by Emilia Finn
“Magical, huh? I told you so.”
“You definitely did. Wanna be the flower girl in our wedding?”
“Oh my gosh!” Samara screams with excitement. “Yes!”
“Beckett!” I groan. He’s frustrating, but so damn sweet at the same time. He’s making sure I know I’m wanted. I’m precious. I’m needed. But he’s obnoxious about it, and not all that interested in consent—as far as nuptials go.
For the womanizing sex fiend I thought he was, he sure places a surprising emphasis on consensual sex. But a wedding? Pfft. The bride hardly has to acknowledge it’s even happening. He’s happy to whip the whole thing together in an evening.
No big deal.
“We are not getting married,” I speak to the girl. “No.”
“Not yet,” Beckett inserts with twitching lips. “But when she agrees, I’ll call you.”
“Okay!”
“You’re impossible!”
“Yeah,” he quips. “I know.”
My phone begins ringing again, an incessant chirp vibrating against my butt, and draws Beckett’s attention. It’s been going all day… vibrating, demanding, calling us both out for not working and not interacting with anyone but each other and a horse.
Work stuff has tried to interrupt us a hundred times today, and Mark a dozen more, but instead of getting mad about any of it, Beckett instead chooses a smug grin.
I get a single second of warning, a singular moment to squeal, then he dips me back and slams his lips to mine in a possessive assault.
Seems he’d rather make a point. Mine, mine, all mine.
He catches my panicked exhalation of air, hugs me tight against his body, and lets his tongue duel with mine until my tense body turns limp in his arms.
“Being impossible is how I get you to agree to all my crazy shit,” he pants and drops another kiss on my lips. “In the end, I promise you’ll thank me for it.”
Darla doesn’t finish packing our picnic until after dark, but Beckett somehow manages to fill the time anyway. He’s high-energy, high-maintenance, and high-enthusiasm.
Though I already knew that. What I didn’t know was what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such interest.
He’s not looking for attention for himself, but rather, to lavish it upon me. He’s not looking to run a marathon to work off energy. Instead, he’d prefer to spend his time running his hands over my skin. My arms, my fingers, my ribs and hips. He’s not being entirely inappropriate, and he doesn’t once try to feel beneath my clothes once we’re back at the murder farm.
He’s adoring, sweet, obnoxiously funny, and far too grabby. But there isn’t a single second as we while away our afternoon that I feel uncomfortable. Nor do I feel pressured by his advances.
Which, in itself, is special and sincere.
My phone has been ringing on and off the whole day. Mark. Jen. Even the auction house we totally didn’t turn up to, despite being registered to attend. Beckett’s sister and sisters-in-law have been calling, since they know that, to get him, they usually have to come through me.
But though I send texts to those who need them—Jen, Abby, Nadia, Arlo, and Idalia, to let them know we’re safe, albeit in the middle of nowhere—I don’t take calls. If what Beckett says is true, then most of those people know far more about me and my relationship status than I do. And call me crazy, but I’m not quite ready to discuss it.
So I end dozens of calls throughout the day, ignore others, silence some. I find myself lying on the grass in the struggling sun, hanging out with Beckett and Graciela, chatting—God help me, flirting—and when it’s almost dinnertime, I’m dragged to my feet and sent off to be pampered and abused by the iron-willed Darla for a second night in a row.
Though, since we’re not joining the family at the dining room table, I toss aside the suggestion of a gown, and opt for my usual jeans.
Now, steam follows me from the communal bathroom as I exit, but before I reach my bedroom door, I’m met with the sinful scent of baked lamb and all the sides. I smell rosemary. And potatoes. Pumpkin. Corn.
Darla is going big for her guests’ second and final night in residence, and Beckett and I… chose not to join them.
Oops.
With a shrug of my shoulders, I pad from linoleum-covered flooring into the room I’m sharing with my boss… my boyfriend… the guy I’ve spent most of a day making out with?
Oh god.
“Stop it.”
