But I’m still pissed, and I’ve never imagined that either. This has to be real.
“Why are you here?” My voice wavers on the question. I grip the edge of the archway for support. I’m afraid of what he’ll say. Seeing him now makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to handle watching him walk away again. He’s carrying a backpack. That’s all. Not even a suitcase. Did he fly five hours across the country for a weekend visit?
If he did—if that’s all we get—would I actually turn him down?
His grin slips. “Was it a mistake to come?”
My stomach plunges. “You didn’t answer my question.”
God, I can’t do this. I can’t let him back inside just to leave me again.
Beau’s brows draw together. “You’re going pale. Are you okay?” he asks, stepping closer. He reaches out a hand, but I hold up my own to stop him. I can’t. I can’t let him touch me.
He halts. “Have you eaten? Do we need to go inside?”
“A-answer th-the question.” My words rattle like a tea set on a garbage truck. “Why are you here?”
Beau’s dark eyes blaze against mine. His jaw clenches, and his chest rises and falls. “I’m here because I couldn’t stand it.” He bites off each word. “I couldn’t stand being without you.”
I suck in a shaky breath.
He sheds his backpack and takes another step toward me. He freezes when I let out a whimper. The sound startles both of us. But it’s clear I’m begging for mercy.
Please don’t hurt me again. I couldn’t bear it.
“Iris.” The look he gives me is stricken. “I was wrong. I thought I was strong enough to let you go, but I’m not. Can I please stay?”
I begin to shake. It’s everything I can do not to break down. “D-do you know what it’s like? To have someone you love walk away from you and never look back?”
Beau squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, God, Iris.” He brings his hands to his face and drags them—violently—over his head. When he eyes me again, his expression is weighted down. “Your dad. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—”
I gape. “You didn’t think it would crush me when you cut me out of your life?” I go from being dry-eyed to streaming tears in a matter of seconds. “To text you? To call you? Again and again? And get nothing?”
It’s Beau’s turn to lose his color. I watch him swallow. “I thought I was helping you.”
The laugh that leaves me burns like acid. “So ghosting me was a favor?” I reach into the tiny pocket of my running tights and yank out my key before stomping past him. “How rude of me not to say thank you.”
I jam the key into the lock and throw open the door. I turn to slam it behind me but Beau is there, his foot wedged into the door jamb.
His eyes flash wide. “Wait!” The word is a growl of anger and fear. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. Can’t we talk about this?”
“Why? So you can go back home with a clear conscience?”
“NO,” he roars. “SO I DON’T LOSE YOU AGAIN!”
His outburst stuns me silent. We stare at each other, both of us panting like wrestlers.
“Iris. I love you more than anything. I’m here to make things right,” he says, his voice raspy with emotion. “Can I please come in?”
Unsure if it’s the right thing—the safe thing as far as my heart is concerned—I pull the door wide.
Without taking his eyes off me, Beau lowers into a squat and grabs his backpack. “I’d leave this outside,” he says evenly, “but everything I own is in it, including my ticket home if you don’t take me back.”
It’s like a word tornado. Everything I own... my ticket home... take me back. Meaning swirls around me. I feel as ridiculous as a game show contestant in a wind tunnel filled with cash, grasping at treasure and coming up empty.
I watch Beau walk inside, and I hear myself ask, “What do you mean?”
“May I sit?” He gestures to the corner of my striped couch.
I nod.
He sits, putting the mysterious backpack that he claims carries all of his possessions at his feet. I should sit across from him in the matching loveseat with the rectangular coffee table as a buffer between us, but even still wearing that stricken expression, he looks so good on my couch.
He looks so good in my home.
I sink down on the opposite corner, one untouched, striped cushion separating us.
“What do you mean—” I swallow, summoning the courage to face what scares me most, “your ticket home?”
He’s leaving. Of course he’s leaving. When is he leaving? Tomorrow? Monday? If I let him stay for the weekend, will I be able to let him go when he leaves?
Beau sighs. “I should have called. I should have let you know I was coming.”
I blink, trying to picture that call. I’m not sure I would have handled it any better.
“I get that you might not want to see me,” he says, his eyes narrowing in what looks like pain. “I messed up everything, and I don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me.”
I go for honesty. “Forgiving you is one thing,” I admit because of course I’m going to forgive him. He’s Beau. I love him. I will always love him. But. “Letting you break my heart again is something else.”
He closes his eyes, his face a study in agony. “Iris. Please.” When he opens his eyes, they are pleading. “I know I hurt you, but I won’t ever do it again. I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t bear it.”
I want to believe him, but I’m so afraid. “What’s changed?” I ask because I have to know.
He breathes in and breathes out. “I was afraid of you putting your career on hold for me. My mother ended her career to be with my father. He wasn’t worth the sacrifice. I’m not either—”
The offensive words sting like a slap. “Beau, how can y—”
“Let me finish,” he says, but his tone is gentle. “I’m not worth the sacrifice if I don’t help you achieve your dreams. Grant Landry hijacked Gina Hebert’s dreams, and twenty years later, he left her with next to nothing.”
