I swallow again, remembering the climb after the third Bee Creek crossing. How hard it was for me when I was little. Dad would sometimes have to piggy-back me before we reached the top of the ridge. For a moment, I close my eyes and see the back of his head. His long, dark hair used to tickle my nose.
I open my eyes. I can feel Beau’s gaze on me, but I don’t look up. I keep my own trained on the trail in front of me.
“He used to take pictures all day. He was really good. He’d shoot everything. The view from the top of the ridge. Lichen on a rotten log. Salamanders in a shallow stream… Me…”
The memory seems to pull my mouth in two directions. Like I could just as easily laugh or cry. “He loved those pictures. Whatever extra cash he had after paying bills and buying groceries went into developing and making prints.”
Moira used to give him hell about that. The money. But she liked the pictures of me. She used tooohandaahover them.Just look at my baby girl! She could be a model.She must have said that a thousand times.
“Sounds like they were important to him,” he says, breaking me out of the memory.
I nod. “Yeah, he loved photographs.”
“I wasn’t talking about the photographs,” Beau says. “I meant the Saturdays with you.”
A gasp charges my throat. My gaze flies to his. “You think so?” The strangled question escapes me before I have a chance to tame it. A blush follows hot on its heels.
Beau holds my stare with his earnest one. “Yes, Iris.” I don’t know if anyone has ever spoken my name with such kindness. “I do.”
It’s almost too much. You know the saying,Kill them with kindness?It feels like I’ve sustained a mortal wound. Right through my heart.
When I told Beau about my dad leaving earlier, I left out the part about how I’ve wondered why he took off again after returning to Broken Bow. Did he come back because he heard we were gone? Did he leave again when he got my letters and knew I was looking for him? Looking for answers?
That thought crushed me at first. That he disappeared again because I reached out. But then I thought that maybe he’s not ready to face me. To explain why he left me. Maybe he’s not ready to give me those answers.
Maybe he needs to hold onto them more than I need to hear them.
So I won’t go looking for him. He won’t have to look hard to find me if he ever wants to.
I don’t know if that will ever happen. All I know is that Beau Landry just gave me something I’ve been aching for: a reason to believe that even though he left, my dad loved me.
When I can breathe, I force the words out. “You are nothing like what I expected.” The confession is raw, just above a whisper.
Beau’s watchful eyes smile. “You, Iris Adams, are the last thing I expected.”
We stare at each other. If this were a movie, this would be when the boy and the girl kiss. I know the part as well as I know my own reflection. Just lean in and tilt my chin up and meet my co-star halfway. I’ve done it a dozen times.
But this moment has something none of those had.
My heart pounds, and my mouth goes dry because, unlike all those other times, Iwantto kiss the man in front of me. I want it like crazy.
And that’s what snaps me out of it. Because this is not a scene for a movie, and Beau Landry is not here to kiss me.
So I go where I always go to steer clear from an awkward moment. With a joke.
“I know, right?” I say brightly, taking a determined step out of kissing range. “’Nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition.’”
Beau’s eyes widen a fraction. “Monty Python.” But to my disappointment, he doesn’t laugh. “That’s funny.”
Except he doesn’t sound amused.
“Points for catching theFlying Circusreference.”
His mouth turns up, but I have the sickening feeling he’s forcing a smile out of politeness.
“Should we keep going?” I ask, because I don’t want him doing anything out of politeness. Especially not spending the day with me.
His brow creases. “Of course. We haven’t even gotten to the best part.”
