Bertie laughs, “Don’t try to pigeonhole me, young lady. I’m evolving or metamorphosing. Something big is happening to me here.”
“How do you figure that?” I ask.
“First of all, I’ve painted all my works in the same loft in SoHo. I’ve never wanted to paint anywhere else. Secondly, I left New York on a whim, for a place called Creek Water, of all things,” he shudders dramatically. “And finally, I’m completely on board with you moving here. I’ve never thought you should live any farther away from us than uptown, but I’ve decided that you belong here. What do you make of that?”
“I’d say, there’s definitely something going on with you. I’d normally guess a Vitamin D deficiency or something like that, but all your changes do seem to be for the better. Like you’re becoming open-minded.”
He claps so loudly I’m glad I don’t have a full bladder, or I may have peed my pants. “That’s why I can’t wait to get started on this painting. I know it’s going to be something completely different from anything I’ve done before. I just don’t know what yet.”
I’m happy for my dad. As an artist with a matching temperament, he’s prone to wildly vacillating emotions. Lately, he’s been downright depressed. This new upbeat, almost manic version of him, while a bit disconcerting, is also kind of exciting.
We stop off at a liquor store to pick up a couple of nice bottles of wine. Lee said she was making Beef Bourguignon, so we get cabernet. It only takes us ten minutes to get to their house once we get back to the car. I like how it feels driving through the countryside with my dad. We’re quiet and pensive as we go.
There are several other vehicles in the driveway when we arrive. Beau’s dad answers the door and I introduce, “Jed, this is my dad, Bertie.”
Jed shakes my dad’s hand enthusiastically. “Come on in. Imagine how excited we were to learn that Lexi’s going to be living here in town. And knowing her daddy’s going to be here for the next little while makes it all the nicer, dontcha think?”
My dad says, “I think we’re both very happy to be here.”
“Can I get y’all a beer or a cocktail or something?”
I raise my grocery bag in the air. “I brought wine.”
“Well, darlin’,” Jed says, “you go right on in and take that to Lee”—he points the way—“I’ll show your daddy around.”
My dad goes willingly as I head in the opposite direction. Jed and Lee’s house is quite stunning. It’s a large two-story brick home that’s probably twice the size of Emmie and Gracie’s house. But of course, twice the number of people used to live here.
The furnishings are classic and comfortable looking. There’s a positively huge sofa upholstered in a butter-colored whale bone corduroy that makes me want to curl up on it. The colors are primarily neutral with pops of burgundy and teal blue. It’s warm and welcoming and I love it.
When I turn down the hall leading into the kitchen, I run smack into Beau who’s coming from the other direction. He’s texting and not watching where he’s going so I have to jump out of his way to avoid getting run over. “Whoa, hey there,” he says when he notices me. “I didn’t see you, sorry.”
“No worries. I was on the way into the kitchen to see your mom.”
There’s something crackling in the air that feels remarkably similar to when he handed me the keys at my house—I’m already thinking of it as mine, even though I don’t have the title yet.
Beau is staring at me in that way again. I try to break the intensity of the mood and ask, “Is Shelby here yet?”
He shakes his head, “No, ma’am. She’s not joining us tonight.”
“That’s too bad,” I say, really meaning it. If I hadn’t witnessed that snug little scene between the two of them earlier today I might not feel that way. But they’re clearly a couple, so the less I see of Beau without Shelby, the better.
“Why is that too bad?” he asks.
“Because I like her.” And while that’s true it has nothing to do with my wishing she was here.
“She’s a nice girl,” he says, not really selling it. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.
“I was taking the wine to your mom. I thought I might get a glass.”
He reaches out and says, “Let me take that for you.” I’m left to follow him like a puppy.
Lee and Gracie are in the kitchen mashing potatoes and tossing a salad. They’re so excited to see me you’d think I was Tina Turner or something. Gracie drops her salad tongs and throws her arms around me. “You’ve got a house! Lee’s been filling me in on everything the two of you are working on; I want to help.”
