Page 205 of Love Felt Like This

And four, falling in love with Griffin Patrick Harvey.

Though now, that seems like hardly a risk at all.

The front door distantly cracks open.

“Beverly, come on!” Rob yells.

I race down the hall and out the open front door, then clack down the concrete steps to the driveway roundabout, where Finch’s car awaits.

But I halt.

On the other side of the opening gate, another car is idling. A back seat tinted window slowly rolls down, and a head of dyed brown hair pokes out.

Smiling at me is Beau.

Chapter Forty-Two

What the Hell

Beverly

What.

The.

Hell.

I clack across the cobblestone driveway, past the bird-shaped topiary in the center of Finch’s roundabout, and toward the tinted car now pulling past the gate and parking in Finch’s driveway.

The back door opens, and Beau steps out.

And honestly? Everything he’s wearing feels wrong. The corduroy pants. The professorial blazer. The wire-rimmed glasses from a prescription I know he doesn’t have. It’s all so wrong.

Beau tucks his palms into his pockets and leans back on his brogues. “Hey, Bev.”

My mind can’t process this. My fingers fiddle with the lace on my draped sleeve, and it’s the only thing that feels real right now.

“What are you doing here?” spills out of me, quickly followed by, “How do you know where I live?”

“You think I don’t have connections?” He chuckles, but it’s not cute, and it’s not clever, and I don’t understand what is so funny.

My stomach is coiling, and my heart is in overdrive. I need to be somewhere other than here. I have a very specific place to be, in fact.

He sighs, clicking his tongue and looking off. “I wanna talk.”

“Talk,” I echo. “You want to talk.” The venue. I need to be at the venue. “Beau, I don’t have time for this. I’m leaving to—”

“—go to Griffin’s concert?”

I freeze, blinking at him. “Yes.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Figured.” His eyes trail my outfit—from the lace sleeves down to my ankles. “I like your dress.”

“You never liked how I dressed.”

“This is nice, though.” He reaches out and trails a single finger along the lace.

I jerk back. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”