I wanted to say so many things back. That I’d missed him every day. Thought about him constantly. Always wished the few kisses I shared were his lips, not a stranger’s. How I woke up every morning wishing my dreams weren’t just dreams, but reality.
But when I stayed silent, not sure how to admit any of that without drawing him further into my mess, his touch left my hand and he picked up his own spoon.
“I texted you the nurse’s number for when you’re up for it,” he explained. While anyone else might not have been able to hear how his tone dropped slightly, I did. “I did some googling, which I know they say not to do, but I was worried—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat. “Dehydration is the biggest concern, so between the broth and the water, you should be in the clear, but you should make an appointment just in case.”
A noodle slid off the side of my spoon where I moved it up and down in the soup. “I’ll call right after I eat.” I looked at him, barely catching the glance of his eye as he ate. “Thank you.”
He nodded, and we ate the rest of the meal in silence—though my head was anything but a quiet place. Second thoughts rooted themselves in the feelings that had resurfaced the moment I saw Beckham at my father’s funeral.
What if my fear of everything between us only resulted in pushing him away?
23
PARKER
Ihissed in a breath as the cardboard sliced through the side of my finger. I hated paper cuts. The pesky wounds were small, but they hurt like no other.
I twisted my finger side to side, inspecting the stinging skin. After seeing no more than a thin line of blood, I dabbed a clean tissue on the wound before tossing it in the bin and going back to breaking down the three boxes that had been delivered today. Beckham had taken the parts into the garage a little over an hour ago, and I’d had to practically beg him to leave the cardboard here for me to deal with.
Being an office assistant was pretty straightforward, but that was the problem I was currently facing. I needed something out of my daily routine to break up the spiraling thoughts. Every day, we came closer and closer to my due date, and I didn’t even have a nursery set up.
Day by day, I forced positive affirmations into my mindlike the class I’d taken had told me to. Two days after my illness on Thanksgiving, I’d gone to get checked out to be sure everything was okay. When my doctor had suggested I also take a birthing class, I’d jumped at the offer. Beckham had come, of course. He’d gone to all my appointments ever since our conversation—though thankfully there weren’t many, as my pregnancy was going as smoothly as it could.
Now, two weeks later, I was finally starting to actually listen to some of the affirmations. Sometimes, even the prospect of Beckham helping when the baby came slipped into my mental list, and it took a load off my shoulders every time.
The blade sliced through the last portion of tape, and I folded the box in on itself until it was small enough to fit in the bin by my desk. Beckham had already told me I wouldn’t be walking across the icy back parking lot to get to the dumpster. Instead, he promised to do it himself after our shift, and instructed me to set them in the plastic tub in the meantime.
The tiny bell above the door to the lobby dinged as I folded the pocket knife and set it beside my keyboard to greet whoever was walking in.
As soon as my eyes met the man wearing a deep maroon felt cowboy hat and a growing grin on his face, I knew I was in for it.
I offered a friendly smile. “How can I help you?”
The man sauntered up to the desk, sliding the snow-flecked hat off his head and revealing curly brown hair. “Know of a cute little lady with the prettiest eyes in thewest who can call me a tow truck?” He shot me a cheesy wink.
I tried not to roll my eyes, feigning the act like I was looking for a paper in front of me. “We actually have a tow truck here. Did you break down nearby?” A glance at his pants showed stains of water where snow had likely melted on his walk to the shop.
My observation had his mind in the gutter as his grin only widened. “Sure did, ma’am. Bet the cab’s still warm, though, if you wanna come take a better look.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder.
My teeth ground together as I moved my focus to the computer screen, hand squeezing the mouse so hard I thought it might burst to pieces.
As if he could sense my discomfort through the wall, the door that connected the shop to the office swung open, and Beckham appeared. His body stiffened as his eyes darted between me and the man.
“Dick,” Beckham said stiffly.
My mouth popped open at the sheer audacity for him to act that way, but then the man placed his hat back on his head and approached Beckham with an even bigger smile this time.
“Beckham, my man. I wondered if I was near Bell Buckle.” The man—Dick, by the sound of it—held a hand out to Beck, who robotically lifted his own for a shake. “My truck ain’t got GPS, and my phone’s dead. Hell, I’ve been using road signs for about fifty miles.”
Dick’s slap on his back was much firmer than Beckham’s awkwardpat.
“Yep. You’re near it.” Beck’s voice was so…odd. Like he hated the man but also shared a past with him that warranted niceties.
“My ol’ Chevy broke down probably three or so miles away. Think you can tow it?” Dick looked at me, a devious sparkle in his gaze. “Little lady here didn’t seem to want to take me up on my offer.”
Beck’s eyes narrowed on me. “What offer?”
Maybe it was the desire to get Dick out of this office as fast as possible, or the way Beckham seemed to be just as protective of me as he used to be, but I chose blunt honesty. “Dick here offered to let me take a look at him, so long as his cab was still warm.”
