Sweetheart (The Busy Bean)

by Sarah Mayberry

  “Isn’t this cozy?” I said wryly.

  “She likes to lean,” Beck apologized. “We can switch sides if you’re not a dog person.”

  He started to throw back the covers but I caught his arm.

  “Relax. We had a dog when I was a kid and he used to sleep with me all the time.”

  “Oh. Cool. But still, let me know if she annoys you.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” I promised.

  He leaned close and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Thanks for indulging her. And me.”

  “It’s not an indulgence. She’s lovely.”

  He reached out to turn off the light, and we shifted around so that he was spooning me from behind, a thoroughly delightful situation that made me feel pleasantly overwhelmed and ridiculously safe. What woman wouldn’t want a man-mountain cradling her to sleep?

  “Your hair smells nice,” Beck said.

  His hand slid possessively over one of my breasts and he pressed a kiss to the nape of my neck.

  I blinked in the darkness, a dozen thoughts and feelings bouncing around inside my head and chest.

  Chief among them was the realization that if ever there had been a time for me to play it safe, I’d blown past it a long time ago. I was up to my eyeballs in whatever was happening between me and Beck, about as invested as it was possible for a person to be.

  He was a lovely, kind, smart, hard-working guy. He was also wildly sexy and incredibly good-looking, and pretty much a love god. Was it any wonder I’d fallen so hard and fast?

  I could feel the worry hamster starting to rev up his wheel, and I made an effort to focus on the here and now.

  The feel of Beck’s chest against my back. The warmth of his breath against my shoulder. The smell of clean sheets.

  A loud, shuddering snore destroyed my quest for mindfulness. There was a short pause, then I felt Beck draw breath to speak.

  “Did I mention Larry snores like a buzzsaw?”

  I started to laugh, because this was really not how I’d imagined the evening going. After a moment or two, Beck caught the bug and soon we were both wriggling with laughter. Every time I started to sober up, Beck would set me off again and vice versa, and it wasn't long before my belly was aching and my face was wet with tears.

  “Stop. Oh, God, my stomach,” I gasped.

  Beck solved our dilemma by kissing me, the sensuous slide of his tongue against mine the perfect antidote to our hysteria. After a moment he pulled back and rested his forehead against mine.

  “Regretting staying the night?” he asked quietly.

  “Nope.”

  His arms tightened around me. “Correct answer.”

  We shifted into a new position with my head resting on his shoulder, his arms wrapped warmly around me. And that was how I fell asleep.

  Talk about a perfect date.

  25

  Haley

  If someone had asked me a month ago if I was happy with my life, I would have given them an emphatic yes. I had a good job with great people, and I was growing my own business doing something I loved. My parents were alive and well, my sister doing well in her chosen career. In other words, everything was rocking along just fine.

  Now that Beck was a part of my life, though, it felt as though I was more than happy. I was happy plus, if that’s even a thing. Everything just seemed better because he was part of my world.

  For example, the morning after I spent the night at his place, he made me pancakes and we took Larry for a walk. They were just ordinary pancakes, and the trail we chose wasn’t particularly scenic, but Beck made me laugh and held my hand and generally made me feel like there was no place in the world he would rather be as we made our way along the trail.

  The feeling was completely mutual.

  The following day was a Monday and the first time we were going to interact in public after sleeping together. I was nervous about what he might do to reveal our new status—whatever that was. I hadn’t dared bring up the subject of my sister again, but my concern was still bubbling away in the back of my brain. If Jess found out that I was seeing her ex, she would not handle it well. But I’d already fucked things up once with Beck by raising the topic of my sister, so I’d swallowed my concerns and told myself to just go with the flow. If Jess found out about me and Beck via one of her Colebury friends, I’d simply deal with the consequences. Uncomfortable as they might potentially be.

  I needn’t have worried. When Beck arrived on his delivery run he greeted everyone in his usual friendly way. Was there a dirty glint in his eye when he smiled at me? Definitely, but it was subtle enough that I was confident I was the only one to register it. On the way out the door, he stopped by the espresso machine where I was working to tell me they’d found the current blend to work best with a slightly coarser grind. Then he’d dropped his voice to ask what I was doing the following night. With one eye on Zara, who was serving a customer, I told him I didn’t have any plans, and he informed me that I did now. When Zara moved within earshot, he went back to coffee talk before making an easy-breezy exit.

  That was when I understood that even though we hadn’t talked about my anxieties regarding my sister since that afternoon, Beck had taken them on board and was respecting them anyway. The fact that he was prepared to do that for me, that he’d taken the initiative without me having to raise the issue again... Well, it meant a lot.

  When he showed up at my place the following night, he brought me a loaf of sourdough bread his mom had baked for him and a pot of freshly churned butter from a local farm. I’d had a whole meal planned, but we wound up naked in my bed before I had a chance to get the salmon steaks I’d bought out of the fridge, and we wound up feasting on fresh bread and butter at ten o’clock.

  One of my all-time favorite meals ever.

