowed and took a breath. “Beck, about what I said. I didn’t mean to make it…”

“Complicated?” Beck finished, observing her. With a soft sigh, she nodded. And it was all it took for him to find a small crack in her resolve. Just enough. “What if it’s not complicated?”

“Then what is it?”

---