Page 31 of On the Run
Beale’s jaw worked for half a minute, and his nostrils flared. “No,” he said finally. “Just stick with what we have. It’s easier.”
I didn’t like the feeling of owing himagainor of making myself his problem, but I also couldn’t think of a better alternative, so I nodded once, unbuckled myself from the Jeep, and waited on the sidewalk in the baking-hot sun for Beale to take my hand and usher me inside the little restaurant.
The inside was really cute, if you were into kitschy sci-fi stuff, which it turned out I was. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow and hung with old movie posters ofThe BlobandAttack of the Killer Tomatoes. A sign on the wall behind the counter in the shape of aStar Treklogo read “Bean Me Up” in classicStar Trekfont. But I was the only one in the place checking out the decor. Everyone else—literally two dozen people—were staring atme.
“Beale?” I asked without moving my lips. “Why is everyone staring?” For a heart-stopping moment, I wondered if my picture had made it to TMZ already.
Beale tightened his fingers around mine and lifted our joined hands. A hushed “Awww” filled the restaurant, like every patron had sighed at the sight.
“They’re staring because they’ve never seen me holding hands with someone, and because my brothers got in here before us and spread the word about who you are.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly.
“Not that that’ll stop all of them from coming over and wanting to welcome you.” He sighed.
“And that man over by your brothers.” I tilted my head casually in that direction. “Is he practicing to be a flag-waver in a marching band, or is he three decades too late to wave his Zippo for Guns N’ Roses?”
Beale chuckled. “That’s my dad, Big Rafe. He’s the mayor of Whispering Key, if you couldn’t tell by the shirt.”
I darted a glance back, and sure enough, the man was wearing a purple shirt with the word MAYOR written across the front in iridescent letters.
Well. Alrighty, then.
“He’s not-so-subtly suggesting we come over,” Beale continued, “but I’m getting food fir—”
“Heya, Beale!” A middle-aged lady with a bright white smile and long, straight dark hair bounced to a stop beside us as we took our place in line.
“Whoa. Uh. Hey, Juju. How’s it—?”
“And this must be Trey!” She folded her hands and nearly squealed. “Welcome to Whispering Key!”
Beale shot me a look that saidTold you,and I tried not to smile.
“Thanks,” I agreed. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, same.Same! And is it true you two are…” She made a back-and-forth motion between us and glanced pointedly at our joined hands.
“Hungry?” Beale suggested blandly.
“Gay?” I whispered.
“Together?” she said brightly.
I very pointedly studied the menu board on the back wall and pretended not to hear her, leaving it up to Beale to explain shit. He sighed and squeezed my hand.
“Yeah,” Beale said, earning bonus points for succinctness.
Juju beamed like she’d engineered the whole thing. “You guys are so adorable! Meeting at summer camp, writing love letters to each other for years.”
Love letters?I blinked at Beale, and he shrugged.
“Beale!” An overly tanned older guy wearing a half-unbuttoned tropical print shirt came over and slung an arm over each of our necks. “Congrats on your new beau, honey. You turned me down so many times, I was wondering if you were really gay at all!”
Beale removed the guy’s arm from my shoulder with force and shifted me to his other side. “Appreciate the concern, Gerry.”
Juju covered her mouth and giggled softly. “I was kinda worried the crystals had affected your brain, Beale.”
Gerry snickered. “That, too. But I guess you weren’t crazy after all, huh?” He elbowed Beale in the ribs and waggled his eyebrows at me.
