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I tilt my head at him, noticing his lips twitching under all that facial hair. "Beau. What are you up to?"
"Oh, about six foot seven."
I swat his bicep. "Dad jokes? Really?"
He laughs. "Or, stepdad jokes. Let's call them stepdad jokes."
This takes a minute for me to process. "Well, you're not Micah's stepdad yet."
"What would you say to us speeding up that process?"
"Beau, what do you mean?" I think I know, but I want to make sure this isn't a hallucination brought on by a food coma.
"Mary, we should get married."
"Beau! You don't ask a girl that question while driving on a gravel road in Dauterive! You get down on your knee in Paris or someplace equally romantic."
He strokes his beard. "Paris, Texas, is a little out of the way from where we're headed," he says thoughtfully.
I playfully swat his arm again. "Quit playing with me!"
"Fine. Las Vegas!" Beau rumbles. "We're going to Las Vegas. There. The secret is blown. Are you happy?"
I sit up and grin. "Yes."
And I am happy. Happy that Beau thought to spend his free weekend alone with me. But something inside me still feels wary. What if Beau is like that man who surprised his girlfriend with a New Year's Eve trip, packing only lingerie for her and nothing warm to wear outside?
Beau can be presumptuous, but he'd never do that, would he?
"And we don't have to get married this weekend. But if you want to, we can."
Poor Beau. I continue to rib him about this somewhat-proposal until after dark when the car stops in the middle of a field.
"You said plane. This is not DFW," I say, referring to the Dallas airport.
"Nope," he replies.
Nope, indeed.
This, I soon learn, is a hangar for a private jet. Not Beau's private plane, but one he has access to. "Some football buddies and I went in together and bought it a few years ago. This is the first time I've ever used it."
He says "football buddies" as if he isn't itching to name-drop as he unpacks the trunk of his car. Do I want to know who he's referring to? Probably not. That would only make me feel like I don't belong. It's a feeling that will go away with time.
I temporarily set aside those insecurities -- happily so -- once we are airborne. Even more so when we land in Vegas and are whisked away to a luxury suite at The Palms. I can relax into a high-roller's girlfriend role for at least one weekend.
The size of the room is bigger than my house.
Correction: our house. Mine, Micah's, and Beau's.
"What do you want to do first?" Beau asks, thumbing through a brochure. "Did you see this workout facility? They have yoga and everything."
I'm busying myself by sorting the clothes Beau packed for me on the sly. "Not yoga," I snort. "And I definitely do not want you to tell me how much you're spending on this room."
Beau drops the brochure on a side table and comes over to the bed, where I'm inspecting my clothes for the weekend. He thoughtfully packed my favorite Hello Kitty nightshirt, and I hold it aloft, smiling at it. Beau is not like that guy I read about. Beau is thoughtful and kind and wants me to be comfortable. He looks after me, and it feels so, so good.
I peel off my sweater and leggings that I changed into on the plane and tug the nightshirt on. It's after midnight: surely we're not going out on the town tonight. But I am the square, uptight one, so who knows what he has planned.
"I almost booked the Empathy Suite but decided against it because my wife would chew me out."
