Page 68 of Summer Tease
It’s totally fine.
I breathe a sigh of relief once they’ve left, though. It’ll be nice once the sale is over and I don’t have to think about it anymore.
I glance at the time. It’s one o’clock, which means it’s time to check in for my flight tomorrow. I also need to pack up and visit Grams. It’s weird how quickly two weeks have passed by. Unfortunately, the part that felt the longest was the days I didn’t see Beau. I’ll never admit that to my family, though.
I can’t help glancing through the window to see whether Beau’s golf cart is in the driveway. It’s not, which means, I assume, that he’s out working. He didn’t text me about coming along. Maybe he thinks we have enough material already. Or maybe he realizes how busy today will be as I get ready to leave.
I head to Seaside Oasis and spend as much time as I can with Grams, trying to shove away the thoughts of Beau that weasel their way into my head again and again.
I ask Grams where I might find documents about the property boundary, which sets her off on a fifteen-minute tirade that provides no answer on the subject. I don’t bother reiterating my question because, at this point, I know the contents of Grams’s house just as well as she does.
When I head home to look for documents and pack, it’s almost six thirty. My search through the boxes of old folders and papers turns up nothing. That’s the problem with living in a house you bought over half a century ago: there’s no guarantee such documents even exist. I have no idea what sort of measures were in place back then when it came to property lines. Eugene probably knows.
Packing takes me a good hour, and the whole time, my gaze keeps darting to Beau’s towel, hanging in the bathroom and sticking out like a sore thumb with its bright red color.
I take a peek through the window and note his golf cart in the driveway for the first time today. For a part-time cop, hesure works a lot. I need to have a conversation with him before I leave—not just about…what happened, but about the footage I’ve gathered for him. And this towel needs returning.
I’m not just putting it off because I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure how Ifeel. And then, there’s the fact that I don’t know what he’s thinking. What exactly was last night? And what should I take from the fact that I haven’t heard from him at all today?
Whatever. Once again, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving. Which is all I really need to say, and it’s not news, either. It’s possible last night was a continuation rather than a deviation from the Palmer/Sawyer rivalry. Maybe Beau kissing me was a twisted way of beating me, and if I try to talk to him about it, he’ll just humiliate me by acting like I’m crazy for thinking anything of it.
It doesn’t seem like something he would do, but I work in PR, so I know better than most that things aren’t always as they seem.
I look at myself in the mirror, fix up my hair a bit, then fold up the towel to take with me to Beau’s.
When I getto Beau’s door, I take in a deep breath, then knock firmly three times.
Xena’s barking is the first thing I hear, followed by Beau’s footsteps and attempts to quiet her. The door opens, and Xena rushes my legs, licking the skin she can get to.
“Hey,” Beau says, the tiniest bit breathless. He’s still wearing his cop uniform, but the shirt is unbuttoned all the way down, hanging open to a white tank beneath.
I force my eyes away, but that particular image would be great for the month of August inHeroes of the Month.
“Hi,” I say, reaching down to pet the furball whose paws are on my thighs while I balance the folded towel on my other hand.
“Want to come in?” Beau pulls the door open wider.
“Oh, no,” I hurry to say. That’s kind of the opposite direction I want things to go—even though he’s not asking inthatway.
He glances over his shoulder, looking apprehensive.
“Oh my gosh,” I say softly. “Are you…with someone?”
“What? No. I’ve just got something on the stove, and I’m kind of worried it’s going to burn.”
“Oh, shoot. Yeah, go ahead.”
“Just come in.”
I hesitate, but I need to talk to him, and his house is as good as anywhere, I guess. “Okay.” I follow him in, Xena panting happily beside me as her nails tap on the hardwood floor.
I let my eyes wander a bit as I follow Beau toward thekitchen. The house vibe is sort of sophisticated nautical, with navy blue walls, hardwood floors, and both metal and wood accents sprinkled throughout. It’s all high end, and the rooms are much bigger than Grams’s. It’s also very tidy.
Is there anything more attractive than a man who keeps a clean house?
How about a half-dressed cop who keeps a clean house?
What am I saying? Maybe Beau’s a complete slob, and Tristan’s the one who picks up around here. Yeah. That’s gotta be it.
