4. Beck

4

BECK

" I 'm happy to hear that you still love the deck I installed last summer," I tell Mrs. Hettinger.

"Oh, my, yes. The cherry stain was a great suggestion. I wouldn't have even thought about it if you hadn't brought it up. I love that I can set up my potted plants on the deck and they get the perfect amount of light. Gerald, of course, loves that he can lounge on the built-in benches and listen to that dang radio sports show he's obsessed with. As long as it's out of earshot from me, I'm happy."

I nod and chuckle at her story, always glad to hear from a long-time client who had a good experience with my business. Still, it makes simple errands a bit more taxing, seeing as I've either fixed, torn out, or custom-made something for nearly every homeowner in Winifred. I get stopped a lot, like today, when all I really want is to grab a pack of beer and a frozen pizza.

I won't complain about business and happy customers, though. I know I've been lucky to have the support of the community.

"...and his sister was over last Sunday for dinner - lasagna and strawberry rhubarb pie - when she commented on the deck and how gorgeous…"

Mrs. Hettinger's words go in one ear and out the other. How can I concentrate on anything when she just walked in? The sassy little angel hasn't said more than a handful of words to me, and I'm already thinking about ways to decorate our room and how many kids we're going to have.

Reel it in, buddy.

I've never had these kinds of thoughts about a woman before. Never was much for relationships, much to the dismay of my mother and aunt. They would love for me to find a nice girl and settle down. Until a few days ago, none of that interested me. But now? I'm wondering how soon is too soon to move in together.

Reel. It. IN, I repeat to myself as I track Bea's white-blonde hair weaving through the produce section. My girl doesn't trust anyone or anything easily. Yesterday morning when I was replacing her front door, she couldn't believe anyone would help her just to help.

The immediate accusations she hurled at me broke my goddamn heart. Where did she come from? What was her life like before moving here? As the heir of the Leavenworth estate, I assumed she was well-off and had a decent life, but I also know looks can be deceiving and wealth doesn't equate to a safe and fulfilling life.

"Well, I better let you go," Mrs. Hettinger says, patting the side of my arm. "Seems like you have someone else you should be talking to."

My face heats and I know I'm blushing. Me. Blushing. "S-sorry," I stammer out.

"Don't be, hon," she replies with a sly and knowing smile. "I know that look. It's about time you found someone who makes you happy."

I clear my throat and rub the back of my neck, feeling a little sheepish for being caught.

"Just make sure to bring her over for my famous strawberry rhubarb pie when things are official. Gerald would love to meet her, as would I."

Mrs. Hettinger turns her grocery cart around and takes off toward the frozen food section, while I scan the store for Bea's lovely locks. I spot her turning down the pasta aisle and head that way. I have no idea what I'm going to say to her when I reach her, but just like that first morning when I was drawn to enter the old house, I can't help but gravitate toward Beatrix's presence.

I see her curvy figure facing away from me as I enter the aisle. In jeans and a simple t-shirt, there's nothing overtly sexual about what she's wearing. Still, I can see the outline of her round, juicy ass and her thick, mouthwatering thighs. There's no hiding her ample breasts, even in an oversized t-shirt.

She hasn't seen me yet, even though I'm only a dozen feet or so behind her. I clear my throat to try and get her attention, but Bea pays me no mind. I kind of love it. It's a challenge to get her attention and to hold it. I've had plenty of bored housewives wanting some "extra" attention, as well as a few gold diggers who see that I have a stable business that makes good money. I don't care about any of them. That's not what I'm looking for.

I didn't know what I was looking for, actually, until Bea walked into my life. Well, I guess I walked into hers, but still. I want nothing more than her green eyes on mine, her full smile directed at me, and to know she's safe and happy.

Beatrix turns to look at a shelf of pasta sauce when she sees me hovering off to the side like the creeper I've turned into. She jumps back with a gasp, and I want to kick myself in the face for startling her.

I scramble for something to say, something normal and neighborly. Instead, what comes out of my mouth is, "Wow, I've never seen you in so many clothes."

Fuckin' idiot. Why the hell did I say that?

Bea's face turns from pink to red, growing almost purple with how flushed and angry she is. Why am I so awkward around her?

The stunning, five-foot-nothing, curvy goddess shoots me a glare that has me cowering internally. A weaker man might crumble to the ground and slink away, but I'm here for the challenge.

"I'm still new here," she whisper-shouts. "First impressions matter." With one hand on her hip and the other pointing a finger at me, she can sure scold with the best of them. She'll make an excellent mother. "Are you trying to make me look like the town bicycle?"

My brows furrow at her turn of phrase. I don't know if I've ever heard it before. "Town bicycle?" I ask, matching her whispering tone.

Bea sighs and drops her arms at her sides. "You know," she says quietly, peering over her shoulder to make sure no one else is listening. "The town bicycle. Everyone's had a ride."