I jump and spin to find Beckett standing at the door just on the inside of the room. His back resting on the wall. His foot raised the same way Samara stands every single time she’s in sight.
“You scared me!” I toss my towel and huff when Beckett easily catches it. “Why the hell are you skulking around and scaring people?”
He lifts a brow. Challenging. Dangerous. Taunting. And balls my towel in his hands. “Why are you readying to spiral into a panic attack about this?”
“I’m not! I didn’t—” I shake my head when he smirks. “Mind your damn business!”
“It’s just dinner.” He chuckles and pushes off the wall to saunter across the room, slowly, purposefully. “Just a date.”
“With my boss.”
He gives the tiniest hint of disagreement. “With the love of your life.”
“With someone who isn’t Mark.”
“Mark is your ex,” he pushes between tight lips. “There’s no room here for him. Not tonight. Not ever.”
“What if we realize we can’t stand each other?” Anxiety swirls in my stomach. “What if this doesn’t work?”
He scoffs. “You already know you can’t stand me. Yet you’re still here.”
“This isn’t funny! I’m legitimately worried, and you’re…”
“What?” He stops close enough to wrap his arms around my torso. “I’m what?”
“Too freakin’ blasé! This is so easy for you.”
“Winning you over?” He shakes his head and presses a gentle kiss to my jaw. “I’ve never worked so fuckin’ hard in my life. Plus, you keep bringing your ex into all this. But ya know what?” He presses his lips to mine when my breath clogs in my throat. “I’m gonna keep working at it. Gonna keep working on you. Eventually, you might acknowledge that what we have has the power to be magical. We baptized this in a magical lake today, Tabby. We can’t go wrong now.”
“And if we do?” My heart thunders. “What if it all goes to shit?”
“Then we go to sleep mad. And the next day?” He drops a kiss on the tip of my nose. “We start again, and we keep working on it till it sticks. If we keep doing that, day after day, fight after fight, one day, we’ll wake up and realize we’re eighty, and that it was sticking the whole time.”
I sigh and allow myself to lean on him. Because Beckett is strong and sure. Confident in this, when I need a little more time. He’s certain, and right now, that’s enough for me.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” He pulls back and flashes a wide grin. “Okay?”
“I’m gonna freak less. Enjoy more.”
“Yessss!” He slams his lips to mine and swallows down the oxygen that races along my throat.
His tongue darts out and plays with mine, his hands wrap around my arms, the stubble on his jaw scratches my cheek. It’s a sensory overload. But the greatest kind. Sensual and sexy and forbidden.
Then my phone chirps, and Beckett pulls away with a disgusted gasp. “How the fuck do you deal with that shit all day?” He shakes his head and looks to the sky.
Where his eyes go up, mine come down and stop on a bulge in his jeans.
I can’t quite pinpoint what is more startling to me; the jeans, when I’m so used to seeing him in a three-piece suit, or the bulge… since it’s so obviously for me.
“Ninety-nine percent of the calls on my phone are because of you,” I grumble and turn to find my cell on the bed. I flip it over, only to find Mark’s name flashing.
I sigh.
“I think your perc
entages are off.” Beckett follows me to the bed and reads over my shoulder. “That’s a giant-ass one percent you got there, Tabby.”
“He was dumped today.” I silence the call and toss the device back to the bed. “I owe him a discussion at least.”
“Fuck you do,” he grunts and pulls me into his arms. “You owe me a kiss. And undying love and all that shit. But you don’t owe Mark a damn thing.”
“He was my boyfriend for three years! He was planning to move here this wee—” Then it hits me. “Tomorrow. He was due to move tomorrow.”
“And because of his poor behavior as a man, he has no girlfriend, and if he chooses to get in that car tomorrow, he’ll have nowhere to live.” Beckett flashes a quick grin, smug with how this has all worked out. “Winner-winner chicken dinner.”
“This isn’t a ga—”
“Mr. Rosa?”
We turn as one at a voice in monotone, only for my eyes to stop on Samara carting an over-heavy picnic basket. “Dinner for you and Mrs. Rosa.”