  Being with him was both effortless and energizing. He made me feel smarter and funnier and sexier than I’d ever felt before, and it was pretty damned addictive. Which was why I was seriously torn when my mother rang to invite me to their place Friday night to celebrate my birthday.

  I wasn’t huge on birthdays, but dinner with my parents sounded like a very nice, low-key way to celebrate. But I was torn over whether I should invite Beck along. On one hand, I knew my night would be extra special if he was there, but there were so many cons it wasn’t funny. For starters, my parents knew him as Jess’s boyfriend. I wasn’t sure I was up to explaining all the ins and outs of how Beck and I were now seeing each other. Not yet, anyway.

  Then there was the fact that it was early to be inviting him to meet my parents, even if he’d already met them before. I didn’t want to be that girl. And, finally, there was the fact that I didn’t want him to feel obliged to buy me a gift when we’d only just started seeing each other.

  So when my mom asked if I wanted to invite anyone else to dinner, I said no, and when Beck invited me to his place Friday night, I simply told him I was catching up with my parents and asked if we could make it Saturday night instead.

  He was fine with switching nights, but I was left feeling a little wistful. We had so much fun when we were together—both in and out of bed—but there were some landmines we needed to negotiate at some point down the road.

  If we made it that far.

  My birthday got off to a great start when I arrived at work that morning to find Dave Beringer waiting for me in a pair of fancy running shorts and a Brooklyn Bruisers T-shirt. My first thought was that something had happened with Zara, but he quickly reassured me.

  “No, no, everything’s great. This was just the only time I could sneak out to come talk to you. She thinks I’m out for a run.”

  “Okay,” I said, still completely baffled as to why he was there.

  “It’s Zara’s birthday next month, and I wanted to get her something special. She’s mentioned you make bespoke boots a few times. Raved about them, to be honest. So I wanted to ask if you could make a pair for her for me?”

  He was adorably earnest for such a big,
powerful guy.

  “Of course. I would love to make something for Zara.”

  “And a month is enough time for you to do your thing?” Dave checked, looking relieved.

  “Absolutely. But I’m going to need a few things from you if you want to keep this on the down low. And you should probably know the price tag before we go any further.”

  I told him what I charge for a pair of handmade boots and he didn’t even flinch, simply nodding as though he’d expected to be paying that kind of money for a bespoke product. As a retired professional hockey player, I figured money was not a huge issue for him, but it was nice to have that part of the discussion out of the way. Next, I asked him to bring me a pair of Zara’s most comfortable shoes so I could use them for sizing and choose a last to suit her foot. Then I told him to come up with a list of her favorite things—places she loved, significant landmarks in her life, favorite colors, fond childhood memories, anything he could think of. Dave nodded along like a kid taking notes for an exam.

  “Got it.”

  I scribbled down my address and phone number and handed it to him. “I’m there most afternoons, but maybe text first to make sure I’m home.”

  “I’ll try to get you something in the next couple of days, but I’m going to have to be sneaky about stealing her favorite shoes. Zara notices things.”

  I smiled. “She definitely does.”

  Dave ducked his head into the kitchen to say hi to Roddy before he left, snagging a couple of warm-from-the-oven baby brioches to take with him. I finished my opening routine with a big smile on my face, my head full of ideas for Zara’s boots.

  I’d had the opportunity to make shoes for a couple of friends over the years, as well as family members, and they were always my favorite commissions. There was a different energy that comes from making something for someone you know.

  My good mood carried me through the morning and into the afternoon. I was in between commissions at the moment, so I spent a few hours tweaking the images on my Etsy site and doing some painful but necessary online marketing before getting dressed for dinner at my folks’ place. Normally I wouldn’t bother, but I knew my mom would have made an effort, and it seemed rude not to dress up a little myself.

  “Happy birthday!” my father sang the moment I arrived, pulling me in for a big dad hug, the kind that makes you feel eight years old with a scraped knee all over again.

  My mom was next in line, and she threw her arms around me and pressed a perfumed kiss to my cheek.

  “Happy birthday, darling. We’ve made all your favorites. Mac and cheese, roast chicken, and pineapple upside-down cake for dessert.”

  “Sounds great, Mom,” I said.

  My father had mixed up a pitcher of Aperol spritzes, and I sat through half a dozen silly toasts from my parents before opening their gift, a lovely necklace with a Swarovski crystal pendant shaped like an apple.

  “I don’t know what it was, but it just called out to me for you,” my mother said.

  “I love it. Thank you,” I said sincerely, immediately lifting my hands to secure the necklace around my neck. The apple settled just above my cleavage, winking in the light.

  “That will give all the men an excuse to look at your rack,” my mom said approvingly.

  My dad howled with laughter as I rolled my eyes.

  “That’s beautiful, mom. Maybe I should just go topless, cut out the middle man.”

  “Don’t be crass, Haley,” my mother said, very dry. “Subtlety is the name of the game.”

  My father leaned across to kiss my mother’s cheek. “Never change, my darling,” he said affectionately.

  My parents served up the meal and I told them about my commission from Dave Beringer. I’d just finished describing some ideas I’d had for Zara’s boots when my mother leaned across the table and put her hand on mine, squeezing gently.

