Page 16

Chapter Sixteen

Kit

I slide the Chicken Francese in the oven and set the timer for fifteen minutes. Next, I prep the string bean almondine and braised potatoes. When I check the time, I rip the apron from around my head and dart to the bathroom.

“Beau’s gonna be here in twenty minutes. I’m never going to be ready!” I squeal as I toss my clothes on the floor and then run back to pick up what I threw down and put it in the laundry basket.

Five minutes, and possibly the fastest shower I’ve ever taken, later I rub my damp hair with a towel. Tearing through my closet, I try to decide what to wear.

“I should’ve picked my outfit out earlier,” I groan.

Grabbing my phone, I call my sister. The phone almost goes to voicemail before Gen picks up, breathless.

“Kit, what’s up?” she answers, gasping for air.

“Are you okay? You sound like you’re having a heart attack!” I stop flipping through my clothes, concerned.

“I’m fine. I was just running.” She huffs.

“Running?” My voice fills with surprise. “You hate running!”

“Yeah, well that’s what you need to do when someone…” her tone is scathing. “Is careless with the leash.”

“Do you need to go?” I ask. She’s obviously working. Though, I’ve never heard her talk to one of her clients like that, especially when she’s still with them.

My eyebrow raises. I think this situation is one I need to hear more about.

“No, we caught him. Hold on tight,” she grumbles, and I hear a muffled male voice respond to her before she asks. “What do you need?”

“Beau is coming over for dinner, and I don’t know what to wear.” I start flipping through the clothes in my closet again.

“Do you still have that teal top? The one that’s super flowy, has a v-neck, and ruffles?” I stare at the exact shirt my fingers just landed on.

“Umm, yes.”

“Perfect! Pair it with jeans and those black ankle boots you have, and you’re all set.” I can hear her clap in the background. “Beau is going to die when he sees you.”

“I haven’t heard from him since this morning,” I say, chewing on my fingernail. “Do you think I should be worried?”

“Kit, I’m so sorry, I have to go. Mr. Pro Golfer needs help. Have fun with Beau, and I can’t wait to hear how it goes.”

I stare at the phone, brows pulled together and the corner of my lip lifted. So that’s who has Genevieve’s feathers all ruffled.

I cannot wait to meet Luke Nichols in person, especially if he can make my beyond sunshiney sister grumpy.

Throwing the outfit Gen suggested on, I put on a bit of mascara, blush, and lip gloss. I give myself a quick once-over before I hear the timer in the kitchen.

I reset it for 15 minutes and put the potatoes and string beans in just as the doorbell rings.

My heart flutters, and my mouth feels like the Sahara desert. I run my palms down my shirt and walk down the stairs.

Placing my hand on the doorknob I inhale deeply and slowly blow it out. When I open the door, the man standing before me steals my breath.

Beau is wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved Henley that hugs his chest, shoulders, and arms. This man's upper body is amazing, and once again, I wonder how these shirts don’t bust at the seams. His hands are tucked in his front jean pockets.

When I realize I’m staring, my face gets hot, but when I meet Beau’s gaze, the teasing glint I would normally find lingering isn’t there.

Instead, I find lifeless silver eyes staring back at me. My stomach clenches, but I blow it off. Positive I’m making something out of nothing.

“Hey!” I smile brightly. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he answers, his voice as flat as his eyes. My pulse accelerates but for a completely different reason than when I first came down the stairs.

I want so badly to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, but his greeting throws me off kilter. So instead, I turn and start walking up the stairs, forcing my voice to sound cheerful. “Come on up. Dinner should be ready soon,” I toss over my shoulder.

I hear Beau’s footsteps following me. The steps are in time with the drumming of my heart, and I make my way over to the cabinets to grab two glasses. “What do you want to drink? I have sweet tea, Dr. Pepper, or water with lime and lemon.”

I place the glasses on the table and glance up. For a moment, I notice a flash of emotion run across his gaze, but it passes quickly.

“Dr. Pepper would be great. Thanks.” The corner of his mouth lifts briefly before returning to a tight, straight line.

“Do you want ice?” I ask, holding the glass in front of the ice maker on the fridge. Holding his stare.

