3. A Tender Heart

3

A TENDER HEART

Beau carried me effortlessly around the cabin.

Bay windows revealed the wintry squall outside. More than a foot of snow had fallen, and wind continued to shake the pine trees, sending branches whipping through the air. Inside, every room was filled with a rich, rosy light and opulent rugs. Twinkle lights curled over the hearth and up the banisters, as delicate as summer fireflies.

Wooden floors gleamed beneath our feet while buttery baking smells wafted in from the kitchen. Behind us came the bustling sounds of pots and pans, water running and Flora singing as she cooked.

Beau stopped in front of the second bedroom, decked out in colors of teal and white. "Thought this one could be yours," he said. "It has a window seat and everything. Perfect for my favorite bookworm."

My heart leaped at the sight of it. Imagined myself gazing out at a quiet, snowy dawn. The colors of the indigo sky spilling across the snow before the sun rose, turning everything bright and dazzling.

"How did you know I'd love it?" I asked.

"Because I know you ," he said softly. "Though I hope you don't mind your bedroom being directly next to ours."

"Oh that's…that's whatever. I mean, that's fine," I sputtered. "It's really not a bad place to get snowed in, yeah?"

He arched a brow. "We've done more with less. It's better than that two-bedroom condo we rented for the whole group of us in Denver for Pride that first summer we knew each other."

"You mean when I slept in the fucking bathtub ?"

Beau moved fully into my bedroom, stopping to place me on the window seat. He sprawled out next to me, letting his knee press into mine. "I'm surprised you remember much of anything, considering you were drunk as hell."

My hand flew to my eyes. "Shit, that's right. Tell me I didn't say or do anything too embarrassing."

The sound of his low laughter had my cheeks turning pink. "You're adorable when you're drunk. Adorable when you're sober too," he drawled.

I broke into a smile. "It's tough being this cute, but someone has to do it."

That Pride had been a rainbow-filled day of celebration and dancing, ending with the whole group of us hopping around from gay bar to gay bar. My clearest memory, the one I returned to far too often, was of being pressed between Beau and Flora's bodies on the dance floor. Blissed out and sweaty, laughing outrageously with our arms in the air. I'd never forgotten the solid heat of them, the way their fingers tangled together as they touched me.

The beads of sweat on Flora's collarbone, Beau's face buried in my hair.

I was lucky that I'd fallen asleep as soon as I'd climbed into that tub. If I'd stayed awake, I would have begged them to join me. Given my loose tongue and one-too-many shots, I wouldn't have stopped there either. Would have spilled every late-night fantasy like apples from a barrel, offering each like a gift. Here, take this. Here, take me.

Beau clicked his tongue and caught one of my curls. His eyes lingered on mine, a crease in his brow. He seemed poised to say something but instead dropped his other hand onto my knee, his thumb stroking lightly up my inner thigh. The soft sounds of Flora in the next room faded away, as did the staccato rapping of the branches against the pane. Guilt surged through me…but the pleasure was more powerful. They dueled inside my body while my brain tried to make sense of what was happening.

Beau's throat worked on a swallow, and whatever he was trying not to say had his features twisting up.

I should have moved away. Should have knocked Beau's hand from my leg instead of what I actually did—stared at his fingers on my thigh while a roaring, unruly need snapped beneath my skin. Fine hair coated his forearm, the veins and corded muscles standing out against his tattoos. I knew what those powerful hands did. Rescued people. Saved lives.

His thumb caressed me again, more deliberately this time.

"What are you thinking about over there?" he asked, voice husky.

I hesitated, searching for a witty response that wasn't your sexy hands . My attention snagged on the underside of Beau's arm, where a detailed portrait of Ripley from the movie Alien was tattooed—gun slung across her chest and Jonesy the cat in her arms.

"The night that you got this," I said.

His jaw flexed. "What about it?"

Too late, I realized I'd revealed a memory that was much too sweet and tender.

"We closed down Pearl Street Pub," I said lightly. "They had to kick us out after two a.m."

