Anything For Love

by Melissa Foster

  AS THEY WERE paying for their purchases at the hardware store, Beau suggested they hit the furniture store to get Charlotte a nightstand, but she didn’t want to do any more shopping. She just wanted to be with him and talk about something other than the inn or work. A little while later they were seated at a table on the crowded patio of the Wicked Spur, a restaurant that had been recommended by the cashier at the hardware store. Twinkling blue lights dangled from tall umbrellas above each table. It might have given the place a romantic feel, if not for the vibrant yellow and green lights outlining fake palm trees scattered around the patio. Then there was the gorgeous view of the parking lot and vending machines. The band was the Spur’s saving grace. The guys looked like the members of ZZ Top, but they sang upbeat country songs like they were heaven sent.

  Charlotte watched Beau as he read the menu with the same concentration he’d used as he’d inspected each piece of wood he’d bought, as if he were checking a fine diamond for clarity. Did he do everything that discerningly?

  “Are you going to pick out something from the menu, or just stare at me?” Beau asked without looking at her.

  “What are you having?”

  He lowered the menu, and she saw a new contentment on his face. His jaw wasn’t clenched, and his eyes were softly serious, not quite as guarded. He looked at her for so long, she half expected him not to respond. He was good at not answering her questions. The back of his truck was loaded up with wood, molding, doors, paint, and other supplies, but he hadn’t given her a single clue about what type of medallion he was going to make.

  “Did you even look at the menu?” He cocked a brow, and the almost-smile she’d come to appreciate appeared on his handsome face.

  “Mm-hm.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She had looked at it. She was just too busy looking at him to think about food. She was learning to read him, figuring out when to back off and when she could push. Beau was complicated. She couldn’t figure out how close he was to his family, because he’d received texts from two of his brothers, and she’d noticed that he hadn’t responded to either. But then he’d received a call from his sister, Jillian, and he’d not only answered right away, but his happy expression had lingered after the call, when he’d told Charlotte that Jillian talked about as fast as she did. She’d learned other things, too, like how seriously he took his word. Not only from the things he’d said and done since they’d met, but by the fact that she was now the proud owner of two pink keys. The salesman had told them he was out of pink, and Beau had insisted he go into the back and see if they have more. With a huff and a grumble, the guy had begrudgingly carried out Beau’s request, and sure enough, he’d returned with a box of pink keys.

  “And what did you decide to get?” he asked, bringing her mind back to their conversation.

  “I don’t know. There are too many choices.” She hoped that was true, but his snicker indicated she’d missed the mark.

  He leaned forward as if he were sharing a secret, and a tease rose in his eyes. “It must be hard for you to go to restaurants that don’t serve candy or microwavable meals.”

  “You think you’re so funny.” She enjoyed this teasing side of him. “I eat real food.”

  “Mm-hm. A bite of steak doesn’t count.”

  The waiter arrived with their drinks before she could respond. He had a baby face that contradicted his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Beau eyed his cowboy hat, and she stifled a giggle.

  “Sorry the drinks took so long. The bar is slammed tonight,” the waiter said as he set a glass in front of Charlotte. “One strawberry daiquiri with extra whipped cream.” He set down Beau’s glass. “And one beer. Have you decided on dinner?”

  Charlotte picked up the menu. “You go first. I need a sec.”

  “I’ll have the covered wagon,” Beau said. “Hold the onions.”

  “Good choice. You must be hungry,” the waiter said.

  Charlotte scanned the menu and found the covered wagon. A half-pound burger with the works. Perfect. “I’ll have the same with extra fries and a side of pickles.”

  “A woman who’s not afraid to eat. Nice,” the waiter said as he collected the menus.

  As he walked away, Beau arched a brow. “Your stomach isn’t going to know what hit it.”

  “My stomach will be fine.” She sipped her drink. “Mm. This is so good. You have to try it.” She moved to the seat beside him and pushed her drink in front of him.

  “No thanks.”

  “I bet you only drink big-man drinks, right? Beer? Scotch? Whiskey? Just taste it. Come on. I’ll taste yours.” She grabbed his beer and took a sip. “Your turn.”

  He took a sip and made a face. “It’s like drinking candy.”

  “I know. So good!” She took another drink. “I like this cheesy place. The music is good, and the lights are pretty, even if we are looking at a parking lot.” That earned a genuine smile. “You look younger when you smile.”

  “Do I look old when I don’t?” He took a drink of his beer, no doubt to wash down the sugary goodness of her daiquiri.

  “No, but I still like to see your smile.” She looked at the people sitting at nearby tables, and her writer brain immediately began weaving stories for each of them. She wondered why she couldn’t weave a backstory for Beau. She’d tried, but she kept coming up empty. “I bet you had a dog growing up.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you seem like a dog guy. Rough and tumble, serious but caring. I don’t know. You know how people say dogs are loyal and protective? That’s how you come across.”

  He took a long pull of his beer, watching her as intently as she was watching him. “We had a dog. Or rather, I had a dog. Shadow. He was a German shepherd, and he was a great dog. He lived a long life. We had to put him down when he was twelve.”