I laugh at her excitement. “I need as much help as I can get.”
Gracie picks up a file folder sitting on the counter and says, “Good. I picked these up at the library today. They’re copies, so they’re all yours.”
“What are they?” I ask.
“Most houses that operated as part of the Underground Railroad never kept any documentation. The Frothinghams were different. They kept records.”
“Wouldn’t that have endangered them or the slaves they helped?” I ask.
“It would have if they’d ever been found. But they kept them in the family mausoleum.”
“In the cemetery?”
“Course, honey, that’s where mausoleums generally are.”
“I’m missing something, Gracie. If they kept records there, how did you get them from the library?”
“Some Frothingham way back turned them over to the city to preserve. They were getting kind of messed up being stored in that musty old family crypt.”
I open the folder and there must be two hundred pages of diary entries and names. “Who wrote these?” I ask.
Lee answers, “Regina Frothingham. She was the wife of Jedidiah. They were the ones who built the house.”
“Regina?” I ask, thinking this is yet another sign that I’m supposed to be in this house. “Regina is my mom’s name.”
Lee laughs in surprise. “Really?” Then she demands, “When are you going to get your mama down here to see your new place?”
“Soon, I hope.” I don’t want to get into the whole angry-mother story. I’m not sure what these Southern ladies would make of my intense Northern mom.
Beau hands me a glass of wine and says, “May I escort you to the dining room?”
“No, thanks, I’d like to help with dinner,” I reply, eager not to be alone with him.
“Nonsense,” Lee says. “You kids go on and have some fun. Gracie and I won’t be but a few more minutes.”
When we get into the dining room, we’re the only ones there. I ask, “Where are Emmie and Zach?”
Beau sits right next to me and answers, “Faye was feeling poorly so they decided to stay in tonight.”
I try to stand up as I say, “That’s silly. I’ll go stay with the baby and they can come on over and eat,” but Beau reaches out to pull me back onto my chair.
“No, ma’am, Emmie told me to make sure you stayed here.” Then he adds, “I think they’re looking for a little alone time.”
Crap. Well, now I can’t go over there. How in the heck am I going to get through dinner sitting next to Beau?
Chapter 32
Dinner is both delightful and excruciating. Amelia didn’t come either, so it’s me and my dad; Beau, his brother Davis, and their parents; and Emmie’s mom and her Uncle Jesse.
I’m seated between Beau and Davis. Davis happily talks about my new house. “You know I’m a woodworker, right?”
“I do. Emmie says you make the most beautiful furniture she’s ever seen.”
“Well, I’m at your beck and call if you need my services with your renovation.”
I like Davis a lot. He’s a world easier to talk to than his brother, probably because I’m not attracted to him. “I will most assuredly hire you before anyone else,” I tell him.
“No, ma’am,” he says. “You misunderstand. You’re buying my family’s original home, so as a Frothingham a
nd as a friend, I’m offering my services free of charge.”
“Davis, you can’t mean that.” Although I really hope he does.
“I do mean it. You can have all my free time until you’re up and running.”
Beau is eavesdropping and doesn’t appear to be very happy about what he’s hearing. “Davis, you don’t have enough time to build me that set of bookshelves I asked you for. Don’t get Lexi’s hopes up.”
Davis chides, “She’s a lot prettier than you are, brother. I can find as much time for her as she needs.”
Even though Davis says that flirtatiously, I think he’s only doing it to tease Beau. If I thought for one minute that he was interested in me romantically, I’d never take him up on his offer.
Meanwhile, my dad seems to be having the time of his life. He’s telling stories about growing up in New York that have his audience enthralled. When he starts in on the tale of how he won a David Hockney painting from the artist himself after besting him in a dance-off at Studio 54, every Frothingham at the table is staring at him like he’s some kind of exotic bird.
Lee asks, “Did you keep the painting?”
“I wish. The truth is I was young and in need of money to fund my own art, so I sold it for a hefty sum and got busy creating my own works.”
