“I’m telling you, that’s Duane. Beau’s hair is shorter.”
“Nope.” I shook my head again, more resolutely this time as I tried to regulate my breathing and body temperature. “I don’t go haywire around Duane. That must be Beau.”
In fact, I didn’t much like Duane. During the same episode that initiated and solidified my life-long adoration of Beau, my aversion for Duane had also been established. While Beau was climbing the tree to save my cat, Duane was throwing rocks at the branch. While Beau had been kissing my cheek, Duane had been mocking his brother.
I could tell Claire was trying not to laugh as she added, “Cripes, you weren’t kidding when you told me you had a crush on that boy. Is this the first time you’ve seen either of them since high school?”
“No. I saw Beau once at the Piggly Wiggly during my sophomore year of college when I was home for winter break. He was buying bacon and green beans, and I stood behind him in line.”
She stopped trying to hide her smile and grinned. “This is fascinating to watch.”
“What is?”
“You, struck stupid by a man. I mean, you’re Jessica James. You have this plan that ensures life-long freedom from commitment. You’re home just long enough to pay off loans and gain experience for your résumé. All you talk about is seeing the world, leaving this place in the dust, and here you are harboring a treasured memory of an encounter in the Green Valley Piggly Wiggly with Beau Winston. I bet you can recall that conversation word-for-word.”
I stared at her, wanting to deny it, but also not wanting to lie. She was right. I could recall the conversation word-for-word, action-for-action. He’d turned to me and asked if I’d mind passing him a gum package that was just out of his reach. I tried to shrug, but I’m sure it looked more like a minor seizure. Then I fumbled for the gum, accidentally knocking an array of breath mints to the floor.
He’d knelt and helped me pick up the felled mints, our hands touched, I almost fainted, and I was certainly bright red. Then he smiled at me. I almost fainted again. Then he helped me stand, and I almost had a heart attack.
He asked, “Hey, Jess… are you okay?” dipping his head close to mine, his amazing blue eyes all sparkly and lovely and concerned.
I nodded, not able to speak because his hands were still on my forearms, and gazed up at him. Butterflies and music only I could hear—that time it was Eternal Flame by the Bangles—drowned out the sound of his voice and the next words from his mouth. I did see that his lips curved in a barely-there smile as he studied me.
Then my brother Jackson appeared and ruined everything by telling Beau to mind his own business. Beau shrugged—an actual shrug, not a semi-seizure—and turned back to the cashier. He paid for his bacon and green beans and left.
The thing was, I was not a shy person. Not at all. I considered myself confident and levelheaded. I had a brother, boys were not a mystery to me. But Beau Winston had always rendered me beyond completely tongue tied. He rendered me stupid.
Now, nearly three years since the last time I’d seen him, my hands were balled into fists, and I couldn’t quite force my fingers to relax. I could feel and hear the whooshing of blood through my heart and between my ears. It appeared some things never changed. And now, instead of outgrowing my crush, apparently I was now unwillingly compounding my adoration by adding new, very adult feelings of hot, raging lust.
I was, in a word, completely ridiculous.
Okay, that was two words. I was so ridiculous, I’d lost the ability to count.
“Jess, seriously…are you all right? Your face is turning bright red.” Claire squeezed my arm, drawing my attention away from the sound of my blood pressure.
“Yeah.” I knew I sounded weak. “Just let me know when he’s gone.”
“You’re not going to talk to him?”
I shook my head quickly.
Her nose wrinkled; her eyes flicking over my shoulder briefly, presumably to his approaching form; she squeezed my arm again. “I’ve never seen you like this. This is not the Jessica James I know.”
“I can’t help it.”
Claire tsked. “Two weeks ago, when we were in Nashville, you walked up to that sexy stranger outside the club and kissed him.”
“You bet me ten dollars to do it. Plus he was totally hot. Plus I like kissing.”
“You’ll kiss a random guy on the street with nothing but sass, yet you can’t even look at Beau Winston?”
I nodded.
“Honey, most of those Winston boys are nice boys. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“Because I can’t.” My whisper was harsh, urgent.
“Yes, you can.”
“No. Really. I can’t.” I felt my eyes widen to their maximum diameter. “I’ve never successfully carried on a conversation with Beau Winston. Every time I try to speak it’s like my brain forgets English, and I start slurring Swahili or Swedish or Swiss.”
“People of Switzerland don’t speak Swiss. They speak German, French, Italian, and Romansh.”
“See? I’m becoming dumber with each second.”
I sucked in a breath because I could hear his voice now; he was speaking to the little girl, and the sound was so fantastically charming and sexy it caused my stomach to pitch then lurch like I was in a small boat in the middle of the ocean. I placed my hand over my belly and braced my feet apart.
When he entered my peripheral vision, my attention was drawn to him like a magnet. He was still smiling, but it was smaller, polite. He was handing the little girl off to a lady I recognized as Mrs. Macintyre, the lead librarian at the local branch in town. I knew at once Tinker Bell must be her granddaughter.
She said something about a chicken or a rooster. He said something in response. They laughed. I stared, letting the velvety sound wash over me. Once again I was caught on a big wave in the middle of the ocean—pitch, lurch.
Then it happened. His eyes flickered to the side, likely feeling my stalker stare, and he did a double take, his gaze ensnaring mine. My throat worked without success, and I was a heat wave of cognizance. His stare narrowed just slightly as I continued to meet his gaze.
God, I was such a creeper.
I wanted to look away, but I physically could not. He so rarely looked at me, I felt like I was falling, my surroundings fading away—everything except him and his blue, blue, blue eyes.
Annoyingly, the music only I could hear whenever he was near started playing between my ears—this time it was Dreamweaver by Gary Wright—therefore I missed the sound of his voice when he said, “Hey, Jessica.”
Instead, I surmised what he’d said based on the movement of his lips and subsequently tried my best to turn down the volume in my head. I nodded at him, still not able to look away.
Then, horrified, I watched as he excused himself from Mrs. Macintyre and Tinker Bell, and walked to where I was standing with Claire. I swayed a little, took a step backward as he advanced; Claire slipped her arm through mine and fit herself against my side. She probably thought I was going to either faint or make a run for it.
Unfortunately, I managed neither by the time he made it to where we were standing.
“Hey…Beau.” Claire said, the hesitation in her voice obvious. “You are Beau, right? Or are you Duane?”