  “Did you cry?” She tried to imagine him crying but couldn’t.

  “No. I missed him, but I went for a ten-mile run.” He shrugged, and she could see that was how he dealt with things. He bottled everything up.

  “Did you get another dog?”

  He shook his head. “Not right away. I didn’t want to replace him. Then a few years ago I was renovating a house, and this dog showed up. Darn thing followed me everywhere.” His expression brightened as he spoke. “I tried to find his owner, but nobody claimed him. So I brought him home, and after a week I realized the dog was a thief. He stole everything from keys and socks to books. Nothing is off-limits for my guy.”

  She melted a little at my guy. “Where is he now?”

  “Bandit? My parents are watching him while I’m here. I miss him, though. He’s usually with me.” He took another drink and said, “Do you always study people?”

  “I don’t often see people. But I do love finding mannerisms and things to use in my writing.”

  “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Go for it.” She plucked the strawberry garnish from her drink and bit into it, swaying to the music.

  “Where did you live before moving here?”

  “I grew up in Port Hudson and went to college there, but I spent summers at the inn with my grandparents, and every winter break with my parents and my mom’s father in a small village in France, where she was from. After we lost my grandmother, I started spending winter breaks with my grandfather instead of going to France because I didn’t want him to be lonely, and then I visited my other grandfather over spring break until he passed away. When we lost my grandmother, my grandfather closed the inn, opening only for certain events. After my parents were killed, we sold the house in Port Hudson, and I came to live here. And after my grandfather died, I inherited the inn and everything he owned.”

  “You have suffered so much loss. That must have been difficult, leaving your friends, your school, and going to live in an inn that was no longer open?”

  The waiter brought their meals, giving Charlotte a chance to wrap her head around the fact that Beau genuinely wanted to know about her background. Most p
eople shied away from the details, focusing on what she’d inherited instead of what she’d lost and how her life had changed.

  The burgers were enormous. “There is no way you can eat that,” Beau challenged.

  “Watch me.” She picked up the burger and took a huge bite.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked.

  Beau chuckled at her chipmunk cheeks and said, “I think we’re good, thanks.”

  After the waiter left, Beau waited for her to swallow and said, “You don’t have to eat it all.”

  “Yes, I do.” Charlotte took another big bite.

  “Have it your way.” He ate a fry. “If I’m getting too personal with my questions, just tell me to back off.”

  “What if I don’t want you to back off?” she asked, surprising herself. His eyes went hot, and she gulped her drink. She waved at his food and said, “Eat your burger.” So I can think.

  His tongue swept over his lips, making it even harder for her to focus. She knew how those lips tasted, how they felt warm and insistent…

  Oh boy…

  She looked down at her food to avoid falling into him again.

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, reminding her that he was still waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t mind talking about it. It was hard leaving my friends and my home. My best friend Aubrey’s family offered to let me stay with them, but I needed to be with my grandfather. I was just so sad. As I mentioned, I was a senior in high school. My parents had guided me through life, and suddenly…” Her throat constricted.

  Beau put his hand on hers. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “I’m okay. It’s just hard to say it aloud sometimes. I wanted to sort of hole up and hide, but my grandfather wouldn’t let me wallow. He told me, ‘Sometimes you’ve got to let the pain sink deep into your bones until it aches so badly you think you’ll shatter. Only then can you truly move on.’ He was a wise man, and he saved me from myself. Every day we went for walks and talked about my grandmother and my parents. We talked about life and we talked about death, the good times and the bad. And when I say talked about it, I mean we bitched and we celebrated, and sometimes we just walked in silence. That was good, too, because reflecting on things can be as good as laughing and crying, as long as you don’t get mired down in the sadness. But my grandfather was always there to help me find my way back to the surface. And we weren’t always alone at the inn. My grandfather had a staff that included a chef, groundskeepers, housekeepers, and he opened the inn for a handful of events, including the awards ceremony for the Mad Prix every summer.”

  “You were lucky to have him, and don’t worry, I’ll have the work done by the weekend of the ceremony.”

  “Oh, um, okay.” She paused to take a bite, toying with the idea of coming up with more work for him to do to keep him around longer. But she knew how silly that was. He had a life to get back to, and she had writing to do.

  “I’m trying to imagine what it’s like for you to host the awards ceremony. You might actually have to leave your office.”

  “You act like I never leave my office, but look around you. No laptop. No desk.”

  “Being out looks good on you,” he said, and bit into his burger.

  “Thanks. Talking looks good on you.” They ate in silence for a few minutes, listening to the music.

  “How do you pick what events you open the inn for?”

  “It’s pretty easy for me. I opened for Josh’s wedding because Hal had gotten married there, so I knew it was important to Josh. And my parents were the original coordinators of the Mad Prix. The awards have always been hosted at the inn, and I grew up attending them. The staff has been doing it for so many years, they really don’t need me around. In fact, I pretty much just pop out to welcome them, make an appearance during the ceremony, and other than that, I can hole up in my office and know it’ll all be carried out smoothly.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a good team to make it happen. My brother Graham is competing this year.”

