I was surprised Beck hadn’t slipped into “just kidding” mode. He was rarely serious for this long. It was that fact, and something about his demeanor, that told me this wasn’t a throwaway conversation for him.
“All I’m saying is that with the right person, I could be more than a good time.”
“You’d consider getting married to someone?” I asked, shocked. More than shocked.
“Maybe.”
“What prompted the three-sixty?”
He didn’t answer. Instead Beck looked at me, like he wanted to respond but… hesitated. Took another sip of wine.
“Must be the wine talking,” he said finally. “Or maybe I hit my head in the bathtub.”
Beck was back to being Beck.
“I still can’t believe you got the cork out that way.”
“Like I said, I’m a man of many talents.”
A heady thought. What would Beck do if I climbed onto that bed and asked him to put his money where his mouth was? To show me one of those talents. I’d never know. The thought was ridiculous.
“My glass is empty,” I said, reaching out my hand toward the wine bottle.
He laughed. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to use the force to bring the bottle to me so I don’t have to get up. I’m cozy.”
“By ‘the force’ do you mean me?” Putting his wine on the nightstand, he hopped off the bed again, got the wine bottle and brought it to my uplifted glass.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“Maybe my ass. Definitely.”
I looked up at him as he poured, but despite the teasing, Beck wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was looking at me, not turning his gaze away.
I stared back, the stirrings of something I promised myself not to go near again bubbling to the surface. It was like when we’d texted while I was in Kitchi Falls. Except this time, we weren’t in two separate towns but right next to each other.
In the same bedroom.
He finished the pour but didn’t move away.
21
BECK
I envisioned myself squatting down in front of her, eye to eye, and confessing everything. But imagining her look of horror, realizing I’d just ruined our friendship, prompted my legs to finally work. Retreating back to the bed, I vowed no more talk of relationships or people changing, so for the next twenty minutes, we kept the conversation light.
Safe.
The festival. O’Malley’s future. Her parents’ condo hunt. Mae worked out the kinks of making and delivering pastries here and wondered if there might be other establishments, inns and bed and breakfasts that might want to order too. She nearly spilled her wine twice, her hands flailing around in excitement over the idea.
I loved seeing her like this.
“What are you smiling about?”
You.
“Nothing in particular. Definitely not at the state of our wine.”