  “I’m so pleased the business is working for you,” she said. “You’ve been so... I don’t know...content lately. As though you’ve found your place in the world. And tonight you’re just glowing.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, things are going well right now. Life’s pretty good. And, um, I’m kind of seeing someone.”

  My mother’s whole face lit up. “Ha! I knew it. I’ve always said that intercourse is wonderful for the complexion.”

  “Mom,” I said.

  She’s always been a bit risqué after a few glasses of wine.

  “A little bit of decorum, Lois,” my father said. “We all know both my girls are virgins.”

  My mom and I laughed dutifully at my father’s favorite joke.

  “So, when do we get to meet him?” my mother asked, all bright-eyed interest.

  “I don’t know if we’re at that stage yet,” I said cautiously.

  “Well, all right, but know that your mother and I are standing by, ready to embarrass you at a moment’s notice,” my father said. “I’ll even dust off the old family photo albums, just in case.”

  “Oh, please do,” I said. “He can laugh at that time you got your hair permed.”

  My father looked wounded. “I’d always wanted curly hair. You can’t blame a man for following his dreams.”

  “I can,” my mom piped up.

  We all laughed and suddenly it seemed silly to hold back my good news.

  “All right, you twisted my arm. I’ve been seeing Daniel Beck,” I blurted.

  My mother frowned as though I was speaking a foreign language and she was trying to decipher what I was saying.

  “Daniel Beck. Not Jess’s Daniel?” she clarified.

  “We ran into each other through work, and one thing led to another.”

  I could tell by the way they were both working hard to appear neutral that my news had thrown them. And not in a good way.

  “I always just assumed he’d stayed in New York after he and Jess broke up,” Dad said.

  “He’s living in Montpelier. He and his brother have started a coffee-roasting business.”

  “Huh,” Mom said. “So, how long has this been going on?”

  She was trying to keep things casual, but I knew what she was thinking: out of all the men in Vermont, why pick Beck when I knew how sensitive and volatile my sister could be?

  “It’s only been a few weeks. But I really like him,” I confessed, hoping they could see that this was important to me, and not just some infatuation or fling.

  “You know Jess will be upset when she hears about it,” Mom said, finally getting to the crux of the issue.

  “She’s never been a big sharer,” Dad joked, trying to relieve some of the tension. “And she was pretty worked up about the breakup, if you remember.”

  “I do,” I said.

  I wasn’t surprised their thoughts had automatically gone to Jess, but it was a little disappointing they couldn’t also be excited for me. Did the two things have to be mutually exclusive?

  “I was thinking I should give her a call and fill her in, so she doesn’t hear it from someone else first,” I suggested.

  My mother and father both frowned.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s been doing so well lately. We don’t want to derail her,” Mom said.

  “But wouldn’t it be more derailing if one of her friends saw me and Beck together and let her know?” I countered. “I’m thinking it would be smarter to get ahead of this.”

  They exchanged looks, clearly trying to discern where the other stood.

  “She’s been doing really well lately,” my father reiterated, backing my mother up.

  “I’m visiting her next month. Why don’t I do the deed then? That way I can be on hand to contain any fall out,” my mother suggested.

  “But what if she finds out before then?” I asked.

  It seemed to me that it would be better to be upfront with Jess, even if it meant she blew up at me and all that that would entail. A barrage of phone calls, nasty text messages full of imagined slights dredged up from our shared childhood. No d
oubt she’d try to blacken Beck’s name, too, at some point.

  So much fun. But she’d run out of steam eventually, and if Beck and I were going to keep seeing each other, it had to be done. I’d rather just grit my teeth and get it over with.

  “Personally, I think waiting until your mother can break the news is worth the risk,” Dad said.

  “So do I,” my mother agreed.

  I stared at them both, outnumbered. They were always more conservative than me when it came to managing Jess.

  “Okay. If that’s the way you want to handle it,” I said.

  Suddenly, I felt tired. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that my sister was so high-maintenance, but sometimes it was exhausting having to second-guess everything in order to try to soften the blows that most people took in stride.

  But Jess had always been like that. She probably always would be.

  It wasn’t something I could talk about with my parents, however. We’d had a frightening insight into how quickly and easily our lives could have changed that night ten years ago, and my parents’ sole focus now was on ensuring Jess never reached that low again. Everything was subsumed by that goal, no matter what else had to fall by the wayside.

  “You should bring Beck with you next time you come,” Mom said, belatedly realizing that they hadn’t exactly welcomed my announcement with open arms.

  Before I could respond, my mother’s phone lit up with a call, vibrating on the table.

  “It’s Jess,” she said when she checked the screen. “She must be calling to wish you happy birthday.”

  She was smiling as she hit the button to take the call on speaker mode.

  “Jess, sweetheart, perfect timing,” Mom said.

  “Something really horrible has happened and I don’t know what to do or where to go,” my sister said, her voice thick with tears.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart? What’s happened? Are you safe?” Mom asked, instantly on the alert.