I would say I wish he knew how much that means to me, but judging by his expression and the last several minutes, I’m pretty sure he already does.
I nod until I think I have a handle on myself.
My agreement is still quiet, though. “Yeah, it—it is.”
His smile grows and he mimes bowing.
Despite how big our conversation has been, I find I can’t keep in a chuckle.
I add, “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
He lifts his beer to finally finish it off. “Good. And hey, by the way—” he laughs too, “—I think this has been the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”
That gets a grin out of me.
“Probably has been,” I concede. “Sorry.”
He lets out a satisfied sigh as he sets his emptied glass down. “Nah, that’s a good thing too. We should hang out more often.”
I take a second to shake off my last bit of self-consciousness and doubt about having a new friend.
He’s not trying to replace Cliff. He’s just being himself.
“Yeah,” I agree with him again. “I’d like that.”
- 20 -
N O E L L E
now
The weekend of Theo’s birthday was eventful, and the following work week seems to be just like it. But it, too, feels oddly fulfilling.
Ceceli recently decided she would like to have a helper for all her confection-making, and one of my floor employees is really interested in the job, so she has been spending some time learning about it. By the middle of the week, both she and Ceceli are comfortable with her moving to the kitchen from the front of the house, so I start the process of finding a replacement for her. I’m excited about it; for some reason, having to interview for a fresh face around here didn’t seem fun in the past, but I feel differently about it now.
There are also a few new things happening on the Theodora front.
First, she wants to host a sleepover this coming weekend for a little friend of hers from preschool. I’ve spoken with the girl’s mom and arranged it for Saturday night.
Second, her dance studio has been invited to perform at a local springtime festival in about a month, so practice for that begins tonight in her Thursday-evening classes.
And…well, the last thing has to do with Beckett.
Earlier this week, I received information from her preschool teacher about some fun events happening soon, and one of them is an hour-long morning thing called Donuts With Daddy. Although I was assured by Ms. Louisa that any beloved adult guest would be welcome to join Theo—male or female—my heart swelled at the thought of a certain superhero uncle she has.
I wanted to ask him about it right away, but I waited. What I wanted more was a chance to talk to Theo first.
I should have known that conversation would punch me in the feelings with the force of a thousand fists. But I didn’t know it. Didn’t expect whatsoever that she’d tell me she has decided Beckett should be her new dad because he already loves her like she’s his child and she loves him more than she can even tell me.
It surprised me so much that tears sprang to my eyes and then just sat there, refusing to be blinked back or even fall.
To be honest, I don’t remember exactly how I got her to explain what she said about being like his child, but she ended up filling me in on a part of their trip to McDonald’s that he hadn’t mentioned to me. She did the best she could, anyway; kids often tell stories in silly or confusing ways. I understood enough, though—Beckett had been even more protective and loving than I’d known, and it meant the world to her.
It instantly meant the world to me, too, and I wished I’d heard about it sooner so I could have treasured the knowledge longer.
I had a hard time composing myself enough to keep talking to her about him.
Not that she noticed how moved I was. She was being her usual energetic self.
I asked her, “What do you think would make him a better dad than an uncle?”
“It’s just what my heart says,” she replied. “It knows.”
Those words branded themselves into my brain.
I knew it was an exchange I’d never forget, and not just because it meant I was right when I told Beckett days before that Theo knows she’ll always be able to count on his love.
Of course she doesn’t understand the complicated parts of what she was asking. She has no idea Beckett and I have been fighting not to grow close enough for something like that to eventually become real. She doesn’t know how much it has hurt us to think about Cliff being betrayed somehow.
Yet her feelings were as valuable to me as ever.
I was curious, so I asked, “It made you happy when he called you his child to that man?”
She fisted her hands, jumped up and down, and yelled, “Yes!”
Unforgettable.
Unbelievably sweet.
But I haven’t spoken to Beckett about it yet—or about Donuts With Daddy.
After talking with Theo, my heart was so big it seemed to take up space even in my head. I didn’t know how I would find my way through such a sensitive conversation with him too.
That feeling remained even after I explained the best I could that she should still think of him as her Uncle Beck because the dad role is tricky to fill.
She had been bright while I told her how happy it makes me that she loves and trusts Beckett so much…but then I had to tell her we can’t really think of him the way she wants to. Her expression dimmed so much—God, her eyes—I could see her trying to grasp what I was saying.
I apologized again and again, but it didn’t help either of us feel better. She was crestfallen in a way I’d never seen before.
It was difficult to witness; I could only imagine how she felt, how high her hopes had gotten because the idea seemed bulletproof to her.
More than that, I hated having to check that she at least somewhat understood what I’d told her. She’s only five, and she’s working through both having lost Cliff and having begun to see how priceless Beckett is to her.
So I hugged her and comforted her with the best truths I had. I told her that how much she and Beckett love each other is what really matters, not how she refers to him—continuing to call him her uncle doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him with her whole heart or that he isn’t extremely important to her. I said as long as he makes her feel happy and safe, it doesn’t matter if he’s Uncle Beck, or even Beckett or Super Beck.
