Page 4

Beau

Some days, everything goes according to plan.

Others, you end up on a frantic last-minute trip to the grocery store because you, Beauford Harris III, have been given the responsibility of baking a cake for your cousin’s birthday.

Throw me in front of a grill with a slab of steaks, and I’m your guy.

Put me in an apron and toss me in the kitchen?

Smoke and charring and a shrieking fire alarm being tossed out the window.

Thanks, Marie Callender’s.

My mother loves to complain about my inability to cook, which is ironic because she was the one who shooed me from the kitchen as a child. It’s not that I don’t love my parents, because I do, but I was a surprise baby, long after they’d been told they’d never conceive.

Turns out, I wasn’t menopause, after all.

Older parents mean more financial stability, but by the time I was born, they were both knee-deep in careers and had little patience for a talkative, inquisitive child.

Our relationship has gotten better as I’ve gotten older, but it’s still largely on their terms. Which is why I’m here, searching for a box of cake mix, while being followed by a woman that’s seven layers of crazy, all while she insults the man whose face is crammed against my chest.

Tuesdays, amiright?

“Are you okay?” My hands are still gripping his arms as he steadies himself, dark curls all I can see because he’s staring at the ground. He isn’t a large man, although that’s a relative assessment.

Most people are small compared to me. Corn fed, through and through, with a healthy dose of bacon grease to guarantee my arteries don’t get too cocky.

He finally looks up, and I stare, mesmerized by the pale gray of his eyes. They’re a stunning contrast to his mocha complexion—the color of clouds in a rainy autumn sky. I’ve never seen anything quite like them before. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammers, his voice soft and melodic, before his lip pulls up in a lopsided, uncertain grin. “I’m so sorry… I can be a bit clumsy sometimes.”

“Alright, short stack,” the lady beside me interrupts with a sneer, “you got all that attention you were looking for, so why don’t you move along now?”

I scowl but ignore her as he regains his footing. Another of those apologetic smiles quirks his lips as I make sure he’s steady, finally releasing his arms. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” His eyes dart to the woman before returning to mine. “Carpet monster.”

“What?” My brows shoot up in confusion, glancing at the worn industrial linoleum floor.

He ducks his head, a neon blush ripening his cheeks like a cherry tomato as his palms smooth his rosy pink shirt. The lettering on his chest reads DILF: Dang, I Love Flying, and I tilt my head as I read it .

“Carpet monster…” he continues, vaguely gesturing with his hands. “You know, when you trip over nothing? It’s the carpet monster out to get you.” His accent is subtle but strange, not one I can readily place. Not from anywhere around here, that’s for sure… not with those enunciated consonants and proper vowels. I snort a laugh, and his eyes fly back to mine, that crooked smile tilting his lips again.

“You a pilot or somethin’?” I gesture at the shirt, and his flush deepens.

“Or something,” he mumbles.

Beside me, the woman says, “Um, sweetheart, if you’re good, we need to move along,” and I’m floored by her nerve as I turn to get an eyeful of cleavage. Her arms push together, shoving her tits so high they could sneak their way out of a turtleneck.

“We?” he says, squeaking in high-pitched surprise before he coughs to clear it.

“Oh, bless your heart… you didn’t think he was into you , did you?”

Alright, I need to put a stop to this sooner than later. “Listen—”

“Delilah,” she interrupts, fluttering her lashes so fast, it’s a miracle she doesn’t take flight.

“Right, Delilah… regardless of whether I’m into him, I’m definitely not into you , and honestly? I’m not really sure why you’re even here.” My momma would smack the sass right out of me if she heard me speaking to someone so bluntly—especially a woman—but enough’s enough. “Go back to whatever you were doing and let me shop in peace.”

Her eyes widen so far, she morphs into a caricature of herself. “You’d rather spend time with someone like… him ?” She waves her hand up his body, gesturing to the whole of him. Blush spreads to his neck as his gaze falls to the floor, and his discomfort triggers an unexpected wave of fury. It’s rare I get annoyed, much less full-blown angry, but my protective instincts are spiking.

“He’s…” She leans forward as if she’s whispering a secret. “ Queer! ”

“You can’t know that from looking at someone!” I snap, tossing my arm around his shoulders as he chokes on a panicked whine. “And who said I wasn’t queer , too?”

Her mouth drops so far, her tonsils are on display. “Because you’re…” She does the hand thing again, gesturing to all of me. “You’re hot!”

I hum, tilting my head back and forth like I’m in deep thought. “So is he.” With that, I steer him in the other direction and walk away from the slack-jawed woman.

As soon as we round the corner, I withdraw my arm, leaving my hand on the man’s shoulder for a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Hey, I’m really sorry if I overstepped back there. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” In a small town, everyone knows everyone, and I’m known for being overly friendly. But I’m also a big guy, and a stranger to him.

Combined, the two might not make me the white knight I was trying to be.

“No, no, I appreciate the backup. She was… something else.”

“She was more used up than a gas station tanning bed and her bulbs were half burnt out.” He laughs then, a breathy, tinkling sound that’s musical like his voice, and I can’t help my grin, relieved that he doesn’t seem to be scared of me.

