Tilting her head to the side, she studied him. Funny; she had thought the same about Emmett. Maybe her radar was faulty. “How do you know?”
He smiled, stepped back. “You said ‘thank you’ even though I think I insulted you with the paper bag.”
Presley’s chest felt like an overblown balloon was popped with his words. The pressure eased out of her rib cage and shoulders and nearly made those tears fall. She blinked rapidly.
Beckett pointed at her. “I’m going to teach you to fish.”
“I don’t really eat fish.”
His grin was quick. “You don’t need to eat it. You can toss it back.”
Presley stepped back so she wasn’t tempted to curl back into him. “What’s the point of that?”
“What’s the point of window-shopping?”
“You’ve got me there.” This man was way too easy to talk to.
“Uncle Beck, Mom says we can’t stay late,” Ollie called through the door they’d left open.
Presley smiled. “You have a wonderful family.”
He nodded. “They’re pretty great. I should go help.”
She didn’t want to keep him. She’d already intruded enough. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure, Presley. Sleep well.”
She watched him walk away and wondered how on the worst day of her life, she’d landed somewhere she’d never choose to go on her own and it had ended up being exactly what she needed.Not what. Who.That was even more surprising.
Presley crawled into Beckett’s bed and tried not to think too much about the fact that it was Beckett’s bed. With her phone, her iPad, and her e-reader beside her, she snuggled into the pillows. Even with the bedding freshly laundered, she could smell the scent of him—woodsy and fresh—around her. His room was bare basics: the bed, dresser, a small desk, and a closet. No pictures on the walls, a few books stacked on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. She looked at them, appreciating his reading tastes. She enjoyed a couple of the same authors—Harlan Coben and Sandra Brown. She didn’t read a lot of nonfiction, but the copy ofHow to Be a Grill Mastermade her smile.
The shower had worked miracles. She was clean, warm, and a little bit closer to being herself again. Her hair was drying on top of her head as she faced reality and picked up her phone, swiped it open. She’d tucked it away when keeping her fingertips warm had taken precedence over feeling connected.
Texts, app notifications, and emails waited, but she went directly tothe one that mattered most. Rylee had left over fifty messages. Everything from GIFs and jokes to threats about what she would do if Presley didn’t make contact immediately.
There was absolutely no point putting it off. She pressed Rylee’s number and waited for her to answer.
“Where the hell have you been? I was fifteen minutes from booking my own flight to find you,” her bestie said instead of hello.
At this, the vehemence, worry, and love in her friend’s voice, Presley’s tears broke free. It surprised her to realize most of them fell out of feeling stupid and naive. As she related the entire story to her friend, it finally hit home that a person could see the good in something as long as they didn’t blind themself to reality.
“I’m going to wedgie him,” Rylee said when Presley finally finished.
Laughter escaped, sharp and unexpectedly. “Stop.”
“I’ll pay someone to do it.”
God, she loved her friend. “Someone big and scary?”
“Yes. I’ll google options. We don’t use the wedgie as payback nearly enough these days. It was a classic for a reason. What an ass. I didn’t like him, but I still had some hopes for him.”
“You didn’t like him at all?” Presley wondered why she’d ignored that, but, even as she asked, she knew the answer.
“All I want is for you to be happy, to have the kind of relationship you deserve. He wasn’t going to give it to you because he was too worried about himself. Do you need me to come there?”
Presley sat up so quick, her e-reader tumbled off her lap. Fortunately, it was still on the bed. “No! Of course not.” She wouldnotput anyone else out.
“What do you mean ‘of course not’? I’m here if you need me.”
