22
Beau stands with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. I give him a few moments before asking the questions he must know are coming.
"I didn't tell you, because I didn’t want to scare you." Beau starts before I can ask. "They were in the room with her; it's just a coincidence." He repeats the last part again, while running his hand through his hair.
"They were the same? Red? Rotten?"
He huffs, turning his back to me, "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"That's not what I'm worried about Beau." My voice trails off, my mind drifting to the possibility that her death is my fault.
I must voice my concerns without realizing it. Beau storms over and grabs my chin, "None of this is your fault!” When my eyes don’t meet his, he tilts my chin upward to direct my gaze. He repeats himself, then says, “You didn't do anything to hurt her. Jesus, even when she was spouting all that jealous bullshit, you didn't say a word, and she was being purposefully cruel.” His other hand comes up to frame my face, “You told me this wasn't my fault, and it's not yours either." His voice softens as he finishes, his thumb stroking my bottom lip. What he's said doesn't absolve my guilt. I am the one directly related to those flowers, and my meeting Tasha followed with her death. While I'm relieved Beau doesn't blame me, I'm worried his feelings might change if it turns out my stalker did this.
"Don't," He says, "Don't take this on Samantha. No matter what, you are not to blame yourself for this." I don’t want to tell him different, so I change the subject.
"Is that where you went yesterday? Were you meeting with the police?" He nods, standing up to his full height.
"Yeah, some. I met with Tasha's family. They're the reason it's being kept quiet. None of them want it turned into a scandal. They'd rather the person be caught without it turning into a media circus."
My heart aches, with sympathy, for her family. She couldn't have been much older than me, and she's gone. I know what it feels like to experience unexpected loss. It was kind of him to be with them, while they grieved.
"Do they have a funeral planned yet? Is there anything I can do to help?"
He heaves a sigh, "Not yet. Her body hasn't been released."
"Oh, Okay. You'll let me know?" He nods his head, looking sad.
"Are you working today?" He questions after a few moments of silence.
"I was planning on going in before lunch, but when the detective called I phoned Jess to let her know I'd be in later."
"Brian and I have a few more things to discuss before he heads out. I don't want you going to work alone, so do you mind if we meet there? Maybe use your office again?"
"You are always welcome, but you don't have to stay at work with me." I lift my hand stopping the retort that's undoubtedly coming "I won't be alone, and I don't want you feeling like you can't live your life. This stuff has been going on for over a month and nothing has happened yet." What I don't say is I'm afraid hell get sick of me, of this, especially given the fact that the same person leaving me flowers might have killed his friend.
He reaches for his coffee, “You don’t have to drink that. It’s cold by now.” He nods, and I take it from his hand and pour it down the sick. I rinse his mug and set it under the spout to make a new brew as he watches me.
"I want to be with you. I don't have any other place I'd rather be," he says sweetly. I keep my eyes on the coffee brewer, so he can’t see the gooey puddle of swoon I’ve turned to at his words. When the brew finishes, I collect myself and lean up on my toes to reach his lips for a kiss. He bends to meet me.
"Okay," I murmur, handing him the mug.
Neither of us rush to leave. Beau fixes his coffee slowly and savors each sip. I watch, unhurried to change into more work appropriate clothes. We would both like nothing more than to shut out the outside world, just for today, but for now we have this moment to feel content in. My responsibilities tug at me as he gets up to wash out his mug, breaking the moment. The holidays are approaching, and the store is getting busier.
We get ready together. I quickly run to the bathroom to change out of the clothes I threw on for the detectives and freshen up a bit.
He’s throwing on a black leather jacket when I walk out.
I shove my feet into white converses, leaving them untied as I run to grab a purple sweater jacket from my wardrobe. He comes up from behind to help me into the jacket, running his hands over my shoulders before pulling away. I turn as he gets down on one knee to tie my shoes. I blush at the simple but sweet action.
Before walking out the door, he pauses and asks me to wait. I hold the door open as he walks to his bag and pulls out a familiar blue cap. I smile when he slides it on and pulls it low over his face.
"I thought you'd lost that for good. I'm glad you didn't." His lips tip up, and I find myself staring at his mouth, a return to our past dynamic. It’s funny to feel nostalgic for something that has only recently gone away.
"You better stop looking at me like that, especially if you plan on making it to work today," he taunts.
"Promises, promises," I reply before walking out the door. I hear him mumbling as he follows behind me down the stairs.
A loud bang makes me jump back, almost knocking into Beau.