“See?” Smirking, Beckett leaves me standing by the bed for a moment while he approaches the door, but on second thought, he circles back, reaches around me, and snags my cell before I can process his intentions.
He swaggers toward Samara, takes the basket, and exchanges it for the phone. “Could you take this please, bury it somewhere—”
Panic bubbles in my chest. “Beckett!”
“Drop it into a well,” he pushes on. “Throw it into the lake. Shove it up Graciela’s backside for all I care.”
“Beckett!” I explode when the girl blushes and touches my phone with only two fingers. She acts like it’s already been inside the horse’s ass. “I need that!”
“For work?” he counters and brings the basket into the room. “It’s cool. You’re with the boss, and he says you can have the evening off.”
“For my friends! My family. That’s how they contact me.”
“Jen knows how to find me. Hell, she knows how to find Abby and the girls too.”
“Abby and the girls call me!”
“And when you don’t answer, they’ll call me.” He tilts his head. “Any more arguments, or are you gonna let Mark go without bitching about it?”
“This isn’t about—”
My phone rings. Mark’s name flashes. Beckett’s grin notches up.
“This isn’t about him,” I murmur. “I swear.”
“So, if it’s not about him, and the other people—all of our sisters, because there are a lot of them, now that you’ve added another to the pile—will know to call me if something is wrong, then what’s the problem?”
“I d—” I desperately search the room. “I’m—”
I plead with Samara, her eyes on mine. Only to give up when Beckett’s chest bounces.
“I’m addicted, okay! I don’t like it, and I’m not proud of it, but you did this to me.” I smack his arm and succeed only in making my palm sting. “You turned me into this person who organizes her whole life with a phone. Then you added your life to my phone too! Now I get cold sweats if I don’t know what’s next on the calendar.”
“So lemme help you with that.” Beckett sets the basket on the bed, then pulls me into his arms. “Our calendars are clear, because I said they are. Those we love know we’re safe. And those we don’t… well, they don’t matter.” He pulls back and meets my eyes. “Do they?”
He’s asking about Mark. He’s asking for me to commit to this.
“He matters,” I admit on a whisper, and hate how Beckett’s smile falls away.
I’ve hurt him already, and with only two words.
“Maybe I fell out of love,” I explain, “and maybe I severed that relationship. But he was an important part of my life for a long time, and seemingly out of nowhere, I’ve told him that I want out, and now that he wants to discuss it, I’ve gone missing.” I shake my head and loathe the way my stomach clenches. “Ghosting him is not okay, Beckett. And I don’t enjoy feeling like a coward.”
“Do you regret the choices you’ve made today?” he whispers. No longer arrogant, and no longer putting on a show for his little friend. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“I’m not having second thoughts about my feelings; for him, or for you. I’m not questioning that there’s something here,” I point between us. “But I do know he deserves better than a text and a swift exit.”
“And when you speak to him next,” Beckett mumbles shakily, “will he convince you to come back to him?”
“No!” I jolt back, his words like a physical blow. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Now it’s my turn to comfort him. My turn to be the strength as I reach up and stroke his firm jaw. “I’m not a radiography machine up for grabs, Beckett. I’m not jumping back and forth between the highest bidders.”
He fakes a snicker. “Nice analogy.”
“I’m not gonna run to the guy who is most convincing on any given day. I’m here for me, Beck.” I step onto my toes and press my lips to his. “This is my life, to live for myself. Not you, and not him.”
“But you’ll make room for me, right?”
“Yes.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes when his glitter. He’s emotional and far more invested in this than he’d have me believe. He jokes of marriage and forever, but he does it all with that easy-going attitude he wears so well. But right now, in this room, while we bare our souls, I’m made acutely aware that I hold his heart in my hands.
And if I’m not careful, I could crush him.
“I’m making room for you to live your life beside me,” I rasp. “But I’m not the woman who is going to live my life based on the wants and needs of a man. That sounds like a truly horrible existence.”
“So… trust?”
