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I watch her cross the kitchen and enter the living room, not waiting to see my reaction.
I check the time. The night is indeed young.
ChapterTen
Mary
I put on my favorite summertime movie,Jaws, while Beau makes popcorn.
Hearing him putter around my house gives me more of a thrill than it should. I’m so used to the sounds of teenage boys rifling through the fridge and cabinets like raccoons. Knowing someone is in there doing something as simple as making popcorn for a date night in makes me feel that much more content.
My heart thumps along with the sounds of Beau’s big feet as he brings a tray loaded with snacks into the living room, sets it down on the beat-up coffee table, then flops down on my old, worn sofa.
“What are you smiling at?” Beau asks when he catches my eyes wandering over to him instead of getting caught up in the movie.
“I was just thinking I might have a reason to bite the bullet and finance a sectional sofa,” I say, smirking at how the man, stretched out, is sitting cockeyed in a half-sprawl. My furniture is too small for him.
“You mean besides being home base for a horde of teen boys? You’d do that just for me?” Beau asks.
“Boys are young; they spread out on the floor on movie nights. You, however, have a bad knee and are over 30. We need the proper furniture.”
He teases me with one arched eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t care about material things.”
“Shut up,” I laugh. “I care about my boyfriend, okay?”
Beau laughs with his head thrown back, then the arm resting on the sofa's back draws me into his side. “I like the sound of that. I like the sound ofyousaying that.”
I smile up at him. The more we talk, II feel my barriers going down, brick by brick. I have a boyfriend. I’m 33, and after a 15-year-dry spell, I have a boyfriend.
The square English teacher has a kind, sweet, funny, fun-loving, and extremely hot boyfriend who already likes my kid.
My life went from pretty great to incredibly awesome in less than a day.
Even though it’s hotter than Hades’ buttcrack, my little window unit is doing the Lord’s work as Beau and I snuggle on the sofa, his legs sprawled out with me nested against his chest.
“Just don’t do the financing thing. Let me buy you a sectional,” he says.
I lift my head. “What? No, I can handle it. The furniture store has this thing where I pay no interest for a year if I pay it in installments….”
“No. That shit is borderline predatory. Just let me buy you a goddamn sofa, woman. I own a furniture manufacturer, for Pete’s sake. Save your money for a rainy day.”
“You do?”
He nods. “Yeah. I might have been a dumbass with money when I started out. I bought cars. A stupid amount of cars. Moved my mom into a giant house in Highland Park where she did not want to live, but because she was so proud of me, she couldn't say no. I moved into a two-story penthouse in Dallas that cost me three times in rent what an average mortgage is. I tried to fix granddad up in an elite retirement community, but he refused. He loved his piece of land here in East Texas. Refused my offer to upgrade his house, so I bought him a couple of trucks. Those, he couldn't refuse. Finally, I got a good manager who advised me to buy things that make money. I also own a chain of grocery stores, a restaurant supply company, and commercial real estate. I could go on, but it’s embarrassing.
Embarrassing? No, it’s pretty smart, and I can’t say I would have thought of that if I suddenly had pro athlete money.
It’s a sofa. Am I really going to fight him on this? Is it really going to compromise my principles of independence?
“Fine,” I sigh, signaling he’s already worn me down.
Now, if he tries to get me to move? Then we’ll have a problem.
I think of all these eventual scenarios as he holds me close against his chest. I fit so perfectly and snugly that I close my tired eyes for a minute…and fall asleep to the rhythm of his breathing.
* * *
When I wake up, Beau’s shirt is wet.