“What does Lexi’s mom do?” Jed asks.
Bertie proudly replies, “She’s a professor of Women’s Studies at NYU.”
Jesse says, “We sure hope we get a chance to meet her while you’re here.”
That would be nice—maybe even possible—if my mom wasn’t currently livid with my father. I reply, “Mom is very busy right now.”
“Surely she gets Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation,” Gracie suggests.
My dad decides to take a vacation from reality and says, “I’m sure she’ll be down to visit both times.” Keep dreaming, Dad.
Dinner is delicious and while I studiously try to ignore Beau, I find that it’s easier said than done. He keeps accidentally brushing his hand against mine whenever one of us passes something around the table. He’s been attentively refilling my wine glass, and by the time I notice that it never seems to empty I’m feeling a little tipsy.
Over dessert, I announce, “It’s too bad Shelby’s not here.”
Lee looks up startled. “Why?”
I know she isn’t excited about the relationship between her son and Shelby, so I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I feel the need to remind Beau of her existence. His foot has started to migrate under the table. “I like her,” I reply.
My comment is met with awkward grunts that could either be agreement or not. My dad says, “She’s a very nice young lady. Where is your girlfriend tonight, Beau?”
Beau corrects, “She’s my friend.” Not by the looks of what I witnessed this afternoon, but I don’t mention it as spying on them doesn’t cast me in a good light.
I can tell Bertie wants to say something else as he looks between me and Beau. But before he has a chance, Gracie says, “Why don’t we take our drinks into the living room so we can enjoy the fire?”
The Frothingham men immediately stand to pull the chairs out for the ladies. Beau and Davis both make a grab for mine, but Beau manages to get right behind me and bodily shove his brother out of the way.
In the living room, I sink into the sofa I was admiring when I arrived. I’m overcome by a desire to sleep. Beau seems to read my mind and hands me the softest throw in the world. Then he sits down next to me. In my pleasantly buzzed state, it’s all I can do not to crawl into his lap and curl up like a kitten.
The sudden warmth and comfort that permeate my extremities make it impossible for me to participate in the conversation. Instead, I lean back and listen to the voices around me as they get lower and lower until I can’t hear them at all.
Chapter 33
The next time I open my eyes, it’s morning. I’m more than a little confused as I look around the living room. I vaguely remember seeing it before, but even so, I’m not quite sure where I am. I get distracted while trying to put together the chain of events that led me to being here. Beau is sleeping on the couch adjacent to me. He’s wrapped in a blanket similar to the one I’m still cocooned in.
That’s when it starts to come back to me. I had dinner with his family last night. I’m at Lee and Jed’s house. The morning light has just started to make its climb into the sky, and the house feels very still. It appears I’m the first one up.
I’ve never in my life fallen asleep at a dinner party. I know I drank more than normal, thanks to Beau’s attentiveness, but I didn’t think I drank enough to pass out. I wonder how my dad got back to his apartment.
After a thorough yawn and stretch, I make my way to the powder room off the entryway. I’m startled by my reflection. My eye makeup has run to the point of entering raccoon territory, my curly hair is reminiscent of a psychotic clown, and my clothes are rumpled like I slept in them, which of course, I did.
Lee left a note on the vanity for me along with a small bag labeled “Guests.” I look inside and find a brand-new toothbrush and various other toiletries to help perk me up. Her note says that if I want to shower I should use the bathroom down the hall. I decide not to because once I’m clean I’m not going to want to put on last night’s clothes. I’ll shower when I get back to Bertie’s.
When I go into the kitchen to retrieve my purse and the file that Gracie brought for me about the history of my house, I find Beau standing next to the coffee pot looking so incredibly sexy I nearly let out a groan.
Like me, he’s wearing his clothes from last night. His shirt is untucked and unbuttoned rewarding me with a very enticing glimpse at what lies underneath. My knees weaken as butterflies zip through my midriff. His beard is scruffy and his hair mussed from sleep. I nearly walk over so I can run my hands through it.