Only the next morning did she let out a giggle about that last one making him sound like a hero. By the time Beckett was with us in person again that evening, she was back to her normal mood.
Soon, I’ll be steady enough to talk to him about it all.
Until then, I’ll continue enjoying any kind of time I can get with him—text time, phone time, short visit time, dinner time, past-Theo’s-bedtime time.
In some ways, it reminds me of how our friendship used to be. It’s easy, soothing, full of laughter and jokes and conversation. But there are also those more-than-friends aspects woven throughout, making everything feel bigger and more electrifying.
There’s the way it feels any time we’re paying each other the slightest bit of attention, even over messages or calls; being on each other’s mind makes us happy. When we are together, there’s the way the very air seems clearer, and the way we all but give up on maintaining the painful distance from our prior agreement to be cautious.
I have so loved the stolen kisses we’ve surrendered to since that day at my parents’ house—they’ve been serious fuel for blushes and daydreams and late-night thoughts. Yet every other little moment of contact means something, too, no matter how innocent or wanting or hesitant or accidental or deliberate. Even the touches that come with checking on his healing knife cut aren’t meaningless.
In fact, it doesn’t cut it to say I merely enjoy spending time with him.
I completely and utterly love it, and I miss him every time he’s not with me in some way.
And no, there isn’t any pretending it’s just because he’s an extremely important friend to me.
I still may not know what to do about that fact, but there it is.
—
“Oh my goodness!” I hear Beckett laughingly exclaim from outside the blanket fort. “What’s this?”
Theo and I look at each other through the shadows and try not to giggle too loudly. When we heard him open the front door moments ago, she paused our Barbie time and whispered that we should see if we can surprise him. I turned off the flashlight to help us with it.
We listen to him whistle pensively and watch him pace outside the open entrance, only his shoes and the bottom part of his slim khakis visible. Then he drops to all fours and peers in at us.
A squeaky titter fires out of Theo.
“Oh, hey, excuse me!” he says. “Is someone in there? Do you know where I can find my girls? Two perfect human beings—one is a little angel princess and the other is my age with the best smile a guy has ever seen. Can you help me out?”
Feeling fluttery, I hold back my own happy giggle.
Theo gives up on being stealthy and tries to play along with him. “Sir, do you know where I can find my Uncle Beck? He’s strong and the most nice person ever and…ummmm….”
“And crazy handsome,” I chime in.
“No, not that….”
Okay, that gets me.
Beckett’s loud laughter rings out over mine.
He says, “Actually, I’m an Uncle Beck who is very appropriately handsome to one of his girls and not handsome to the other!” He gasps playfully. “Wait a second! Are you Ellie and The-o-dor-a?”
Theo’s hands fumble for the flashlight in my grasp, so I turn it on and illuminate our little spot.
She cheers, “Ta-da!” while he and I laugh again.
“Well, oh my gosh!” he exclaims.
“It’s us!” she confirms. “We were here the whole time!”
“I should’ve known! I guess you were just too good at pretending to be other people!”
That tickles her, and her cute laughter makes my heart happy.
I invite him, “Wanna come into the fort for a minute before we leave for dinner?”
“Yeah, I do. Boys are allowed, right?”
Theo declares, “You are the only boy who is allowed!”
He starts kicking off his shoes. “That is a true honor.”
She and I scoot to make room for him. Once we’re all lying on our stomachs around the flashlight and the small pile of Barbies, we start talking about where we want to go for dinner on this lovely Friday night.
Theo is soon rolling around like a puppy while Beckett lists off restaurants that will probably have a cheeseburger on the kids’ menu, per her wishes. I listen and think and fix the flipped collar of the white button-down shirt he’s wearing beneath a lightweight gray sweater—my Lord, what a look that is on him.
Once I’ve narrowed down what food sounds good to me personally, he shifts closer to me across the carpet, humming like he’s considering what I’ve said. And I guess he could be, but his focus appears to be on pleasantly rubbing his hand up and down the middle of my back.
He muses, “Steak or the new Italian place again….”
I turn my head and nuzzle him the best I can. He turns his head toward me, too, and we notice with catching breaths that it almost puts him close enough to kiss me.
We haven’t been doing that in front of Theo, though. And we’re not going to start now, no matter how freshly preoccupied she has become with her toys.
“How about steak?” he asks me quietly.
I nod. “Outback?”
“Sounds awesome to me.”
“Me too.” I turn to lie on my side, facing him, and close my eyes. “Unless you put me to sleep with these back rubs first.”
He tsks. “Uh oh. Maybe I should—”
“Mommy! Can I wear one of my dress-up dresses?”
I reopen my eyes and glance over at her. “Sure, my love, but pick one that doesn’t have a lot of glitter. We don’t wanna make a glittery mess for the restaurant to clean up.”
“Okay! I’m gonna go see which one I want!”
