The Beau & the Belle
Page 53
“Hello, Beau Fortier’s phone.”
Who am I? His secretary?
Apparently, Mrs. Fortier thinks so.
“Michelle? Is that you?”
“Oh, no. Umm, actually it’s Lauren. Uh…Lauren LeBlanc. Is there an emergency?” I ask, somewhat hopefully.
I cringe. What if he didn’t want his mom to know I was over here? It’s a little early for this sort of thing, isn’t it? I should have let her assume he was dead in a ditch.
“Lauren!” Her voice is filled with shock. “What are you doing over at Beau’s this early?”
The silence after that question could stretch across the Atlantic Ocean. There’s only one reason I’d be at her son’s house this early, and I know she realizes it when she does a little oh, silly me laugh.
My cheeks are on fire.
“Cooking…breakfast?” I croak.
She has the decency to turn away from the phone and conceal her laughter as a coughing fit. “Oh, I bet he’ll love that. He and I were actually supposed to meet this morning, but I think that’s probably going to need to be rescheduled.”
Because of me. She doesn’t sound too annoyed, but I won’t let things get shifted around on my account. Besides, my cinnamon rolls are delicious. She will love them.
“No! Why don’t you just come here?”
Turns out, Mrs. Fortier was already around the corner from Beau’s house. She knocks on the door and I answer quickly, steaming cup of coffee outstretched for her.
She takes in my outfit with raised brows and a pleased smile. “You look…warm.”
I forgot I’m covered in the many layers of Beau.
She accepts the cup of coffee and we head back into the kitchen. The smell of baking dough makes my stomach grumble. She takes a seat at the bar and appraises me over her cup of coffee. I try not to fidget.
“So you came over this morning to cook breakfast?”
“It’s a long story. Basically, my oven caught fire at my apartment yesterday so your son let me stay here.”
Her eyes are all-knowing. “How very selfless of him to invite you over.”
Her sarcasm reminds me of why I like her.
It’s been 10 years since Beau took me home to meet her, 10 years since I sat on her porch, completely in love with her son. I wonder if she can read the truth on my face now. I wouldn’t be surprised if the freckles on the bridge of my nose rearranged themselves to spell out his name.
“Breakfast smells delicious.”
“Cinnamon rolls from scratch,” I brag. “I was actually about to whip up some scrambled eggs to go with them, but now that you’re here, I might enlist your help. I still remember yours from that day I visited with Beau. They were so good.”
She smiles. “The secret is to smother them in Havarti cheese. It’s Beau’s favorite.”
I check the refrigerator, but Beau doesn’t have any. He does have an annoyingly large supply of pre-portioned protein shakes. I volunteer to go get some cheese from the grocery store a block over. She says not to bother, but I’ve been waiting 10 years to eat her eggs and I want them to be just right—for Beau, but more importantly, for me.
“I’ll be right back! The cinnamon rolls have another 20 minutes, but if I’m not back in time, you can pull them out. They should be good. The cream cheese frosting is in the refrigerator.”
It takes me 30 minutes to hunt down the right kind of cheese. The first store I go to didn’t have it. The second store did and I buy two packages. It’s overkill, especially considering I have no clue how many more breakfasts I’ll be enjoying at Beau’s house. If he kicks me out, I’m taking my cheese with me.
When I make it back to the house, I kick off my tennies in the foyer and reach to unravel the scarf before deciding to leave it on. His house is nice and toasty now, but I like how soft it feels around my neck.
I head toward the kitchen, wondering if Beau’s still sleeping, then stop short when I hear them talking. Eavesdropping! My favorite hobby!
“You’ve loved her for 10 years,” Beau says to his mom.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she protests. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snorts in disbelief. “Do you remember when I dated Lesley a couple years ago? You would accidentally call her Lauren.”
She laughs. “That was just a slip of the tongue. Their names are very similar.”
“You ask me about her every time we talk.”
“I do not. Refill my coffee, will you?”
Beau passes in front of the hallway to get to the coffee maker and I press my body against the wall, trying to make myself as flat as possible. If I had an invisibility cloak, I’d don it.
“It’s all pretty new and…unpredictable,” Beau warns. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Sugar?”
“Yes. Some milk too. What do you think I’m going to do?” She laughs. “Ask her what sort of wedding she’d like? If she wants children?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“There’s no point in asking. I want at least three grandchildren—you two don’t really get a say in the matter.”
“Mom,” he warns.
She’s really laughing now. “Oh you really are too easy to tease, just like always.”
Beau passes in front of the hallway again and does a double take when he sees me lurking in the shadows. Oh dear. I try to play off my eavesdropping as coolly and calmly as possible.
“HELLO! I JUST GOT BACK WITH THE CHEESE!” I exclaim as I lurch forward and present the grocery bag like it’s a fish I just plucked out of a river.