“No thanks.” He shakes his head. The fizzing from the soda being poured sounds like someone’s popping bubble wrap.

“Great game yesterday,” I toss out as I hand him his drink. Our fingers brush, and my breath hitches. When my gaze meets Beau’s, his eyes are like molten steel, and heat runs through my body. I let my gaze fall to his lips. But when I glance up into his look, the emptiness is back, and he’s taking a sip. Something is off, but I’m unsure how to address it. Yet. “I don’t know how you all don’t get seriously injured. That was one of the most brutal sports I’ve ever watched.”

“Make sure you don’t watch MMA. That’s way worse than rugby.” The chill in his voice has me rubbing my hands up and down my arms. “It’s not for everyone.”

My mouth falls open. I stare at him, trying to figure out what happened between the last time we talked and now.

“Are you—” Beeping fills the room, and I hesitate before turning to the oven. Tiny pricks heat the back of my neck and I know Beau is watching me. Grabbing the oven mitts, I pull out the chicken and place it on a trivet on the counter to rest. “I hope you like Chicken Francese.”

I close the oven and set the timer for another ten minutes so the potatoes and string beans can finish cooking.

“No mistake about it,” he says tightly, his jaw clenched. My brows knit, and I turn toward him. The glass is at his mouth, and my eyes fall to his Adam’s apple as he swallows. When I slide my gaze to his face, I see his jaw tick.

“You’re acting weird.” I lean against the counter, and cross my arms over my chest.

“Me? Acting weird?” He points to himself as one of his brows quirks. There’s a hardness to his gaze, but it’s also a challenge. “I think you’re mistaken. You make mistakes, right, Kit?”

“Everyone makes mistakes.” I pull my bottom lip in through my teeth and meet his hard gaze straight on. Pushing myself from the counter, I start to walk toward him, never letting my eyes leave his. “Want to tell me what we’re talking about here? Because I’m completely lost.”

Standing a foot from him, his gaze flicks away before meeting mine again. There’s pain in them, and I don’t understand why. An ache in my heart blooms, and I reach for him, but he steps away. “Is something wrong?”

“Did you get the paperwork from Paul?” My head tilts, and my brows pull together. That came out of nowhere. “My attorney. You know, for the annulment.”

“I know who Paul is,” I say softly, taking another step toward him. His body stiffens, and I stop.

“You said you made a mistake, and I want to make sure that you get it rectified as quickly as possible.”

“Wait.” I put out my hand and rest it on his chest. This time, he doesn’t pull away. The heavy pounding of his heart gives me a tiny sliver of relief, and I flash him a playful quirk. “Did you overhear me talking to Scott earlier?”

For a moment, anger flares in his eyes, and my stomach dips. I’ve seen Beau all different ways, but I’ve never seen this side of him before. I almost step away, but then I recognize another emotion. “Beau?”

He grips my wrist, and for a second, I think he’s going to push me away, but instead, his chin dips. His voice is so low that I have to strain to hear him when he talks. “It’s okay if marrying me was a mistake. I just wish you would’ve told me.”

I sigh. “I did make a mistake.” His hand falls from mine, and he whips his gaze up.

“Okay, then I’ll—”

“But it wasn’t us getting married,” I whisper. Cupping his cheek, I step up against him. His eyes fill with uncertainty. “It was so many other things but never marrying you. Running to you that night in Vegas—”

“Don’t you mean running into me?” He leans his cheek into my palm and lets out a sigh. I step closer until I’m close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. I cup his other cheek.

“No,” I say firmly. “I mean running to you. I don’t remember it, but I’m positive I knew exactly where I wanted to be when I saw you.”

The molten steel is back, and my knees turn to jelly. “But I heard you—”

“Oh, I know you did! Typical man that you are, instead of asking me, you jump to—” Beau’s lips stop the flow of words falling from my mouth. His arms wrap around my back and pull me flush against him. I let my body sink against his warmth. Letting every part of myself give in to all the emotions that are running through me.

This kiss is everything. Everything that I could’ve ever wanted.

When he pulls away, I groan.

He presses his lips against mine again before whispering in my ear.