His fingers tightened on my knee. We'd sat just like this that night, a couple of months after we'd first met. On two bar stools pulled close, our legs entwined, our postures relaxed as the night wore on. His thumb tracing a steady circle, like he was doing now.

We had a lot in common, mostly our love for horror films and tattoos. And on the night in question, I'd sat beside him as he'd gotten his tribute to the classic movie that he loved. After, we shared drinks at our favorite dive bar until closing time. Talking about our favorite movies, reciting our favorite lines, sharing every behind-the-scenes tidbit we knew. It'd been silly and fun and so very nerdy. And as we'd stumbled outside laughing, I desperately wanted Beau to invite me back to his apartment. Could already anticipate the urgency between us—how he'd shove me back against his door and kiss me breathless. Bend me over the first flat surface we came to, so frantic we wouldn't even take off our clothes.

Instead, Beau had peered at me beneath the streetlight with something like shyness. Then he hailed me a cab and kissed me once on the cheek.

"I had the biggest crush on you that night," Beau said, drawing me back to the present, "and didn't know what to do about it."

My pulse skyrocketed, making me dizzy. "Um…what?"

He shot me a look. "Don't play coy. You so obviously wanted to kiss me too."

My mouth dropped open, and I raised my hand to give him the finger. Laughter rumbled from the depths of his chest.

"You're not…that's not…we were having fun ," I stammered.

He tipped forward and lowered his voice. "I'm teasing you. You weren't the obvious one, I was. The whole world stops and pays attention as soon as you walk into a room. Every single time. I was always captivated by you, especially that night. All the ink. All the piercings. Those killer boots. The confidence." His eyes fell to my mouth, his own quirking up at the sides. "That red lipstick you wear just to torture me."

His hand slid another inch up my thigh. I somehow managed to lift my chin. "I don't wear it just to torture you."

His brow cocked with pure arrogance. "You can pretend all you want, gorgeous. But I wanted to kiss you. Badly. And haven't stopped thinking about it since."

A terrifying realization crashed through me. All their affectionate touches and sweet flirting. Their sudden aversion to touching each other , their refusal to talk about the wedding. A tiny voice in the back of my head had worried they might be breaking up. But every time I heard it, my head filled with so many shrill alarms it was impossible to consider.

Were Beau and Flora having issues in their relationship…because of me?

The panic multiplied, looping through my body like cars on a racetrack. Wedding planners were supposed to make their clients happy. Especially if your clients were also your closest friends . We weren't supposed to spark doubt or invoke apprehension.

We certainly weren't supposed to flirt with them back .

And there was no way to neatly categorize what a potential break-up truly meant to me. When it came to Beau and Flora, I was forever frozen in limbo—wanting them both, even when they were together. Wanting them to stay together, even if that meant they stayed forbidden. Beau and Flora returning my romantic feelings was technically a dream come true, but I'd never wanted them to break up and date me separately .

I never wanted to choose between them. That decision was futile.

From the kitchen came a chorus of beeps and chimes, then the oven door slammed shut. Footfalls in the hallway, getting closer to the bedroom. My eyes widened before I could help it, body going rigid, but Beau was as easygoing as ever. As Flora neared, he slowly settled back and away from me, slow being the operative word. His fingers dragged against my skin, like he was reluctant to let me go. He released the curl he'd trapped, but not before tucking it behind my ear. His knuckles grazed down my neck, and I shivered at the caress.

So when Flora ducked her head inside the door to check on us, the smile I tacked on was weak and confused at the edges.

"How are we doing?" she asked brightly.

"Good. Uh…fine. I'm fine. Need any help in the kitchen?" I managed.

"No help. But you can keep me company if you'd like. Have Beau carry you in, and I'll ply you with hot chocolate and bourbon."

She whisked herself away before I could respond. Then I was being hauled up against Beau's chest and carried in Flora's direction. I hadn't responded to his admission. Wrapped up in his usual rakish charm, I still recognized the vulnerability that beat there like a tender heart.

But when his eyes slid sideways and caught mine, the burning intensity had vanished. He was whistling under his breath with a carefree expression—though I was achingly aware of every spot where our bodies touched.