Page 61 of One to Watch

“That’s not true,” Bea argued. “You could have lied.”

“With this poker face?” A small smile played on his lips. “You would have seen right through me.”

Bea laughed warmly, and he threaded his fingers through hers.

“Does it freak you out?” he asked. “That I’m … you know.”

“No.” Bea shook her head. “It’s kind of a relief, actually.”

Wyatt tilted his head. “Really? Why?”

“I guess I just assumed I was the least experienced person here, because I’ve never been in a long-term relationship,” Bea said quietly. “It’s been really intimidating, feeling like—I don’t know. Like all of you would judge me, or not take me seriously. It makes me feel young, somehow.”

Wyatt’s face lit up with recognition.

“That’s it exactly,” he agreed. “There’s this part of me that feels stuck. Not quite grown-up.”

“And being here, in my hometown—in this high school, even—it’s so acute, you know? Like I’m a teenager again, alone on prom night, feeling like a fool. Just some loser who’d only ever been kissed one time, who had no hope of ever finding a real boyfriend.”

“At least you kissed someone,” Wyatt looked wistful. “I never kissed anyone in high school.”

“Really?” Bea had no idea how to square the way this man looked with the things he was telling her. “Can I ask why not?”

“I don’t know, really,” he mumbled. “I was pretty shy.”

“I’m sorry,” Bea said. “I don’t mean to be nosy.”

“No.” He looked at her intensely. “You’re trying to get to know me. I want that, Bea.”

“You do?”

He squeezed her hand. “I really do.”

“I’m glad.” Bea smiled, thrown off guard by how different he seemed from the guys like him she’d known when she lived here. Or maybe that was the point—maybe those guys weren’t like him at all.

“Let’s change the subject.” He smiled kindly. “Why don’t you tell the story of your first kiss?”

Bea’s stomach clenched at the memory—the warm, flat beer, the smell of the woods, the scratches on her face from the branches that scraped her as she ran. The shame she’d felt when her brothers found her waiting by the car and asked if she’d had fun at the party.

Wyatt clocked the ashen expression on Bea’s face.

“I’m sorry—you don’t have to tell me,” he assured her.

Part of Bea didn’t want to tell the story—didn’t want to relive the humiliation, and certainly didn’t want her brothers to find out what had really happened after all these years. But another part of her was moved by Wyatt’s bravery, by the way that everything about him subverted her expectations. By her own desire—one she couldn’t quite explain—to trust him.

“Growing up, my brothers all played sports,” she started shakily. “Their friends were always around the house, and I mostly hid in my room, but sometimes they would be sweet to me, or joke around—make me feel like the kid sister in a movie, you know? They were loud and immature for the most part, but they had this one friend James who was really quiet. He was tall, and had this thick blond hair—he was on the football team with my brother Tim.”

“You liked him?” Wyatt asked.

“Yeah.” Bea felt her face flush, feeling so silly that even now, more than a decade later, while she was starring on a television show and James was who-knows-where, it still made her feel so small to admit she’d had a crush on a boy.

“I thought the fact that he was quiet meant that he was shy, or secretly really deep.” She laughed uncomfortably. “I imagined that he wanted to have these intense conversations, that he would love having them with me. I thought it was some big secret that I liked him, but my brothers knew—Tim said something about it at dinner once, and I was so embarrassed. I left the table in tears.”

“It’s okay that you’re sensitive,” Wyatt said softly. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of that.”

“I wish he’d been more like you,” Bea said. “You’re the version of him that I actually wanted.”

“What happened when he kissed you?” Wyatt asked.