by Mary Frame
The ride home is silent, like it always is. But there’s a palpable tension in the air. It’s probably all in my head. When I tilt my head to eyeball him covertly, he’s the same as always. Serious. Staring straight ahead. Focused on the road.
I practically leap from the car when he stops, yelling good night and heading straight up the stairs for bed. I don’t want to know if he’s still downstairs or if he’s left to meet her. As far as I know, he hasn’t actually gone anywhere with Caroline, outside of their conversations at the bar, and I really don’t want to know.
But after I’ve washed up and gotten under the cool sheets, I can’t sleep.
I grab my phone to check my email. Maybe I’ll have a job offer for millions and I can leave Blue Falls next week and never worry about anything again. To my surprise, there is a new email. It’s from the job I applied to last week. My heart jumps for a moment as I scroll over the words.
Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately . . .
Ugh. One of those thanks but no thanks, position has been filled by someone much more qualified and better looking letters.
I’m more relieved than upset. It was an entry-level human resources job. I don’t even know why I applied, except it seemed like something that wouldn’t need a specific degree. But even the junior positions are out of my reach.
I toss my phone on the nightstand and flip onto my side in an attempt to get comfortable.
My stomach gurgles. Staying up late all the time has a way of increasing hunger. I made some hummingbird cake for Grace and Granny yesterday since it’s a Southern recipe Scarlett has used before at the food truck. I figured they would like it. I wonder if they left me any. It sure does sound good right about now.
Only one way to find out.
The light is on in the kitchen, casting a glow into the entry. Someone else is awake. I wouldn’t put it past Grace to be up late hacking into some kind of illegal server or whatever. Doing shady shit stirs up the appetite.
But when I make it to the kitchen, it’s not Grace, it’s Beast.
He’s leaning back against the counter, phone in hand, dressed in a grey cotton tee and darker grey sleep shorts.
“Hey. You want some cake? If there’s any left.”
If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. He’s pretty engrossed in the phone. But he nods.
I grab two plates from the cupboard and open the fridge. Goose bumps race up my arms from the cool air. I should have grabbed my robe. I’m only wearing flimsy shorts and a tank top. But it’s too hot for anything else, even with the AC.
“Milk?” I set the cake next to his elbow at the counter.
He nods again.
The glasses are up high in the cabinet and I have to stretch to reach.
I set them down and turn around to grab the milk. My gaze meets Beast’s, and his eyes flick back down to the phone in his hand.
Was he . . . checking me out?
The thought is a little titillating. But he’s probably just comparing me to Caroline. The name is a whine in my head. Caaaaroline. I pour us both tall glasses of milk.
I set his drink down next to the cake and lean my hip against the counter beside him as we both dig in.
After a couple of bites, he picks up his phone. “This is good,” the robotic voice says.
“Thank you.”
We eat for a few minutes. Beast finishes the whole slice in a few bites, and then he chugs down the milk.
I’m only halfway through my own piece when he picks up his phone again. “Can we talk? So to speak.”
A zing of anticipation thrums through me. “Ha. Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
I wait for him to type out the words, taking a drink of my milk and watching him over the lip of the glass.
He stops typing and then watches me for a moment, worrying his bottom lip. “I was wondering if you would help me with something.”
“Of course.”
His brow lifts. “I haven’t told you what it is.”
I shrug. “So tell me.”
His feet shift and this time he doesn’t meet my eyes as the robotic voice speaks. “It’s about dating.”
“Um.” What?
His fingers move faster. “I’m not asking you out on a date.” Now he looks at me.
Ouch. “Well that’s a relief.” Good ol’ dry humor, so good at masking feelings of inadequacy. I take a giant bite of cake, chewing it up before replying. “So, you need help dating someone else. Someone not me.”
He nods.
Caroline. I’m sure of it. But just to clarify. “The blonde from the bar? Caroline?”
He nods again.
“How would I—” I frown as he continues typing. “How could I possibly help you date her?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t talk.”
I roll my eyes and gesture at his phone. “You’re doing fine. Just use that on your date.”
And leave me out of it.
He types again and then his gaze lifts to mine, his cheeks a little flushed as he pushes the speak button. “I don’t know how to talk to women. Even with the technological assistance. I need help. Practice.”
A tug on my heart. It’s actually really sweet that he’s asking for help. It’s probably not the easiest thing to admit. “So you want me to help you practice dating?”
“Or give me advice.”
I shrug. “Get her number and send her a text, maybe. Go from there. She’s been all over you the past couple of weeks. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”
He shakes his head at his phone, his mouth a thin line. “I have her number. I’m sure she will go out with me. But then what if I do or say something wrong? I don’t know how to date. I’ve never been in a relationship.”
“Is that what you’re looking for from Caroline? A relationship?” I ask. The thought is perturbing. Beast and Caroline . . . together? Caroline coming over to Granny’s for dinner, or hanging at Jude’s with everyone, perched like a canary on Beast’s lap. The jarring images spit and stomp through my head, like someone speaking Klingon in a Star Wars movie. It’s just not right. But I don’t want to examine those feelings too closely.