It takes a moment for the meaning to settle in. Ride, as in… Oh, hell no.

"Who said that?" I grunt out, looking around the store for someone to confront. "Where did you even hear that phrase?"

Bea snorts out a bitter laugh, surprising me yet again. How can someone so young already be this jaded by the world?

"Ironically, from a foster mother who had a different creepy boyfriend every month." Bea looks away from me while I process her words.

Foster mom? Creepy boyfriends? How did she inherit a house if she was in foster care? What kind of parent, foster or otherwise, says that kind of shit to a kid? Dozens of questions race through my mind, but I know I'll have to earn the answers.

"I'm sorry," I say, reaching out my hand and placing it on her arm. Bea flinches, which tears my heart into little shreds. Not because I'm offended, but because I hate whatever she went through to give her that reaction. "Sorry," I say again, mentally beating myself up for scaring her. This woman has so many layers and mysteries wrapped up in a pretty little package. I'm going to be the one to unwrap it and discover them all.

"It's okay," she's quick to respond. "It's… it's me. I'm just… I'm broken. I can't… I don't normally…" Bea trails off, but I somehow understand what she's trying to tell me. She's not used to human contact. I'm equal parts enraged and heartbroken for this precious woman standing in front of me.

"You're not broken, Beatrix. At least not in any way that can't be fixed," I tell her softly as I take a tentative step forward.

"You think you're the one who's going to fix me?" Bea asks, tilting her head up and hitting me with those wide, vulnerable green eyes. She sways toward me, and it takes all of my self-control not to pull her against my chest and kiss the air from her lungs.

"Fixing things up is kind of my specialty," I tell her with a grin. Beatrix blushes ever so slightly, the pink tint to her cheeks making her even more innocent and tempting.

I watch in awe as this incredible woman lifts her hand, hovering it over my chest. I take a half-step closer, encouraging her to continue. Bea rests her hand right over my heart. Her eyes widen slightly as she stares at her hand and then back at me.

"It's beating so fast," she whispers more to herself than to me.

"It always does when I'm around you," I answer truthfully.

Bea withdraws her hand and rolls her eyes at me. I can tell the intimate moment is too much for her, so I respect her signals and back off. The last thing in the world I ever want is to scare her or make her uncomfortable.

"See, now that was a smooth answer," she says, her signature sass returning. That's okay. I saw a glimpse of her tender heart, and that's enough to know I want to make this woman mine. I want to cover all of the broken, painful pieces of her heart with the love and acceptance she clearly never had growing up.

"Is that a bad thing?" I ask, grabbing a box of pasta and sauce and putting them into my shopping basket.

Bea does the same, then pauses to tap her chin as if lost in thought. Fuckin' adorable.

"Not necessarily," she finally answers. "But it's not doing you any favors. Guys who talk a good game are always suspish."

I don't want to inquire about any other guys who have tried smooth-talking her otherwise I might lose my shit.

"Well, good news for me, then," I tell her. Bea looks over her shoulder at me, one eyebrow raised. "I already stuck my foot in my mouth by the stupid clothing comment. There was nothing smooth about that. Does that mean I'm in the clear?"

Bea tries hiding her grin, but I see it all the same. "Time will tell, I suppose," she answers, lifting her chin as she brushes past me and continues down the aisle.

"How about I come over and cook dinner? I can take a look at what needs to be done around the house and we can come up with a list of projects and list them in order of importance."

I think I'm about to be rejected, seeing as Beatrix told me I'm suspicious, but she seems to be considering my offer.

"Fine. On one condition." I nod eagerly, ready to agree with anything and everything. "I'll cook dinner. I'll still pay you for the consultation, obviously. And the work you've done on the door. Having a professional look at things is definitely what I need right now."

"You don't need to–"

"Nothing in life is free, especially when it seems too good to be true. I want to cook and I want to pay you for your services."

I nod, though I disagree. I'll just have to prove to her with my actions that selfless people and gestures exist. Starting tonight.

"I'll take you up on your offer to cook in exchange for a consultation call. Those are free of charge for my clients."

"Oh, so I'm the special one who has to cook first?" That sly, mischievous smirk on her lips lets me know she's teasing me. God, I love it. I want her more with each passing moment.

"Hey, you're the one who offered," I answer with a grin.

"Fine," she agrees. "Give me an hour or so and then you can come over. I'd give you the address but clearly, you already know how to get to my home."

I chuckle, making Bea laugh. I'm instantly addicted to the sound. "See you soon, beautiful," I tell her. Bea's eyes widen at my words like she can't believe anyone would call her beautiful. That will change soon enough.

We decide on a time and I eventually have to let her go. It's okay, I'm going to see her soon. At least that's what I keep reminding myself. How can I be so lost in this woman already?