I gnashed my teeth together. I hated his offhand mention of me leaving, as if it were just a detail to him. As if it weren’t ripping me apart inside.
I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t have money to spend on another coat, so I just nodded.
Clara was too excited about the snow to catch the comment about me leaving. It was a sore subject for her, one we danced around. Because whenever it was mentioned, her eyes went glassy, and she asked why I couldn’t stay with her forever.
I asked myself that often.
It didn’t help that Beau put on his own thick, impressive jacket and boots before coming outside with us. The lines blurred when he did things like this. Technically, I shouldn’t have been there since my job was taking care of Clara when he wasn’t around to take care of her. But I already had my jacket and boots on, and Clara’s gloved hand was already clutching mine.
So I was trapped in a faux family dynamic that tortured me with what I’d never truly have.
Again, I brushed those thoughts to the deepest reaches of my mind, forcing myself to be present with Clara. Not that it was difficult. I inhaled the crisp air, tilted my head upward to let the flakes melt on my cheeks, then grinned, opening my mouth to let them dissolve on my tongue.
Clara laughed, following suit.
I smiled at her happiness, her wonder, then my gaze found Beau. He was watching us both, his eyes blazing with an intensity I hadn’t seen since before the night in the hotel.
Despite the icy temperature, my body flamed.
“Let’s make the sculpture,” Clara announced, breaking the moment.
It needed to be broken. I couldn’t get sucked in again. So instead, I focused on building a snowman, preparing to ignore Beau completely.
I scowled at the silver car that drove past and the male driver before looking back down at the snowman I was making.
“What was that?”
I looked up to Beau, who was not focused on the snowman’s facial features as he had been previously, but laser focused on me.
“What was what?” I tried playing dumb, packing in snow.
“That look.”
“What look?” I continued with the snow, glancing up only to see Beau not buying my innocent act even a little.
“You know what look,” Beau rumbled. “I’ve never seen you give anyone, except me, a dirty look, and you just gave one to that car.”
I gulped at the weight of his perception. He’d been watching me, cataloguing me carefully over all this time, even when I thought he didn’t like me.
The thought warmed me despite the snow in my hands. Though the prospect of this conversation wasn’t exactly ideal.
I sighed out a breath, watching it cloud from my mouth. “Well, that guy is an assh—butthead,” I corrected, looking at Clara’s beanie-covered head. Not that butthead was something I wanted her repeating either.
Beau’s posture stiffened. “What did he do?”
At his words, I felt danger fill the air, my instincts telling me to lie.
“Nothing.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Not a big deal.”
The snow crunched as Beau rounded our large snowman with purpose, my heart rate spiking as he grasped on to my hips in a strangely intimate embrace, considering our current arrangement and current audience.
Clara, to her credit, didn’t seem to bat an eyelash, too busy with her snow sculpture. Almost every moment of the day, I admired how unusual and unique she was, so unlike children her age who typically required constant attention and direction. I normally would’ve been content to watch her do her thing, even more content with Beau’s hands on me, which were branding me through the cheap jacket I was wearing. If not for the rage radiating from him that made my lip quiver.
“What. Was. That?” Beau repeated.
“He has road rage,” I answered. “He tailgated me the whole drive home from the bakery with Clara the other day. I was going the speed limit. Apparently, he didn’t like that.”
“Why in thefuckdidn’t you tell me?” Beau’s nostrils flexed.
