“It was…good,” Beau says. “Short. But good.”
“Cool.” Is he trying to be opaque? I should just leave things be. It’s not my business. “I just wasn’t sure since I hadn’t heard from you.”
“Oh,” he says, taking the seat right next to me and angling his body toward me. “Yeah. I should’ve warned you I’d be going radio silent. My friend kind of hates technology, so I try to avoid using my phone when I visit her.”
My brows go up. “Wow. Interesting…” She probably hates technology because she sees it as a threat to her relationship with Beau—so many pretty girls on social media that might steal his attention. My curiosity about this woman is reaching monstrous proportions.
He puts his feet on the footrest of my barstool and spins me so I’m facing him. “I missed you.”
My heart leaps into my throat. I’m so confused right now.
“Am I allowed to say that?” he asks.
“Um, yeah,” I hedge, trying to keep cool. But it’s no use. Ijust need to know—needhimto know that I’m not the type of girl who likes hanging out in limbo. “I’m just confused, I guess.”
His brows knit. “About what?”
“I don’t know. You, I guess.”
“Because you still hate me a little,” he says with a little quirk at the edge of his mouth.
“No,” I say. “Not because of that.” I look at him for a second as he waits for me to expound. “You just went to Miami to visit a girl, right?”
He frowns. “I mean, that’s kind of a weird way to describe her…”
“Okay, awoman, then. Whatever. Same difference.”
“Is it, though? I’ve sat through a lot of training that would say otherwise.”
I ignore his comment. “You almost kiss me the other night, then you leave the next day to visit a woman in Miami, which, yeah, I get that I said I wanted to slow things down, but I didn’t expect you to…” I decide not to finish that because I don’t know how to. “Anyway, you come homeearlyand rush in to save me, and then the way you’re acting toward me now…it’s kind of confusing. Is there something funny?”
Beau’s trying so hard not to smile right now, but he’s awful at it. He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back. “Yeah. Something’s funny, Gemma. Ididgo to Miami to see a woman. I told you she was an old friend.”
“An old friend you apparently go out of your way to visit on a pretty regular basis and are secretive about. Can you blame me for wondering a bit?”
“Old friend, Gemma. Both words are important.”
My brows knit. It’s not like the wordsold friendimmediately preclude the possibility of something more. “Old friends can’t become new girlfriends?”
His smile just keeps growing. “Would you like to see a picture of my old friend?”
I want to say no so badly. I want to be above jealousy and all those anxious emotions. But I nod. I can’t help myself.
Chuckling softly, Beau pulls out his phone and opens his photos. I look away instead of listening to my brain telling me to memorize whatever my eyes land on for later inspection.
He puts the phone in front of my face. “My old friend.”
I stare at the selfie: Beau cheek to cheek with a wrinkly old woman with white hair and sun spots sprinkled generously across her nose, cheeks, and forehead. A woman I recognize, in fact, because I saw her picture just yesterday on the gallery wall in the hallway. She’s the woman I assumed was Beau’s grandma.
“Old friend,” I repeat.
He nods.
“You really meantold.”
He nods again, then turns off his phone screen.
I look at him, trying to process what this all means. Beau has been going to Miami to visit an old woman. “But…everyone seems to think you’ve got a girlfriend there.”