“Are you crying?”
I sniffle. “No. It was cold and windy out. Who’s hungry?”
“I know you were listening just now,” he says, coming around the island to take the bag from my hand. He drops a kiss to my cheek and there is no getting this lunatic grin off my face. I try to wipe it away, but like a coiled spring under tension, it bounces right back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Beau, may I have my coffee?” his mom asks, giving me a conspiratorial smile.
He turns away. “I forget, did you want milk?”
“Yes,” she and I both say at once.
He shoots a teasing glare at me and a giddy laugh spills out of me. “I wasn’t listening, just a lucky guess! Mrs. Fortier, are the cinnamon rolls still in the oven?”
“I pulled them out a few minutes ago and iced them. They’re just warming now. Here, Beau, hand me the cheese so I can make the eggs. Everything else is ready.”
I sit down at the table. Beau takes the chair beside mine, turning me so I have no choice but to face him. Our legs brush. He takes in my outfit with a chuckle, and then he reaches forward and tugs the scarf like it’s the end of a bow.
“Warm enough?”
The back of his knuckle barely grazes my neck and I shiver. “Yes. How’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby.”
“Me too.”
He tilts his head, blue eyes searing into me. “I distinctly remember you waking me up before the sun.”
His mom clears her throat, her back to us while she cooks eggs at the stove.
“Yes, right…uh, when I walked down from the guest room to cook you breakfast this morning.”
I’m fooling no one. He laughs and bends forward to kiss me good morning. He hasn’t shaved yet, and the stubble on his jaw tickles my bottom lip. It makes me love him more.
WHOA.
My stomach lurches like I’m going to be sick.
It hits me full force.
The microburst of love.
“What’s up?” he asks, acknowledging that I’ve turned to stone in a matter of seconds.
I shake my head and ask if there’s anything else we need. I list out breakfast items so as to fill my mouth with words that don’t start with the letter L: eggs, coffee, cinnamon rolls, fruit, orange juice.
“I think we’re all set,” Mrs. LeBlanc says, transferring the cheesy eggs onto a platter and bringing them over to the table.
Beau keeps his attention on me as I load up my plate. I can tell he wants to draw the truth out of me by any means necessary, but I don’t think it’s a conversation we should have while his mom is here with us. She shouldn’t be subjected to my tears when he inevitably pats my head and tells me to run along.
Who am I? His secretary?
Apparently, Mrs. Fortier thinks so.
“Michelle? Is that you?”
“Oh, no. Umm, actually it’s Lauren. Uh…Lauren LeBlanc. Is there an emergency?” I ask, somewhat hopefully.
I cringe. What if he didn’t want his mom to know I was over here? It’s a little early for this sort of thing, isn’t it? I should have let her assume he was dead in a ditch.
“Lauren!” Her voice is filled with shock. “What are you doing over at Beau’s this early?”
The silence after that question could stretch across the Atlantic Ocean. There’s only one reason I’d be at her son’s house this early, and I know she realizes it when she does a little oh, silly me laugh.
My cheeks are on fire.
“Cooking…breakfast?” I croak.
She has the decency to turn away from the phone and conceal her laughter as a coughing fit. “Oh, I bet he’ll love that. He and I were actually supposed to meet this morning, but I think that’s probably going to need to be rescheduled.”
Because of me. She doesn’t sound too annoyed, but I won’t let things get shifted around on my account. Besides, my cinnamon rolls are delicious. She will love them.
“No! Why don’t you just come here?”
Turns out, Mrs. Fortier was already around the corner from Beau’s house. She knocks on the door and I answer quickly, steaming cup of coffee outstretched for her.
She takes in my outfit with raised brows and a pleased smile. “You look…warm.”
I forgot I’m covered in the many layers of Beau.
She accepts the cup of coffee and we head back into the kitchen. The smell of baking dough makes my stomach grumble. She takes a seat at the bar and appraises me over her cup of coffee. I try not to fidget.
“So you came over this morning to cook breakfast?”
“It’s a long story. Basically, my oven caught fire at my apartment yesterday so your son let me stay here.”
Her eyes are all-knowing. “How very selfless of him to invite you over.”
Her sarcasm reminds me of why I like her.
It’s been 10 years since Beau took me home to meet her, 10 years since I sat on her porch, completely in love with her son. I wonder if she can read the truth on my face now. I wouldn’t be surprised if the freckles on the bridge of my nose rearranged themselves to spell out his name.
“Breakfast smells delicious.”
“Cinnamon rolls from scratch,” I brag. “I was actually about to whip up some scrambled eggs to go with them, but now that you’re here, I might enlist your help. I still remember yours from that day I visited with Beau. They were so good.”
