Any other time, I would've already struggled to say no, but now? With that magic coursing through my veins? There's no way anything but an enthusiastic agreement was going to come from my mouth.Especiallywhen that heartbreakingly buried bisexual side of his spectrum just came alive, waking upfrom its repressed nap. It was only a smidgen, the tiniest little shift, but it happened when he was looking atme.
For once in my life, I feel a hundred feet tall... and it lasts exactly twenty-five seconds.
Beau leads the way to the register when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, and before I can react, a chalky explosion of white dust detonates.
“What the hell?” I gasp, squeezing my eyes closed and waving my hands in front of me to keep the powder from further invading my nose.
Flour coats my skin and clothes, clinging to every inch as Delilah stands there, a mask of fake surprise plastered across her face. Her eyes are wide and her mouth agape in an exaggerated show of shock that doesn’t fool a soul.
“Oh,honey!” she cries in a show of dramatics, smacking my cheek as she pretends to wipe away the mess. “I amsosorry! That bag of flour must’ve been ripped!”
Beau storms over, deep blue eyes raking over my frame before he attempts to dust me off. “There’s no point,” I whine, horrified when tears form precarious little puddles in my eyes, on the verge of spilling. “Flour is all the way between my toes.”
“You did that on purpose!” Beau's voice rises into an angry bellow I didn't think his kind soul was capable of.Delilah flinches, not expecting it either, then puts an affronted hand over her heart.
“Why, ofcourseI didn’t—”
“Save it,” he barks, narrowing his eyes before deciding that ignoring her is the best bet. His entire demeanor softens as he returns to me. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get out of here so you can get clean.”
“That's, um... I don't think... don't think I should.” Shame catapults me back to the harsh reality of my awkwardness. Beau made me temporarily forget who I am,howI am, and I'mhorrified as my near-silent voice trembles. “Th-thank you for everything, but I’ll just go home. Your car will just get filthy, and I’m just… yeah.” Unbidden, a tear slips from my eye, cutting a channel through the flour on my face that turns into a trail of gummy dough. People are starting to stare, and I stand out worse than I already did.
I back away and stumble, flour forming a fresh cloud around me, another reminder of my clumsiness that puts me back in my place, and I suddenly feel even smaller. Beau reaches to steady me as more tears carve rivulets into the powder coating my cheeks.
Delilah just snorts.
“Come on,” he says, voice infinitely gentle as he steps closer, using his t-shirt to swipe at my face. It gives me a view of his pale stomach underneath, covered in a dark layer of coarse hair. “Let me help, Az. You don’t have to do it alone.”
“You’ll get dirty,” I object, trying to pull away, but he holds tight.
“True, but if I bake a cake with no supervision, I’ll get even dirtier,” he argues, and against every ounce of my self-preservation, I let myself be convinced. I let myself believe that he can somehow magically make it all okay.
My small, tentative smile makes his entire face brighten. “Come on, short stack,” he says, tossing her insult back at me and making it sound honey-sweet.
Flour stamps onto his clothing as he tosses an arm around me, steering us towards the registers. Everyone stares, but he doesn’t seem to mind, waving to a few people and shouting a greeting to a woman a few aisles away. She’s perplexed, undoubtedly because of the Casper walking beside him, but gives him a perfunctory flutter of her fingers. Beau chats with everyone as he pays for his groceries, voice louder than it has been this whole time.
He’s taking the attention off me, and the gesture touches me more than it should. The rich, woody scent of him surrounds me as he tucks me into his side. It's a heady perfume, outdoorsy and warm, and it makes me want to bury my nose in his chest.
It’sjust the arrow, I tell myself, but I know these feelings aren’t artificial. Boosted, sure. Amplified, but not fake.
For the first time since I took over this position, and after four nights of zero sleep, I feel safe and protected.
What’s the harm in taking an afternoon to myself?
Beau’s truck.
That’s… the entire thought.
Beau’s truck.
East Tennessee has a unique way of being terrible for the environment, and it presents as jacked-up, gas-guzzling trucks, either with the muffler sawed off or a double intake installed aftermarket.
Sometimes both.
Honestly, I’m surprised there are no dog cages strapped into the bed, but it’s not deer season, after all. The grocery bags crinkle as he sits them in the back, then offers me a hand. My eyes boomerang between his hand and the entire stepladder needed to make it in the truck.
“There’s going to be flour covering your leather seats.”
“Let me explain something, Az. A true southern gentleman won’t leave someone stranded. Now, you might not know me, but trust when I say I don’t mind getting a little dirty.” That twang shouldn’t turn everything he says twice as sweet, buthis voice, with its slow, deliberate drawl, is like liquid sugar. He drips with more sweetness than his momma’s sweet tea.