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. Does it matter?” his phone intones.
“Well, yeah, if I’m going to help you, I’ll l need to know these things. Like what’s your goal?”
He stares at me for a long second, then his gaze flips down to his phone. His fingers move quickly. His eyes flash back to mine and then he pushes a button. “I thought I would have to convince you more.”
“Well you don’t. I’ll help you with whatever you want.” I don’t want to watch Beast woo Caroline, but at the same time, he’s asking for help. He never asks for help, he only provides it to others. How could I say no? I set my plate on the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “Honestly, you’re not going to need much help. Just talk to her like you are to me.”
He shakes his head slowly. Then his fingers move. “I’m not sure. I get nervous and don’t know how to respond.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I can’t imagine dating when you don’t talk—or talk only with a phone. It would be difficult. As it stands, he only communicates with family, and me, so pretty limited. Of course, going on dates when you can talk is nerve-racking enough on its own.
“Question. Why didn’t you ask Jude or one of the others? And you know, I’ve only had one boyfriend. I’m not, like, a dating guru or anything.”
He watches me for a moment, thinking before his fingers move over the screen. “They are into their own lives.” He pauses again before typing. “I don’t mean that they are self-absorbed.”
“I understand.” They are happy, in love, focused on their own journeys, as they should be.
“That leaves Granny or Grace, and they are out for obvious reasons. Besides, you are smart. Even Grace, with her tech mind, never thought about communicating with me via a cell phone text-to-speech function.” H
is jaw tenses, like the thought troubles him.
I lean toward him. “It’s easier for me to think outside the box since I’m not in it. She’s used to communicating with you without words. If that’s all she’s known, and it works, there’s no reason to use any other method. I’ve seen you guys. It’s like a Vulcan mind meld.”
Some of the tension leaves his jaw and one corner of his lip quirks up. This time he signs, True.
Did he almost smile? Then he goes back to typing.
“There’s something about you that’s comfortable.”
I laugh. “Uh, Beast? I’m the most socially graceless person on the planet. I’ve embarrassed myself around you too many times to count, I talk too much, and what I say is usually inappropriate or unintentionally rude and insensitive.”
His gaze is thoughtful on mine before he types. “You might say the wrong things, but you also apologize and explain yourself. Most people don’t do that. Most people can’t admit to any kind of fault.”
We lock eyes and understanding zings between us like the old Pong video game.
He types some more, breaking eye contact. “And you’re brutally honest.”
Snort. “That’s a nice way to say I’m an asshole.”
His mouth twitches on one side.
“Uh-oh, don’t go smiling at me now.”
He presses his lips together and focuses on his phone. “Honesty is a good thing because I know you’ll lay it on me straight.”
“And you’ve witnessed enough of my mistakes that it’s not as scary. I get it.”
I’m a steaming pile of embarrassment. Which is good for making people feel normal, I guess. And probably one of the many reasons Beast wouldn’t consider me in a romantic way.
He rubs his chin with one hand, then types more. “There’s something else.”
“Oh, goody.”
He gives me a look that’s equal parts amused and irritated. He types again. “She gave me her number. Do I text her now? Do I wait?”
“It’s up to you. Personally, I think waiting is like playing games. If you want to text her now, do it. You can make sure she got home okay. That’s innocent enough.”
He pulls out the paper from his back pocket and sets it down. Elbows on the counter in front of him, he types into the phone, brow furrowed in concentration. My eyes rove from his profile down to his biceps straining at the fabric.
I swallow and resist the desire to step closer.
He holds up the phone to show me the text, not sending it yet.
Did you make it home okay?
I nod. “You might want to mention who you are.”
His brow furrows.
“If she doesn’t have your number in her phone already, she won’t know who’s texting, and it’s possible you aren’t the only one she’s given her number to recently.”
He frowns at that, but nods and adds to the text so now it reads. Did you make it home okay? This is Beast.
“Good,” I say.
He presses send.
“Don’t get worried if she doesn’t text back right away,” I tell him. “Some people like to wait so they don’t seem—”
His phone dings.
He swipes it off the counter and reads it, eyes brightening. He stands next to me to show me the text, both our backs to the counter, arms brushing.
That’s so sweet!!!! Heart eyes emoji. I am home safe and sound!!! Thank you for checking on me!!
I clear my throat. “That’s good. That’s . . . she’s definitely interested. Now maybe ask if she wants to go to coffee.” And we’ll just pretend she didn’t completely overuse exclamation points.
He switches over to a notepad app and keeps the phone in my eyeline so I can watch him key in the words. Coffee? Not dinner or something?
“Think of it like a test run. Then if things go well you can ask her to dinner. Baby steps. There’s less pressure with coffee, and you’ll be able to talk more easily. If you’re eating, she’ll have to bear the brunt of the conversation, which can be uncomfortable for people not used to sitting in silence. And instead of being obligated for a couple hours, you can make it like thirty minutes if you need to bail or it gets too weird.”
His brows lift. He types and I watch. That’s smart.