She smiles. “The secret is to smother them in Havarti cheese. It’s Beau’s favorite.”
I check the refrigerator, but Beau doesn’t have any. He does have an annoyingly large supply of pre-portioned protein shakes. I volunteer to go get some cheese from the grocery store a block over. She says not to bother, but I’ve been waiting 10 years to eat her eggs and I want them to be just right—for Beau, but more importantly, for me.
“I’ll be right back! The cinnamon rolls have another 20 minutes, but if I’m not back in time, you can pull them out. They should be good. The cream cheese frosting is in the refrigerator.”
It takes me 30 minutes to hunt down the right kind of cheese. The first store I go to didn’t have it. The second store did and I buy two packages. It’s overkill, especially considering I have no clue how many more breakfasts I’ll be enjoying at Beau’s house. If he kicks me out, I’m taking my cheese with me.
When I make it back to the house, I kick off my tennies in the foyer and reach to unravel the scarf before deciding to leave it on. His house is nice and toasty now, but I like how soft it feels around my neck.
I head toward the kitchen, wondering if Beau’s still sleeping, then stop short when I hear them talking. Eavesdropping! My favorite hobby!
“You’ve loved her for 10 years,” Beau says to his mom.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she protests. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snorts in disbelief. “Do you remember when I dated Lesley a couple years ago? You would accidentally call her Lauren.”
She laughs. “That was just a slip of the tongue. Their names are very similar.”
“You ask me about her every time we talk.”
“I do not. Refill my coffee, will you?”
Beau passes in front of the hallway to get to the coffee maker and I press my body against the wall, trying to make myself as flat as possible. If I had an invisibility cloak, I’d don it.
“It’s all pretty new and…unpredictable,” Beau warns. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Sugar?”
“Yes. Some milk too. What do you think I’m going to do?” She laughs. “Ask her what sort of wedding she’d like? If she wants children?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“There’s no point in asking. I want at least three grandchildren—you two don’t really get a say in the matter.”
“Mom,” he warns.
She’s really laughing now. “Oh you really are too easy to tease, just like always.”
Beau passes in front of the hallway again and does a double take when he sees me lurking in the shadows. Oh dear. I try to play off my eavesdropping as coolly and calmly as possible.
“HELLO! I JUST GOT BACK WITH THE CHEESE!” I exclaim as I lurch forward and present the grocery bag like it’s a fish I just plucked out of a river.
“Are you crying?”
I sniffle. “No. It was cold and windy out. Who’s hungry?”
“I know you were listening just now,” he says, coming around the island to take the bag from my hand. He drops a kiss to my cheek and there is no getting this lunatic grin off my face. I try to wipe it away, but like a coiled spring under tension, it bounces right back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Beau, may I have my coffee?” his mom asks, giving me a conspiratorial smile.
He turns away. “I forget, did you want milk?”
“Yes,” she and I both say at once.
He shoots a teasing glare at me and a giddy laugh spills out of me. “I wasn’t listening, just a lucky guess! Mrs. Fortier, are the cinnamon rolls still in the oven?”
“I pulled them out a few minutes ago and iced them. They’re just warming now. Here, Beau, hand me the cheese so I can make the eggs. Everything else is ready.”
I sit down at the table. Beau takes the chair beside mine, turning me so I have no choice but to face him. Our legs brush. He takes in my outfit with a chuckle, and then he reaches forward and tugs the scarf like it’s the end of a bow.
“Warm enough?”
The back of his knuckle barely grazes my neck and I shiver. “Yes. How’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby.”
“Me too.”
He tilts his head, blue eyes searing into me. “I distinctly remember you waking me up before the sun.”
His mom clears her throat, her back to us while she cooks eggs at the stove.
“Yes, right…uh, when I walked down from the guest room to cook you breakfast this morning.”
I’m fooling no one. He laughs and bends forward to kiss me good morning. He hasn’t shaved yet, and the stubble on his jaw tickles my bottom lip. It makes me love him more.
WHOA.
My stomach lurches like I’m going to be sick.
It hits me full force.
The microburst of love.
“What’s up?” he asks, acknowledging that I’ve turned to stone in a matter of seconds.
I shake my head and ask if there’s anything else we need. I list out breakfast items so as to fill my mouth with words that don’t start with the letter L: eggs, coffee, cinnamon rolls, fruit, orange juice.
“I think we’re all set,” Mrs. LeBlanc says, transferring the cheesy eggs onto a platter and bringing them over to the table.
Beau keeps his attention on me as I load up my plate. I can tell he wants to draw the truth out of me by any means necessary, but I don’t think it’s a conversation we should have while his mom is here with us. She shouldn’t be subjected to my tears when he inevitably pats my head and tells me to run along.
