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“And you think this is the same? He’s purposefully not going to take your opinion into consideration because he feels like it would be showing favoritism?”
She shrugged. “I mean, he can’t help but hear me. We sit at the same dinner table every damn night.”
“But you don’t want to bring it up at dinner?”
“I want to be professional. I want to be hiscolleaguein education. I don’t want to rant and rave about how things are unfair and give long monologues about how important the arts are and how the number of kids who are going to go to college to play sports is tiny but the number of kids who can find a passion for writing or design or music or drama and use that talent in future professional endeavors is huge…” She stopped and pulled in a breath. “Heknowsthat. I know he does. I’ve heard him and my mom talk about those very things at that very dinner table. I’m torn between wanting my dad to see me as a professional who respects him and a true advocate for what I do and believe as an educator.”
Andthiswas the kind of crap that Beau had been worried about when Becca had chosen to come home to teach. It sounded so easy, but having a history, baked-in assumptions, established patterns, could complicate things.
A fresh start would have been better for her.
“We’ll figure it out,” he told her.
“Wewill?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her lip.
But he shrugged. Something was bothering Becca. Of course, he was going to get involved with fixing it. Somehow. “Yeah.”
Emotion flickered in her eyes.
Thankfully, Ellie arrived with their food and they shifted to lighter topics, one of which was how interested the entire bar still seemed in their dinner together.
“So, we haven’t convinced anyone totally yet,” Becca said as they paid separately for their dinners and walked to the front door.
The whole place had seen them together and made their assessments, so Beau opened the door for her and ushered her through with a hand on her lower back.
They stood outside on the front walk.
“I didn’t think it would be that easy. We can probably expect some additional matchmaking shenanigans.”
“Hanging out with you has been fun,” he told her, wanting to soften the things he’d said earlier. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—date her for real. But he couldn’t deny that the idea of being “forced” to spend time with her because of the town’s crazy matchmaking plan was appealing. “I can’t say that I’m upset about the idea of doing it some more.”
She smiled up at him. “Same. And since we’re reverting back to our old friendship where we could say anything and be completely honest and blunt with one another…”
He lifted a brow. “Yeah?”
“You need a new hoodie. That thing has so many holes in it it’s pathetic.”
“It was supposed to convince people we weren’t on a date,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well, it’s probably convincing people that you don’t have enough money to buy yourself a new hoodie. That isn’t a good look for your business.”
He nodded. “Fine. I’ll wear a different hoodie next time.”
“What about me?” She spread her arms wide. “I’m ready for critique.”
There had definitely been a time in their lives when he had critiqued her outfits, her shoes, her hair, and her general attitude.
Damn, what he wouldn’t give to have Becca Bollier be just slightly less than amazingly fucking gorgeous and perfect.
“I don’t like that lipstick,” he finally said.
She pressed her lips together. “I’m not wearing any lipstick.”
Damn, her lips were just that color.
He’d been lying anyway. The only thing he didn’t like about the color was that it made it impossible for him to stop looking at her lips.
“Well then maybe you need to get some,” he said.