Beau’s eyes burn with resentment and pain. I want to reach for him, to comfort him, but I hold myself still.
“If I am to be the man I want to be, it’s my job to lift up the woman I love and help her grab the life she’s always wanted—”
Frustration makes my skin feel too tight. “But don’t you see? You did that even before we broke up. You did that before we were ever a couple,” I say, my words tripping over each other. “You did that when you gave me the courage to stand up for myself.”
He nods emphatically. “Exactly. How could I let you risk everything you’d won for yourself by taking time off to be with me?” he asks, conviction swelling in his voice. “I would be just like him if I let you do that.”
I shake my head. “No, you wouldn’t—”
“I would. It just took me a while to realize that letting you go didn’t make me a better man,” he says, giving me a sad smile. “Just a broken one.”
My breath catches. ”Your uncle said you were miserable.”
His rueful grin makes an appearance. “I was. He told me you’d called.” Beau raises a brow. “He also told me I was an idiot.”
I try to smother a rogue laugh, loving Mr. Hebert. I press my lips together, sadness tugging at my heart. “I hated hearing that you were miserable.”
He shakes his head. “I got exactly what I deserved. I should have known that even if I wasn’t worth the sacrifice, you were worth anything. Anything I had to do to be with you.”
“Beau,” I argue, unnerved by the nonsense in his words “You are worth any sacrifice.”
“No, Iris, I—”
I reach over and take his hands, silencing him.
“Now you let me finish,” I add for good measure. “You helped me to see that I could have the career I wanted—exactly the way I wanted it. That I could deal ethically. That I could do comedy. That I could be free from harassment, and just so you know that I get it, from abuse.”
His face hardens at the reference to Moira.
“You helped me to claim all of that.” I lift one hand off our joined ones and gesture around the room. “This home. A job I love. Real food,” I add, eyeing him wildly and earning a chuckle for my effort.
His laughter gives me confidence. And hope.
“But just so you truly know your worth,” I say, squeezing his hands. “Even though I have all of this—all the things I ever wanted out of my career—I’ve been broken too. I’ve been miserable and empty.”
I stare into his eyes, hold his gaze, so he can see I mean every word.
“Without you to share them, all those victories are hollow.” And then I say the thing that nearly kills me. “But if you’re going to walk away from me again and disappear from my life, I need you to do it right now. Right now. Not tomorrow. Or Monday. Or even five minutes from now.”
Beau’s eyes narrow, but not before they sear me with heat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And then his mouth is on mine.
None of my reunion fantasy kisses even comes close. This kiss is fevered and feral. It’s as wild and as alive as anything I’ve seen on the AT. It’s more mystical and spell-binding than any magic Raven Blackwell performed. It’s stormier than Hurricane Addie.
It feels like I could float up to the ceiling. To make sure I don’t, I grab Beau by the collar and tug him on top of me.
His familiar weight chases a sob from my chest. The relief of it is too much. My eyes leak. My lungs burn. Still I kiss him.
“Iris, my love, I’m not going anywhere,” Beau promises, stamping kisses along my jaw. Down my neck. I know he’ll have to leave at some point, but maybe this means we’ll figure out the long-distance thing. We can make it work. If he wants this, we’ll make it work.
He’s wearing one of his button-downs, and I love and hate it at the same time. I want to rip it off him, but the backpack doesn’t look very full. It might be his only shirt. And if he’s staying the weekend, he might need to wear more than rags.
But then again…
I suppress the urge to tear the shirt from him and work on the buttons instead, all while Beau demonstrates his superior presence of mind and pops off my running shoes before attempting to peel off my tights. It’s about as graceful as peeling off running tights can be. But when they’re gone, they’re gone. My bare ass meets the upholstery of my new couch.
And then my presence of mind kicks in. “Bedroom,” I pant.
Beau needs no other words. I appreciate his excellent listening skills and his upper body strength as he cups my ass. I lock my legs around his waist, and he carries me across the house.
“Left,” I say between kisses as we enter the hall. He takes us left, and we collide with the bed.
I’ve exiled the shirt, and I’m making haste with his belt when I have to abandon the task while Beau frees me from my sports top.
Assisting a horse’s birth might be easier than getting the second skin of spandex and Lycra over my head and shoulders, but Beau powers through like a champ.
“Bravo,” I gasp, taking in a full breath, which I promptly lose when Beau stands and strips off his jeans.
He stands, naked and motionless, his molten eyes taking in the whole of me. I let him look, savoring my own view, burning the image in my mind for the days we’ll surely be apart.
“I’ve missed you.” I manage though my throat has gone tight.
He plants a knee on the bed and crawls up my body. “I’ve missed you, too.” He kisses me just above my navel. Then once on each breast, making my nipples peak with the heat of his mouth. Then he levers himself until he is a breath away, his lips hovering above mine.
“I’ve missed you. More than you could imagine.”
My eyes sting. I place my hands on his chest, feel the steady beat of his heart. He gives me his weight, and I thrill at it. I run my hands along his ribs and then up over his smooth, warm back. He feels amazing. I need to drink in every sensation. Lock it away in my heart for all the nights when he’s back home.