“And if she super sucks, you can say nice knowing you, byeeeee.”
I hope she doesn’t suck.
His eyes widen and he immediately backspaces the words.
I laugh. “You mean you hope she does suck. At least a little. Maybe not on the first date, though.”
He shakes his head, a ruddy flush tinging his cheeks.
“You just want to make sure she isn’t a jerk. Sometimes you don’t figure out people are . . . not good until years later.”
I don’t have room to be picky, Fred. I’m a disaster.
My heart twists at the self-defeating words. He sounds like me. I put a hand on his arm and look up at him. “You are not a disaster.”
He blinks down at me and then averts his gaze to the phone and types, Caroline seems a lot more experienced than me. I’m inexperienced and I can’t talk. I don’t have much to offer.
I squeeze his arm. “You have a lot to offer. You are kind and funny and can probably bench press a car. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel inadequate. There’s nothing wrong with inexperience. We all have to start somewhere.”
He studies my face, as if verifying the truth of my words through my eyes. Then he nods slowly.
I’m still holding his arm. I pull my hand back and take a step away. “Ask her if Monday at two at the Finer Diner works. We’re both off work. We can get there earlier and set up a couple of booths next to each other. That way I can listen in.”
He nods and types. They chat back and forth via text, scheduling the date and time. It’s pretty obvious from the excessive exclamation points and emojis that Caroline is ecstatic.
“Well, there you go. Not too bad, huh?”
He switches to the notepad app. Thank you for helping me.
“I’m happy to help.”
But the words are dry in my mouth. And I’m not happy. If anything, I’m a little queasy. Maybe it’s the cake.
Or maybe it’s the impossibility of ever having someone who would put this much effort into wooing me.
Chapter Nine
I wouldn’t dare speak to her,
I don’t have the brains.
The way people speak and write nowadays makes my head hurt.
–Cyrano de Bergerac
* * *
Beast’s anxiety is a grey cloud circling the air around us.
“Take a deep breath,” I tell him. “You’re going to pass out if you don’t get some oxygen.”
He complies, big shoulders moving up and down as he inhales and exhales.
We arrived fifteen minutes early and thankfully, Caroline hasn’t shown up yet.
We commandeered a couple of empty booths near the back. I’m taking the one in the corner, where I can sit with my back to the diner and use the mirror overhead to get a view of the action.
To alleviate the burden of ordering using his phone or sign language, we already ordered coffees and water. The waitress is being tipped substantially to not mention that I came in with him.
“It will all be fine. Be yourself.” I pat him on the shoulder, only a possibility since he’s sitting in the booth and I’m standing next to him. I check the front window periodically for Caroline to appear.
He picks up his phone from the table in front of him. “That’s a terrible idea,” it drawls. Grace changed the voice and now instead of a robotic female, it sounds like Morgan Freeman.
“You’re yourself with me.”
“That’s different. I like you.”
I know he doesn’t mean it in a romantic way, but a zing zips down my spine anyway, followed by an immediate internal admonishment. I’m here to help him date someone else.
Outside, a small blue Honda pulls into the lot. A blonde steps out, adjusting her purse
and tugging at her short skirt as she walks to the entrance.
“She’s here. I’ll be right behind you, okay?”
I pull up the hood on my sweater and sit in the booth directly behind him, our backs facing each other, my eyes on the mirror in the corner.
I fiddle with the plate of food in front of me, an attempt to not appear suspicious despite the hood covering the back of my head. Thankfully the diner has their AC pumping, otherwise I might be sweltering with this disguise.
Caroline immediately spots Beast from the front door and walks over to his booth, sliding into the red vinyl booth seat across from him.
“Hi! I’m so happy to finally spend some time with you outside of your work.” Her voice is peppy, upbeat, with a slight Southern twang. Her outfit is more modest than what she wears to Bodean’s, the neckline higher, only exposing slight cleavage. Church cleavage, if you will. A row of demure pearls decorates her neck and her hair is in flowing golden waves. She smiles and she has two perfect dimples, one in each cheek. She really is adorable.
Damn her.
“I am happy as well,” Morgan Freeman’s voice says.
Caroline giggles and her hands cover her mouth. “Well, if that isn’t the sweetest thing. You’re so smart to figure out how to use your phone like that.”
“It was a friend’s idea,” the phone spits out a few seconds later.
“Oh.” Caroline nods and smiles, and then the conversation stalls. “So, um.” She picks up the mug. “Thanks for the coffee.” She grabs some sugar from the side and stirs it in with her spoon while they sit in silence.
A text lights up my phone.
What do I say?
I type quickly. Ask her questions about herself. What she likes to do, what she’s majoring in at school.
And he does.
And it’s not too bad. It’s a little stilted, but they manage to move the conversation along. Caroline grew up in Blue Falls. She likes to scrapbook and knit. She’s majoring in early childhood education because she wants to be a preschool teacher. I can’t even make this stuff up. Hell, I want to date her. The more perfect she is, the more my stomach heaves.
“What do you like to do for fun?” she asks him.
