“This is Mica,” I introduce. “He doesn’t speak French.”
Without missing a beat, Beau says, “All dogs speak French.”
I laugh. “Thanks for letting me take him with us.”
“Sure,” Beau says and then gives my dog a friendly scrub between his ears. “He’s a beauty. What a great coat.”
Mica is merle-coated, a mix of white, gray, and tan that make parts of his fur look blue. The coat, his speckled face, and blue eyes make him the handsomest boy I know.
“Thanks. He’s a good egg.”
Beau chuckles. “You look like a hiking dog,” he tells Mica, who wags in reply.
“Oh, he is,” I affirm. “Mica has logged a good three hundred miles on the A.T.”
Beau’s eyebrows climb, and he looks from Mica to me. “That’s a lot of miles.” He straightens up, frowning a little. “How far were you planning to go today?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I just want a chance to slip into nature. Unplug for a while.”
His frown eases. “You won’t be disappointed if we have to head back midafternoon? I have a class at five.”
Now it’s my turn to go bug-eyed. “No! Oh my gosh. I didn’t know you had to work.” I suddenly feel like a selfish twit. “Am I totally ruining your day?”
“No,” Beau says. Rather firmly, I might add. “This is going to be fun. We’ll just have to head back at about three.”
But I still bite my lip. “You sure? If Sundays are better—”
“Sundays aren’t better.” His mouth flattens into an unhappy line. “You ready?”
“Um…” What did I just say? All the butterflies in my stomach just dropped dead. “Look, Beau, it’s really nice of you to offer to take me hiking, but if you don’t want to go—”
He frowns at me. “Of course, I want to go.”
My insides twist. If he wants to go, why is he frowning? Maybe Sally was right. I could sure use one of his rare smiles now.
His gaze narrows on me. “Iris, are you okay?”
“I’m… just—” I hedge, reaching for the hem of my top and plucking at a loose thread.
“Just what?”
Pluck. Pluck.What am I doing?
“Being awkward because it doesn’t seem like you want to go.”
His frown softens. Just a little. “Why would I offer to take you hiking if I didn’t want to go?”
He’s got me there. “I don’t know. But—”
“I’m not usually in the habit of doing things I don’t want to do. Are you?”
My jaw drops. “All the time!”
His forehead wrinkles, and he looks at me like I’m crazy. “My God, why?”
Is he serious? “Because that’s what people expect.”
Beau crosses his arms over his chest, his expression unchanging. “People expect you to do things you don’t want to do?”