I scoff so hard that my breath feathers over his jaw. “Yeah. Trust. Exactly how I’ll have to trust you every time any woman, ever, walks through Lakeside. They don’t even pretend to not touch, Beckett, so if I’m searching for herculean levels of strength and willpower, all so I don’t break a bitch’s face, then I expect the same trust in return.”
He draws in a breath so deep, his chest lifts and moves me with it. Then he exhales with a nod. “Okay. Let’s be grown-ups about this.”
I burst out laughing. “Let’s. Though of course, I know that will be difficult for you.”
“Burn.” He rolls his eyes and looks back to Samara. “I still want the phone gone for the next few hours. But don’t destroy it or anything.”
“Okay!” The girl bounces in place.
“You can probably even answer it if you want.” Beckett laughs when I growl. “If it’s a woman’s name, answer and tell her Tabby is safe. If it’s Mark, answer and tell him she’s busy right now, but she’ll call him next month.”
I huff.
“Next week,” he corrects.
When I lift a brow, he shakes his head. “She’ll call him tomorrow. But that’s my best offer.”
He comes back around to face me. “It’s our first proper date, which means it’s just me and you and a pic-a-nic basket. Don’t fuck this up, Tabitha.”
I look to Samara and make a silly face. “Please don’t destroy my phone. Please don’t answer any calls unless they’re from Jen, and even then, just answer once, tell her I’m alive, and that I’ll call her later.” Thoughts of true crime shows and bodies in barrels come to mind, so I add, “Probably don’t speak in monotone, and don’t say Mother or Father or corn, either. After that, just place the phone somewhere safe and let it be. I’ll fix the rest tomorrow while we’re driving.”
“Great. Samara?” Beckett grins for the girl. “We’d like to have dinner now, so if you could step out?”
“Oh, sure! See ya.” She waves with her phone-holding hand and shows off the long list of missed calls, emails, and texts I’ll have to see to tomorrow.
My stomach clenches from having unfinished work, but then she turns on her heels and bolts, her dark hair whipping around as she runs. She slams the d
oor with a crack, so the walls shake and the windows rattle in their frames.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Beckett swings me into something of a hug, but with a bit of a dance thrown in for good measure. “She took your lifeline, and now you’re stuck here with me.”
“It hurts so bad,” I giggle. “I think I have a problem.”
“Mm.” He places a finger under my chin and drags my face up. “You have ninety-nine problems, babe, but your phone ain’t one.”
“Har-har.” I roll my eyes and step in to rest my chin on his chest. I force Beckett to fold his neck, to create a double chin to keep me in sight. But the smile he rewards me with is stunning.
“Dinner?” I suggest. “I’m starving, and that basket smells fantastic.”
“Yup.” Beckett steps away so fast that I pitch forward and have to catch myself with my hands on the bed.
He’s not sorry. If anything, he takes pride in keeping me off-balance.
I spin to growl at him, to chew him out for being… well… him, but confusion brings me to a standstill until I’m left watching as he lifts the basket and sets it on the floor, then grabs a blanket from the bed and whips it free with a snap in the air.
My eyes widen with surprise, only to follow Beckett as he flattens the ugly spread in the middle of the floor. The edges touch the walls and bed, so he can’t smooth it out completely, but he works with what he’s got, creates a space for us to sit, then he grasps the basket and sets it off to the side.
I remain in place, stunned, even as Beckett sits and glances up at me. “Coming?”
“Um…” I look around the room. “In here?”
“Mmhm.”
“Our date…” I study Beckett’s outstretched hand. His dancing eyes. His folded legs, like he’s a child readying for storytime. “Our first date ever is in here, on the floor?”
“Uh huh. We already did the lake today. We did the diner earlier this week. We did the dining room last night. You didn’t forget the doilies, did you?”
“No.” My eyes widen as I circle my lips around the ‘o’. “I didn’t forget the doilies.”
“Great.”
He snags my hand when I don’t take his, and tugs me into his lap so I fall with a crash, eliciting a hiss from Beckett when my elbow digs in somewhere south of his belt.
