His eyes drop to my mouth and linger. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed him fixated on my mouth, and it stirs confusion inside me.
Sometimes, when he looks at me, it’s as if he’s diving deep into my soul and connecting with me on a transcendent level, willing me to want more.
It’s intense in a way I don’t want to explore.
Tension charges the air, crackling in the small space between us, and my chest heaves as I consider, for one horrifying moment, that he might be thinking about kissing me.
The euphoria on his face fades as he abruptly wrenches his hands away and turns around. “Come on,” he says in a gruffer voice than usual while curling his hand around the door handle. “Let’s hit the pool.” He climbs out without looking at me, and I can’t shake the feeling I’ve done something wrong.
Beck is quiet as we dry out on sun loungers after a quick dip in the pool. Margot left us a jug of homemade lemonade, but I think we need something stronger. I excuse myself to use the bathroom, and after attending to business, I hunt Margot down and ask if she has the ingredients for bellinis. Considering they grow peaches and produce sparkling wine, I’m guessing she has supplies somewhere in the house.
Margot leads me to a large refrigerator in the basement, sharing her secret stash with me. Inside are jars of homemade delicacies, hidden among bottles of chilled wine. We take a jar of peach puree and a bottle of sparkling wine upstairs, and we make bellinis together.
The French aren’t big on snacking, but I baked chocolate chip cookies this morning, and I brought a small box with me from the cottage. I wanted to do something to thank Beck’s grandparents for their hospitality, so I’ve taken to baking every day. Stealing two cookies from the box, I head back out to the pool with my peace offerings.
“Look what I have,” I say in my brightest voice, setting the small tray down on the tile-top table between our loungers. I brought a couple bottles of water out too.
“Good thinking,” Beck says, offering me a smile that looks semi-forced as he gets up and adjusts the height of his lounger into a more upright position.
I do the same with mine before handing him a bellini and shoving the plate with the cookies in his direction. Then I lie back on my lounger—checking that my black bikini is intact and I’m not flashing the goods—and help myself to the other bellini. “Fuck, this is so good.” I moan appreciatively as the fruity bubbly liquid glides down my parched throat. I tip my head back, basking under the cloudless sky, enjoying the heat bathing my skin.
“It hits the spot,” Beck agrees. The usual warmth is missing from his tone, and I need to know what I did to alter his mood.
Sitting up, I swing my legs to one side, remove my sunglasses and look at him. “Did I do something wrong?” I just put it out there. “I feel like I’ve hurt you, but I don’t know what I did.”
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he pitches his gaze in my direction, purposely keeping his attention fixed on my face. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just feeling a little down today.”
My heart hurts looking at the sadness clouding his handsome face. “What can I do to help?”
“I don’t think there is anything you can do.” His eyes drop down to my body for a fleeting second before he yanks them back up to my face. “Except maybe keep these coming,” he adds, holding his glass aloft.
“That I can do,” I promise, feeling a little off center myself.
After demolishing our bellinis and cookies, we dive into the pool and float side by side on inflatables while we sunbathe and keep cool. “What is your favorite book of yours?” I ask, turning my head to face him.
I’m lying on my stomach, working on my pasty back, while Beck is lying on his back with his eyes closed, tanning his already ridiculously tanned body.
Beck has Mediterranean blood flowing through his veins and the olive-toned skin to match. He tans effortlessly as evidenced by his current rich-bronze-colored flesh. Meanwhile, I’m slapping sunscreen on every hour to avoid burning, and my skin barely looks any different from how it was when I arrived. Not counting the smattering of freckles that have shown up on my cheeks and across the bridge of my nose or the inconvenient patch of sunburn on the tips of my ears and the back of one calf.
“I imagine that’s like asking a mother to pick a favorite child,” he replies, opening his eyes and smiling as he turns his head in my direction.
“That’s a valid point,” I agree, trying not to stare at his broad shoulders, toned chest, and rock-hard abs. “What about a book that’s been extra special to write?”
“That’s easier to answer,” he admits, dragging his hand slowly through the water. “To Catch a Killeris special because it was my first book.” A slight shiver works its way through him. “Though I couldn’t bear to reread it and see all my rookie mistakes.”
I gently splash him. “Blasphemy. That is one of my favorite books of yours.” He narrows his eyes in fake annoyance, and I giggle. “Go on, tell me another one.”
“The Returnis special because I really felt the connection between Maggie and Bennett, and he shows a vulnerability we haven’t seen before. The scenes at the end were different for me to write, and I liked challenging myself.”
We sip our waters as I quiz him back and forth for ages about different aspects of his books, pleased when he visibly relaxes. “You should see your face when you talk about your books. You exude passion when talking about writing and your characters. Your whole face lights up, and your body becomes animated. You were born to do this.”
“I think so.” If it wasn’t sunny and we weren’t already sweaty and flushed, I’m guessing his cheeks would be red. Beck doesn’t accept praise easily, and it’s one of his most endearing traits. “I used to think everyone heard voices in their head,” he admits. “I didn’t think I was anything special until I mentioned it to Esther, and she stared at me like I’d been possessed by some demonic spirit.”
I giggle as Margot steps out onto the patio carrying two full glasses in her hands.
“I thought you might like some more,” she says, wincing as she bends over at the side of the pool.
“I’ll get those,” Beck says, sliding off his inflatable into the pool.
