My heart squeezed.
“You don’t hate the idea, do you?” Beckett asked. “Think less of me?”
“My head is spinning,” I admitted. “I don’t know what to think.” I remembered the poignant passages in some of my favorite Miranda Lockhart novels. Beckett had written those words. My blood heated as I pictured him creating those scenes. “I think it’s incredibly sexy that you wrote those books.”
Beckett’s eyes shot up to mine. “You do?”
I looped my arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. His arms tightened around my back, gathering me close. I felt some of his stress melt away.
“I was so afraid to tell you,” he said. “But I knew I had to.”
A thought occurred to me. “What happened to John inTangled Up in You?”
Beckett’s eyebrows knitted, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Mary Lou’s brother?”
I nodded.
“He dies in Vietnam.”
In the book, John had enlisted in the United States Army straight out of high school. He’d been shipped off to war and never mentioned again. I’d always wondered what had happened to him and hoped that maybe he’d return in another book.
“John’s dead?” I asked, feeling as sorry as if I’d really known him.
“Yeah,” Beckett said, his voice gruff. “John wasn’t meant to be a leading man. I only wrote him in to demonstrate Lou’s loneliness within her family.”
“You really are Miranda Lockhart.”
“I really am.”
“What about your other books? You said you had more than one pen name. Do you have other people you team up with? Other women?”
Beckett raised one eyebrow. “You don’t need to be jealous of Sally. She and I are long over.”
I thought of Sally’s tinkling laugh and the way she’d ordered Beckett’s drink as if she were ordering for a lover. “Does she know that?”
Beckett nodded. “She does.”
“You seemed awfully cozy with her.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I asked her to sign my book,” I complained. “She refused.” My anger mounted. “Bitch.”
“I wish I could be like you,” Beckett said, his voice raw and pained. “So unapologetically you. It’s so brave.”
“I’m not brave.”
I’d been planning an escape not long ago, intent on ditching Mossy Oak in favor of avoiding my feelings. How brave was that? I’d been ready to give up the life I’d made—my book club friends, Pressly, Summer, Aslan. I’d been ready to run.
Beckett’s hand cupped my chin, and he tilted my face up to his.
“You’re so strong and independent. You don’t care what anyone thinks about you. I’ve never met anyone like you. It’s one of the reasons you inspire me so much. One of the reasons I want you to be mine.” He brushed his lips over mine. I’d never felt his mouth so hesitant. “You are mine, aren’t you?”
Tears filled my eyes. “I meant to tell you no.”
He frowned down at me. “Lacey, please…”
I cinched my arms around his waist. “Okay,” I said.