“Can we stay just like this? For as long as you’re here?”
He blinks down at me, a startled smile creasing the corners of his eyes. “It might be kind of awkward when I start my new job next week.”
Time stops.
When it starts running again, I’m sure I’ve misunderstood. “Your new job.” I parrot. “What new job?”
Grinning, Beau takes his weight on his elbow, stretching out beside me. His hot erection presses into the side of my hip, but he wraps his leg over me as if to blanket me in warmth. He settles a hand between my breasts, over my racing heart.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he says, watching me with that smile.
“What new job?” I ask again, my heart speeding faster.
He licks his lips. “The one where I’m a private French immersion teacher for two hellish sounding boys, age six and eight, who are the children of some film executive I’ve never heard of but is apparently insperiuse.”
I blink. “And where do this exec and his hellish children live?”
Beau sniffs thoughtfully. “Google says it’s about a thirty-minute bike ride south.”
“In Laurel Canyon?!” I shriek.
He presses his lips together and gives me a thoughtful frown. “I will need to get a bike before Monday.”
I ignore this comment. “What about your job teaching French?”
“I will be teaching French.”
“Yeah, but what about your disadvantaged kids who need you?”
His frown deepens. “I have a feeling these boys need me too.” Then his focus zeroes on me. “And it’s also a matter of what I need.”
I try not to say something stupid. I really do. “And what do you need?”
“You, chère. I need you.” His voice is whisper soft, and he pairs it with a figure-eight that he traces over my heart. “I told you. I’m not going anywhere.”
I swallow hard, knowing what he’s giving up to be here. To be with me. “What about your mom?”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “We have a plan.”
My eyes widen. “We?”
Beau nods. “Nonc, Aunt Lorraine, my sister Val, and me.”
Something eases in my heart. That’s a lot of people. Still, I’d like to be part of the plan.
“What’s the plan?”
Beau sniffs again. “Morning video calls from me and Val and regular visits from Nonc and Lorraine. And…” Beau watches me, his eyes alert, but he adds nothing.
“And?”
“And when you know without a doubt that I’ll be back, I’ll go visit her.”
I blink back tears, overwhelmed by everything he’s doing to make this work. “Can I join your video calls?” I ask wetly.
His smile is epic. His eyes glisten. “Absolutely.”
“Can I go with you to visit her?”
For the first time, a real frown of concern marks his brow. “I’d love for you to. I really would.” My heart sinks at this turn. “But once we get settled, I plan to go every month. It’ll be a lot. I don’t expect you to give up—”
“I’m going,” I declare. “If I’m off, I’m going.”
His frown eases, but doesn’t disappear. “I sold my tiny house so I could afford to fly that often. If I take Spirit each trip, I can do it for the next three years—”
“We can go more often if you want to. For as long as you want to.”
Beau shakes his head. “This has to be something I do on my own.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll just pay my own way then.”
I watch him fight his smile. “Okay.”
And then I bring down the hammer. “But you sure as hell aren’t riding a bike to Laurel Canyon. You’ll be killed.”
He scowls. “What?! No. It’s not that b—”
“Laurel Canyon. Is. A. Canyon,” I level. “With blind curves and hills and asshole drivers. You are not riding a bike to and from work.”
>
He glares, looking unconvinced. I go for the kill.
“No more than I’m solo hiking the PCT like Cheryl Strayed from Wild.”
Beau’s glare vanishes. “I am not riding a bike to Laurel Canyon,” he affirms with a hearty nod.
I grin. “Glad we settled that.”
He leans down and rubs the tip of his nose against mine. “You, Iris Miranda Adams, drive a hard bargain.”
“I never told you my middle name,” I say, arching a brow.
Beau blushes. “IMDB.”
“Oh.” I wrinkle my nose. “I hate my profile pic on IMDB.”
The corners of his mouth lift. “It’s cute.”
“I’m wearing a pointy witch’s hat.”
“You can pull it off.”
I roll my eyes, ready to change the subject. “What’s your middle name?”
His blush deepens. “Alexander.”
“What’s wrong with that? That’s a nice name.”
He says nothing, but he watches me expectantly.
“Wait. Where does Beau come from? I know it means handsome, but—”
Beau shakes his head.
“It doesn’t mean handsome?” I ask, utterly confused.
He shrugs. “It does, and it’s a common enough nickname back home, but that’s not why I’m called Beau.”
I squeeze him, feeling a little thrill knowing I’m about to find out more about him. “Go on,” I urge with wide-eyed eagerness.
He groans and hides his face in my pillow. It’s adorable. I laugh.
“Please tell me,” I beg through my laughter. I stroke a soothing hand down his back, and he manages to pick up his head.
“My full name is Beauchamp Alexander Landry,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Mom named me after Pierre Beauchamp, the eighteenth century dance master who arranged the five basic positions of the feet in classical ballet.”
I blink at him. “So, you’re named after the great-granddaddy of ballet.”
“Sssort of,” he hedges.
“What about Alexander?”
His sigh is mammoth. “That comes from Alexander Godunov, Mom’s ballet celebrity crush.”
I swear, Beau’s face is beet red.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
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