Page 91 of Summer Tease
“Yep.” I follow him into his house and let him give me the rundown on what’s expected.
If I thought my brain had been fully beaten into submission, I was dead wrong. It slowly comes back to life as I nod while being given instructions. It whispers sour nothings in my ear.
See? He’s going to visit Miss Miami. And he’s having you take care of his dog while he does it.
My heart has plenty to say too.
Don’t make assumptions, dumb brain. So what if he’s going to Miami? He lived there for years and has plenty of friends, I’m sure. He likes you. He’s made that clear.
I just want both of them to shut up. But I can’t help thinking that maybe Beau’s gotten impatient with my games. I can’t expect him to wait around while I waffle.
Once he’s run through everything with me, he walks me out of his house, passing the small suitcase by the front door.
“Thank you again,” he says as we walk to Grams’s doorstep.
“Oh, it’s no problem.”
Pushover,hisses my brain.
We stop in front of the door, and his gaze fixes on me. I wish I could read that look in his eyes.
“Keep an eye on the island for me while I’m gone?” he asks, brushing a piece of my hair out of my face.
I swallow, completely confused by this situation. “Is that an official request? If so, I’ll need your badge. And a set of cuffs.”
He chuckles softly. “Officer Driggs is on call.” He glances toward the neighbor’s house. “I don’t anticipate he’ll need to come out, though. I’m hoping those guys learned from the fireworks incident.” He faces me again. “See you later, GG.” He hesitates, then kisses me on the cheek.
Around four o’clock,there’s a knock on the door. When I open it, Mr. Wallace and his agent face me on the doorstep.
“Hi,” I say, my voice full enough of surprise that they look suddenly unsure.
“Did Eugene tell you we’d be coming by?” Mr. Wallace asks. “We have a few more measurements to take. We’re trying to get some estimates on the work we want done.”
“Oh,” I say. “No, he didn’t. But that’s okay. You can come in. Sorry it’s not as clean as last time.”
They both smile and assure me it’s not a problem.
While they walk around, I hang out at the kitchen island, looking at the slim pickings of new jobs that have cropped up since yesterday when I looked. There’s a position that’s opened up at an elite PR agency in LA called Starlight.It’s always sort of been a pipe dream of mine. I click on the link, but I can’t help hearing the conversation in the room. Mr. Wallace and his agent discuss pulling up floors and extending the deck. Part of mewants to ask why they’re interested in this house at all since it sure seems like they don’t like any part of it as it stands.
But I know the answer. They have no emotional investment in this house like I do. Their investment is purely financial, and given the house’s location next to their other property, it’s ideal for that reason alone.
I really wish Grams didn’t have to sell it, though. I wish she could rent it out or something, but to make that financially feasible, it would require investing money into the house that she doesn’t have. It would also require paying a rental manager. Her life isn’t here anymore, anyway. It’s at Seaside Oasis. Can’t have the cake and eat it too, whatever Beau says.
I have no hope for that job at Starlight—they want almost double the years of experience I have—but I apply anyway. It can’t hurt. I take Xena for a walk before dinner, and we play fetch at the beach with a stick she finds in the palms. It’s not until almost half an hour later while I’m praising her for a great fetch that I realize I’m sweating, but only minimally.
“Apparently, youcanadapt to Hades,” I say to her, scratching under her collar. I take out some of her treats from my pocket and pull her onto my lap, feeding her one. She gobbles it up, then licks my chin.
“That’s right,” I say. “You love me. So much more than Miss Miami. Right?” As if Beau makes his dating choices based on his dog’s preferences. That’s how the movies make it seem. Animals instinctively know who their owners should date and not date. And Xena totally chooses me. So what if Miss Miami isn’t actually here? That’s her fault.
We make the walk back to Beau’s house, and I take off the leash once we’re inside, then go fill her water and food bowls. I could leave and be perfectly satisfied that I did my due diligence where the dog is concerned, but when I head for the front door, the frames hanging on the blue wall catch my attention. I let myself browse them, my curiosity too strong to resist.
It’s not like I’m rifling through the drawers in his bedroom. These pictures are on display for visitors, so he and his brother must want them seen.
Without even intending it, my eyes scan all the photos for any sign of Miss Miami. I breathe a small sigh of relief at the lack of spectacularly hot young women and take my time on each photo.
There’s one of Beau and Tristan together on the beach—looks like it could be ten years old. Neither of them are as young as when I knew them before, but neither of them has filled out like they are now either.
The next picture is of them with their parents and grandpa—looks like when Beau graduated from the police academy. I study Rick Palmer’s face for a minute, noting the similarities he shares with Beau. The eye shape and color are the same, and he’s got a similarly charming smile. Maybe even the samejuicy lipsGrams mentioned. I’m not surprised she fell for him.
