The hairs on the back of my neck prickled under his silent gaze. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. So I had to. Slowly, with a pounding heart, I turned.
And there stood Beau.
He was keeping a measured distance between us, so far away from me that it was actually strange. People didn’t stand that far apart unless one of them had a contagious disease or an unfortunate body odor.
There was no way to smell my pits discreetly, but I didn’t think I smelled bad, and my only disease was a lack of common sense. I doubted that was contagious, especially not around Beau. He was the epitome of common sense, but not manners.
His eyes slowly traveled my body, and I felt the impact of them as if they were his hands.
My knees were quivering when he made eye contact, my chest rapidly rising and falling, waiting for what he might say. Because there had to be something to accompany that look, one that was not a glare or a scowl but the hungry gaze of a man who wanted a woman. A man who wantedme.
Then his eyes shuttered, his mouth forming a thin line. A chill crept over my skin that wasn’t caused by the crisp wind blowing through the open windows.
“Tell me how much,” Beau demanded gruffly.
I stared at him, confused, my head still swimming in champagne and hormones.
“How much?” I repeated.
“How much for the supplies.” He gestured to the cake. “The presents. Everything you did for the party that you paid for out of your own pocket. I’ll write you a check.”
I shifted on my feet, my throat suddenly dry. “You don’t have to?—”
“I do,” he interrupted harshly. “You did all of this, and it has made Clara happy, which I greatly appreciate, but it is not your place to pay for it all. I’ll pay you back.”
The words were firm, the implication behind them was firm too. I was his employee. It was not my place to bake cakes, plan birthday parties, touch him, want him. I inhaled deeply, trying to fight back tears. Logically, I knew all of that was true. I didn’t belong here with happy, affluent people. I was the help. The presence Beau tolerated but didn’t welcome. A warm body he desired because I was near, that was it.
When he moved closer to me, I stepped back on instinct. He grasped the lighter from the counter, lighting the candles, not looking at me.
“Calculate it.” He spoke without looking up. “Text me the number, I’ll deposit it tonight.”
A dismissal, clear as day, then he turned his back.
My throat burned, and my vision blurred with tears as I stood there, silently.
Beau kept his back to me.
I swallowed my pain and wiped my eyes, wishing I could run into my room and hide from the world. But I wouldn’t give that to Beau. Nor would I take that from Clara. I wanted her to see me; she considered me her friend, and she was mine. Maybe even my best friend.
Maybe Clara was all I had in the world.
And she wasn’t even mine.
But I’d take her while I could.
So I steeled myself, mentally flipped him the bird, then walked back to the party.
six
BEAU
“What didyou say to that poor girl?” my father asked me.
We were sitting on the back porch, smoking cigars. Just as we had on the day of Clara’s birth. The best day of my life. Her last birthday was not the best day of my life. It was one of the worst.
She’d spent it in a hospital bed. We’d done everything we could to make it special. The nurses had sung her happy birthday, my father had brought presents, Elliot hung all sorts of decorations. Clara had loved it, even if she was weak and tired from all the medication. She’d managed a few bites of cake, opening her presents before she fell asleep watching a movie.
I’d been preparing for things to only go downhill from there. I’d been preparing to bury my daughter. Then fucking Naomi, of all people, arrived to turn things around. For once in all her time on this planet, she made Clara’s life better. Thankfully, she then slunk back under whatever rock she crawled out of. The unanswered questions I had about her sudden appearance and obviously selfless gesture still kept me up at night.
