“It’s so peaceful out here,” she says. All she can hear are the murmured voices of people on a nearby boat and the lapping of the river beneath them. A far-off motor growls as a powerboat approaches.
“I’d live here all the time if I could. You want anything to drink? Water? Whiskey? Tea?” Gabe moves past her into the kitchen. The floor rocks beneath them on a wave from the incoming boat, and Bea stumbles. He reaches out and steadies her.
Bea looks up at him. Beneath the scruff, his lips are full and rosy and a little chapped. His hands are warm through the soft gray cotton of her Princess Leia shirt. He smells like spearmint gum and something else, maybe some kind of cologne. It’s a little spicy and not unpleasant.
I’ve never kissed anyone with a beard before, she thinks.
Then: I’ve never kissed anyone but Erik before.
She strides away on the pretext of looking out the front door. “Tea would be great,” she calls over her shoulder.
Jesus, what is she doing? She wanted to kiss him. She’s never wanted to kiss anybody but Erik, except maybe Chris Evans, who is very unlikely to ever cross her path. What is wrong with her?
“You want to play cards?” Gabe asks.
Bea glances at the well-worn cards on the table. “I’m not playing strip poker with you.”
Is she flirting? She’s totally flirting. Shit.
Gabe laughs. He has a nice laugh, low and rumbly. “That’s too bad. I don’t think you’d have a very good poker face,” he jokes, but all Bea can think is that she must, because Erik doesn’t know. Erik doesn’t know that she isn’t in love with him anymore or that she wanted to kiss somebody else.
“Actually, I was thinking Canasta,” Gabe continues. “I found all those cards over at Memaw’s place.”
“You…want to play Canasta,” Bea says slowly. Is he kidding?
“Sure, why not? You know how?” He pulls a kettle from the overhead cabinet.
“Yes, but…you want to play Canasta and drink tea?” She isn’t sure what she was expecting, but…okay, she expected him to make a pass at her. She isn’t sure if she’s relieved or disappointed that he hasn’t. It would have been easier to flounce off and never look back if he had.
“Well, I’m gonna have a glass of whiskey. But I’m happy to make you some tea.” Gabe pulls a box of herbal tea and a bottle of honey from a cupboard. He fills the kettle and lights the stove. “Momma and I are coffee drinkers, but Ma loves this stuff. Honey lemon chamomile. Says it helps her sleep.” He turns and smiles at Bea while she’s processing that he has two moms. “You want to shuffle and deal? Thirteen cards each.”
“Um. Sure.” She sits down at the table and grabs the cards.
Gabe grins, filling a small glass with whiskey and ice. “I should warn you, I’m a Canasta shark. Memaw taught Lyric—that’s my little sister—and me how to play one summer we were at the Gulf. Rained the whole week. Lyric and I play all the time now.”
“How old is she?” Bea asks.
“Ten.” Gabe pulls out his phone and shows her a photo of a grinning girl with brown skin and black braids.
“She’s really cute,” Bea says.
“She knows it,” he says.
Bea can’t stop sneaking looks at him as she shuffles and deals. A sort of warm contentment is making its way through her, even without the tea, lighting her up inside.
Chapter Eleven
KAT
Pretending to fall for Mason Kim is surprisingly fun.
Maybe it’s because they’re both actors. Or maybe it’s because Mase is actually kind of hilarious. He and his friend Maxwell have snagged two long, sharp sticks intended for roasting s’mores and are using them to fence. Mase is winning, jabbing and feinting and backing Maxwell toward the small crowd gathered in an empty field near the bonfire.
“Not bad, Mase!” Kat calls grudgingly. She likes having a reputation as hard to impress.
“I took a stage combat class last summer,” Mase says without looking away from his opponent.
Maxwell trips over his own feet and turns it into an elaborate pratfall. Mase pokes him in the chest with the gooey marshmallow end of the stick.
“A hit! A very palpable hit!” Maxwell hollers, then pretends to die a dramatic death with a lot of gasping and groaning.
Kat and Pen and the rest of the crowd applaud. Nearer the bonfire, Spencer Pennington and her friends roll their eyes, and Kat suspects they’re complaining about how the theater kids always have to make a scene. As usual, any attempt at cowing her only inspires Kat to make more of a scene.
“My turn,” she says, scooping up the stick next to Maxwell’s prone body.
Maxwell sits up. “Revenge my foul and most unnatural murder!” he moans, à la the ghost of Hamlet’s father, and then flops back down.
Mase ignores him. “You want to fence with me?”
Kat grins. “I want to kick your butt.” She hasn’t taken stage combat, but her Theater I class did the Reduced Shakespeare Company’s The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) last spring. It required a lot of swordplay. And she has all those years of ballet to her advantage; she’s graceful and super flexible, not to mention sneaky.
Mase gestures like Mercutio in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet. “Bring it.”
“En garde!” Kat calls. They circle each other warily. More theater kids have gathered to watch, including Adam and Jillian. Perfect.
Kat lunges forward, but Mase parries. She backs away, and he advances. They circle each other like gladiators in the ring, striking and retreating. Then he attacks with a flurry of blows, knocking her stick askew. Kat barely keeps hold of it and grand jetés away.
“This isn’t a dance party, Garrett,” Mase growls.
“I’m sorry; are my methods too unconventional for you?” she teases. “When I win, you have to go get me a Diet Coke.”
Mase parries her thrust and drives her toward the bonfire. “What do I get if I win?”
“What do you want?” Kat asks flirtatiously.
They cross swords and get in each other’s faces. “How about a kiss?” Mase asks, low—but not so low everyone around them can’t hear. He projects well.
“Ooooooooh,” the crowd says.
“Get it, Mase!” Maxwell hollers.
Kat looks into Mase’s dark eyes. He has incredibly long, thick eyelashes. “Okay.” She twirls away, hiding a smile. This is excellent romantic banter. She couldn’t have scripted it better herself. Everyone will find it adorable, even if it does require her to lose the bout. She hates losing—but if it’s in the service of the plan, it’s ultimately a win, right?