And much as I love that woman, I can’t do it either.
Grams and her friends are still going hard at ten o’clock, dancing and laughing on the terrace by the pool. I’m not sure why Grams would ever feel the need for alcohol when she has this much fun with a glass of lemonade in hand. She’s the life of the party, and she has us all in stitches with her strange combination of antique and modern dance moves, all done with the walker close at hand for emergencies.
I yawn and check my phone. Never thought a bunch of old ladies would outlast me, but here we are, ten o’clock on a Tuesday night. I snatch a kiss from Grams’s cheek and head back home.
Is it silly that half of me is disappointed when I find thebirdfeeder in the same place I left it? It is. As silly as the growing embarrassment I feel at Beau’s radio silence. Maybe he changed his mind about wanting my help. Or maybe he came to his senses and is looking for a job elsewhere.
My phone is gasping for its last breath, so I plug it in and get ready for bed, wondering what in the world I’ll do to fill the time tomorrow if there are no developments with the house. What ifno onewants it? I mean, it’s not the prettiest house on the market, but it’s cute, and it’s on a good street with prime canal access. All the important parts of the island are walkable from here.
Listen to me, talking like a Beau Palmer or a Jane Hayes. Next thing you know, I’ll be in a commercial for Sunset Harbor.
A knocking sound has me pausing my electric toothbrush. I stay still, listening to see if it repeats. Right when I turn the toothbrush back on, it happens again. Maybe my brain is inventing noises out of fatigue and boredom. I put down the toothbrush and wait.
I tense when it happens again, but it’s not knocking on the door. It’s my window being pelted with what I can only assume are rocks. I hurry out of the bathroom and over to the window, squinting into the dark. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust enough to see Beau at the bottom, waving at me in his uniform.
I undo the latch and pull up on the window. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “You’ll break the window!”
He grins widely. “Good evening, Gemma Girl.”
“I gave you my phone number for a reason,Beau Boy.”
“Ooo, I like that! Hadn’t even thought of it, but it’s a perfect companion to GG. And I tried texting and calling you, but there was no answer.”
“So you try to break my window the day the house goes on the market?”
“No windows were harmed in the making of this romanticgesture. I’m very gentle. See?” He tosses a rock up, and I barely dodge it. It drops right back into his outstretched hand.
“It’s not a romantic gesture when it’s unwelcome,” I say, but it’s not totally true. I am, dare I say,happyto see Beau. Just because it makes me feel less embarrassed about the whole list incident.
“I got a call to handle something up at the Belacourt property,” he says. “You in?”
“Right now?” I look down at my pajama shorts.
“Yup. The cart’s already on, and Xena’s waiting.”
“Do I have time to change?”
“Nope. You look great. Come on.”
I hesitate, my head and heart battling. I’mreallycurious to see Beau handle whatever situation this is. Are pajamas my ideal outfit of choice? Not by a long shot. But if they’re the difference between going and staying home, pajamas it is. “I’m coming down.”
“Meet you at the cart.”
I pull on my sneakers and slap on some lip tint on my way out. According to beauty experts, adding some color to your lips will instantly make you look put together. I’m not sure if that holds true for people sporting pajamas, but I’m counting on it.
Xena lets out an excited yip at the sight of me, and Beau pulls her closer to him to make room. It’s a bit tight with three of us on the bench, so I put my arm around her.
Beau glances at it as he presses the gas. “You trying to make a move on her?”
“Not trying,” I gloat as I pull her toward me. “Succeeding.”
The cart glides down the street like a whisper on the wind. I forgot what a normal engine feels like, and I’m wondering if Beau would notice if I switched out his cart for Grams’s. The lack of the wordpoliceprinted across the body might give it away, though.
“Won’t your street cred be damaged showing up with me like this?” I ask.
He looks amused. “Glad to know you think I have any of that.”
“Oh, I don’t. But I figuredyouthink you do.”