She’s out of the fort in short seconds.
There’s just enough light from the flashlight for Beckett to toss a wink down to me.
“How much you wanna bet,” he says, “that she comes back with a glittery one and promises not to make a mess even though glitter does that all by itself?”
I grin. “No need to bet. That’s definitely what’s gonna happen.”
Chuckling, he finally stops the rubbing and starts hauling me to him. I end up on my back with him slanted close over me, his arms braced on either side of my head, his chest brushing mine.
I already know I won’t have gotten enough of this in the next minute or however long we have before it ends.
He looks down at me with an expression somewhere between tender and shy.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
Short on time though we are, I take some of it to study him from this new angle. To try to wrap my mind around how warm it’s making me to be halfway fixed underneath him in such a suggestive yet comfortable way.
I lift my hand and touch the hair at his temple, then brush my thumb over his scar. “Hi. I’m so happy to see you.”
He closes his eyes for a relishing second. Then his face comes down to mine…and his lips touch closer to my jaw than to my cheek.
I love the way it feels.
Can’t help wishing he wouldn’t stop there—I nearly shiver from the thought of having his mouth on my neck, my collarbone, my….
But he is slowly putting a kiss on my cheek now, and I love it all the same.
As I wrap my arms around him, I return the kiss to his faintly scruffy skin.
I feel him smile before he tells me, “I could jump up and do a bunch of jeté leaps right now—that’s how happy I am to see you.”
I chortle. “A bunch of them, huh?”
He grins his way onto my lips. “So many. Not gonna bother trying to limit them with a number.”
My chest is suddenly so full that I’m helpless to keep from confessing, “God, Beckett, I adore you.”
Since my arms are around him, the skip in his inhalation is obvious to me.
His breathing doesn’t calm as his mouth finally comes down on mine, but he still doesn’t rush our kiss. He seems to want to savor every millisecond no matter what.
I’m with him on that.
Each one owns me no matter how seriously they aren’t supposed to.
When the warm kiss does slip to an end, he brushes my nose with his.
“Nothing,” he whispers, “and I…I mean nothing…has ever reached into me the way you do.”
I draw a slow breath that has my chest expanding against his, the tingling feeling of which only adds to what his words are doing to me.
Tentatively, he touches a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I would still love it if you never let me go. I adore you right back.”
The reply growing on the tip of my tongue…I don’t want to let it loose.
It’s a scary one to put out there because it has to do with Cliff.
Yet I also know I can’t keep it in forever. I need to hear what Beckett will say to it.
Theodora will be back with us soon, so this isn’t the time to go there. Besides, we’re about to have a fun evening, and I’m excited about that for us. I’ve been excited about it since we made this dinner plan last night.
The scary topic can wait until later.
Right now, I graze a kiss over Beckett’s bottom lip, then dive past what’s on my tongue so I can get back to what’s in my heart: “And I would still love to keep you.”
A long moment passes. Then he smiles.
So do I.
After another second, Theo calls from nearby, “Um, can someone help me? I got stuck trying on my dress over my clothes!”
That gets us laughing, which has our lips
bumping, which can’t be ignored. Our amusement doesn’t fade as we kiss one last time, and the vibration of it feels like it goes down my spine, and it only solidifies my good mood.
The quick, teasing bite he gives my bottom lip solidifies how badly I want more time like this with him, but what can you do?
Smack him on the arm with a gasp of disbelief, that’s what—and love it when he laughs even more.
Momentarily, he’s gone from me and crawling away. I roll onto my hands and knees, too, tsking about him. Then I turn off the flashlight and head for the open entrance myself.
He gets to his feet in the light of the living room and laughs again.
“Yep, glitter, Noelle!” he reports.
I hear Theo gasp. “Well, I—um—please can I wear this one? It’s my most favorite!”
He heads toward her, saying, “Come here, darlin’,” with a grin in his tone.
I don’t know which is funnier: the fact that he and I knew this would happen or how goofy I soon find Theo looking, all scrunched up in both her regular clothes and the purple princess dress.
“Yeah, no,” I answer while Beckett tries to free her of the glitter-embellished fabric. “You gotta pick another dress, sweetheart, sorry.”
She gives a whine of displeasure. “Mommy!”
“Sorry!”
“This is the one I wanna go in!”
Beckett snickers, but his tone is as firm as mine. “Little miss, it’s a no. You’ve got glitter all over you just from halfway wearing this thing. The restaurant wouldn’t stand a chance if you had it on properly, and that’s why your mama said not to pick a dress like this. Now, if we were going to a fairy convention, you’d fit right in.”
At that, she perks up a bit. “What is a fairy condention?”
“Hey, that was a good try! It’s ‘convention’ with a V, not a D.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, and it’s like a big meeting.”
“Oh. A fairy…con-ven-tion…would be a big meeting of all kinds of fairies?”
“Yep, it would.”
“What would they do there?”
So begins the latest of our fun conversations, I guess.
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