“You’re, uh…” He glances up at me again, those unique eyes shy under his lashes. “Making a cake, you said?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” I say, kicking my feet against the stained linoleum. “It’s my second cousin’s eighth birthday tomorrow, and I’ve been put in charge of the cake. Momma says she is too sick to bake, but I think she’s doing it just to torture me. Honestly, I considered buying one from the bakery and messing up the icing enough to make it look homemade, but I know better. As soon as they cut it open and saw how pretty it was inside, they’d be on to me.”

“No good in the kitchen?”

“‘Fraid not. Put me in front of a slab of meat, and I’m right at home…” A surprised, adorably noisy snort forms in his throat, and my mouth drops open as my hands land on my hips. “I’m sorry. Was there something funny about that?”

The stress from our encounter with Delilah disappears off his face as he flashes me a giant smile. “What slab of meat do you normally have in front of you?” He bats his lashes, feigning innocence, and I throw my head back in a laugh.

“You’re trouble,” I tease, and his cheeks flush again. Why do I suddenly want to do more to make that sweet blush appear? It’s been years since I’ve been attracted to a man, and I’ve never openly flirted with one… especially not in the middle of the Piggly Wiggly. “What’s your name?”

“Azrael,” he answers, wringing his hands, “but you can call me Az.”

“My name’s Beau.” I offer my hand, and he shakes it with a quiet huff of a laugh. “I’ll hazard a guess and say you ain’t from around here, are you?”

“Definitely not.” His smile is timid as he bites at his lip, and I can’t help it as my gaze drops to the hint of teeth sinking into the bottom one. “Um, so, I actually love to bake, and I’d be happy to help you pick out what you need.”

“You’d do that?” Another shy smile beams at me, along with an eager nod. “Well, let’s get going, then. Lead the way.”

“Do you have cake pans?”

“Darlin’, I don’t have anything ,” I tease, and he shakes his head, just a hint of that rosy hue darkening his skin.

We shift direction, walking towards the cookware aisle. He talks me through pan sizes and non-stick and cleaning and what sort of sprays I’ll need. My buggy gets loaded up with enough supplies to start a small bakery, and I don’t absorb a damn word he says.

I’m too busy watching his smile.

Once he’s satisfied with our haul, he leads me to the baking section. “There’s no need for you to make it from scratch, honestly, um… unless there’s like, a girl you’re trying to impress… or something.”

I bite my lips between my teeth, trying to hide my smile. “No girls to impress.”

“Oh, uh, great. I mean, not great, that’s… unless it is?” He clears his throat, tendons in his neck pulling taut as he grimaces. “Um, yeah, so boxed mixes are super easy.” He’s adorably flustered as we skim the aisle. Chocolate cake ends up as the winner, and we move to the canned icing and pick chocolate there, too, because who has ever gone wrong with double chocolate?

“Just use the recipe on the back of the box,” he explains, leaning close as he points it out to me. I hadn’t noticed how amazing he smelled earlier, distracted by my annoyance with Delilah. Cinnamon and vanilla, sweet like donuts. Those pretty eyes glance up at me again, and a twinge of something heavy swoops low in my gut.

“Hey, do you want to come back to my place?” I ask before I can consider what I’m saying, and his eyes widen. Too late, I realize how that sounded, and I cringe. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just… you’ve been so sweet helping me. I thought we could maybe hang out? And, I dunno, bake this cake together so I don’t completely ruin it? Is that weird to ask?”

“No, no, it’s not weird,” he says in a hurried rush of breath. “You would… you’d want to hang out with me?”

“Yeah, I really would,” I answer honestly, and I’m rewarded with another of those beaming smiles. “Do you want to follow me home?”

“Oh, um, well, I didn’t exactly drive.”

“You found an Uber in this town?” I ask, surprised. There are a handful of locals who will drive for money, but with the lack of demand, they’re hard to find. “Or are you going to tell me you flew in?”

“W-what?” Panic bleeds from his tone, and my brows bunch at the reaction.

“Your shirt,” I say, tracing my finger across the words. “You said you’re a pilot, of sorts . I was just teasing.” The gears in my head spin as he offers me a shaky smile, trying and failing miserably to appear unaffected.

What in the world made him so nervous?

“Ha, ha, no, I uh… ordered an Uber? Although it took a while for someone to pick up my request.”

“That sounds about right. Well, if you’re okay with it, you can ride with me. After, I could drive you, so you don’t wait forever to find another ride.”

“Oh, um… are you sure?” My eyes roam the tight features of his face, his darting eyes, and the way he chews on his lip. He’s nervous, and I find that it really bothers me.

I’m a nice guy—people are always comfortable around me. But he isn’t… and I’m being pushy. Why am I suddenly so interested in getting to know him that I’m willing to make him uneasy?

An apologetic smile pulls on my lips, and I hope it’s reassuring. “I’m sorry. You’ve been so helpful, and I didn’t mean to pressure you. Forget I said anything, okay?”

“Wait, no, it isn’t that… it’s not you . Definitely not you. It’s just that… people rarely ask me to hang out.” Red stains flare on his cheeks again as his gaze darts aside, and my chest gets tight with the uncertainty that seems to make him shrink.

“Well, I want to hang out with you, and I’m asking. What do you say?” Giant grey eyes meet mine, still unsure, but when a smile sneaks onto his lips, it takes over his entire face.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”