“Mornin’ sleepy head,” he says by way of greeting.
“Good morning,” I manage. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up last night?”
He laughs, “We tried to, but you mumbled something about the couch being your new home and you went right back to sleep.”
“How did my dad get back to the loft?”
“I drove him,” he says.
“Then why are you here? Why didn’t you go back to your own place?” I don’t even know where Beau lives, but I assume it’s not here or he wouldn’t have been sleeping in the living room wearing last night’s clothes.
He shrugs. “I thought it’d be nice to have breakfast with you this morning.”
What in the world is going on here? Up until last night, Beau’s acted like he couldn’t wait to get away from me, but now he’s going out of his way to spend more time with me. Something doesn’t add up.
“Do you want pancakes or eggs?” he asks.
“Pancakes,” I answer as I gratefully accept the cup of coffee he hands to me.
“Bacon or sausage?”
“Sausage,” I say. “But you don’t have to cook for me. I can pick something up in town.”
“Nonsense. You sit on down and keep me company. Once my daddy knew I was gonna to stay over, he placed his order. While my mama makes the best suppers, I’m the one in the family known for breakfast.”
I sit at a counter stool and watch as he cracks eggs and whips up pancake batter from scratch. He’s like poetry in motion. My stomach growls loudly which makes him smile. “Pour yourself some orange juice,” he says.
“Where do you live?” I suddenly want to know.
“Not too far from your new house,” he answers.
“Where?”
“Next door.”
Why am I only now finding out that Beau is my neighbor? This information must be the source the look Emmie and the older Frothingham ladies shared yesterday. I wonder why they didn’t just tell me then. “Which next door?” I demand. “The brick colonial or the one with the window boxes?”
“Colonial,” he answers.
“Why do you need such a big house
?” I ask, although I belatedly consider that he may have bought it for his future family. So, I add, “I mean it’ll be a nice home for you to raise your kids in some day.” Crap, I don’t want to be his neighbor.
“I bought the house ages ago, long before thinking about a family.”
“Why?” I demand.
“Why are you buying your house?” he asks.
“Because I love it,” I answer, realizing that’s why most people choose the houses they do. So, I ask, “How long have you lived there?”
“Five years. I’ve been working on it ever since. It was in pretty rough shape.”
“But you said my house was for sale five years ago. Why didn’t you buy that one instead?” You’d think if he wanted something so big he’d have gone for his family home.
“Because I like the colonial better.”
“If you love it so much, why are you trying to talk me out of buying my house?” Being that he’s fallen in love with a house, you’d think he’d understand my motivation. The man is a puzzle.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pauses for a good long beat before answering, “I know firsthand how much work it can be and how expensive it can be. I wasn’t sure you knew what you were getting into.”
I don’t believe him. Not only has he been trying to talk me out of buying my house, he’s been pushing Atlanta on me, as well. Why is he changing his tune?”
Our breakfast is ready before Jed and Lee come down, so Beau and I sit side-by-side at the counter and eat. I roll a pancake around a sausage link, pigs in a blanket style, before pouring warm maple syrup over it. After taking a bite, I unconsciously let out a pornographic sounding moan. Trying to regain my composure, I ask, “Why are they so good?”
He smiles, clearly enjoying my appreciation of his efforts. “I use extra eggs to give the pancakes a crepe-like flavor, then I grind some fresh nutmeg into the batter.”
“They’re delicious,” I unconsciously release another satisfied sound.
“Wait until you try my barbecue,” he says. “I’ll have you over for dinner once summer comes and I fire up the grill.”
While it sounds like a tempting offer, the thought of having dinner at his house with him fills me with dread. How could everything seem so destined to be, only to have a wrench of this size thrown into my happiness. I’m not at all pleased, but there’s no way I’m going to give up the opportunity to own my house, even if it means having to suffer through living next door to Beau Frothingham. And believe me, I foresee it being a real chore, especially if he isn’t living there alone.
The Move (The Creek Water Series Book 2) Page 13