  “That’s awesome. Three Bradens in the race? He and your cousins Ty and Sam can duke it out for first place.” Sam was one of Ty’s older brothers. He hadn’t raced last year, but he had in previous years.

  “Actually, Sam won’t make it this year. His wife, Faith, is pregnant with their first child, and she’s having a hard time with morning sickness.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame, but how exciting to have a baby!”

  “They’re elated.”

  They ate in comfortable silence, broken only by the music from the band and the din of the other diners. Not for the first time Charlotte noticed how different she felt being away from the inn, surrounded by life and activity. She noticed everything: the fragrances of colognes and perfumes, the aromas of various foods, and even the scents of nature and cars carried in the air. She felt lighter, away from the pressure of her deadlines, and rejuvenated, filling up her well with the sights and sounds of others. She was glad Beau had dragged her out, even if she needed to write. He seemed a little different, too, although he had that sharp look in his eyes again, like he was overthinking something.

  “Go ahead,” she said as she plucked a fry from her plate. “Ask me whatever it is that you’re thinking about before it burns a hole in your brain.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “Not usually,” she said honestly. “But I’m learning to read your wrinkled brow.”

  “You are, are you? Well, you caught me. I’m just wondering where you were living when you lost your grandfather.” He finished his beer and stole one of her fries.

  She knew that for him to continue asking questions had to mean he was letting his guard down a little more. “I was still in Port Hudson. My grandparents didn’t have my father until my grandmother was in her thirties, and my parents didn’t have me until later in life, too. By my senior year in college, my grandfather was pretty much bed bound. He had a full-time nurse, but a nurse isn’t family. I knew how lonely he was, so I tried to come back as often as I could. He watched my graduation ceremony on Skype. After graduation, I wanted to come back, but he told me I needed to stay there and start my life. I had interned at Port Hudson News, writing articles and doing whatever they needed, and they offered me a position. A few weeks later my grandfather passed away. I honestly believe my grandfather waited to die until I was settled, only I never felt settled away from my family. I know that’s weird, but it’s true.”

  “You came back alone?”

  “No. My girlfriends, my LWW sisters, Aubrey, Presley, and Libby, and a few of the others came back with me, but after a week I asked them to leave. I needed to deal with it in my own way, and I couldn’t just leave the Chickendales, or give them away. I know they’re just chickens, but my grandfather and I raised them together.”

  Beau reached for her hand again. “They’re your family.”

  She nodded, floored that he understood and wasn’t mocking her. “Exactly. It was just me and them. I took the same walks my grandfather and I had, remembering the stories he’d told me about his relationship with my grandmother. I didn’t want to lose those memories, so I began journaling. Before I knew it, it was winter, and I had written their love story. My friends were pressuring me to come back to Port Hudson, so I told them about what I’d written to prove that I wasn’t withering away up there on the mountain. They were knee deep in launching LWW Enterprises and they wanted me to join them and work hand in hand with Presley on the publishing side. But I’m not a corporate business person.”

  “You may not be a corporate business person, but I think you could succeed at anything you tried, given what you’ve gone through and what you’ve accomplished.”

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me to hear that. When I turned them down, Presley wanted to read the story and possibly publish it, but I didn’t give it to her. It was too personal to put out there like that. I mean, it’s an amazing love story. You’d think my grandparen
ts were childhood sweethearts, but they weren’t. They didn’t even meet until my grandmother was almost thirty years old, which was an old lady in her day. She was supposed to marry her best friend, but he was killed in the war. She thought she’d never love again, and then a few years later she met my grandfather on a train, and she fell in love. She used to say that the heart is like a garden. If all the elements are right, it can breathe life into a wilting soul.”

  He was studying her face so intently, she wondered if he thought she’d made it up.

  “Sounds like they were very lucky,” he said. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you go from writing a personal love story to erotic romance? They seem a world apart.”

  “Hey, don’t let the genre fool you. The difference between erotic romance and contemporary is what drives the story. In contemporary, it’s love, like my grandparents’ story. In erotic romance the story is driven by sex, but they’re still love stories. They’re just edgier. No-holds-barred, so to speak. People have sex all the time, and some people have kinky sex. That’s part of life. I’m proud to say that my characters always find their forever loves, even though they take a darker, hypersexualized path to find it.”

  His low chuckle gave her goose bumps. “Okay, I get that. Your books are emotional. But why the switch in genres?”

  “I got into it on a dare, believe it or not. I’m happiest when I’m writing, and being here makes me feel close to my family. I didn’t want to go back to Port Hudson. The girls were teasing me about my nonexistent sex life, and one thing led to another, and they dared me to write something erotic. To live vicariously since I refused to pick up guys at places like this.” She waved her hand. “By late spring I had finished my first manuscript. I fell in love with the excitement and pace of the genre so much, I continued the series and became Presley’s first client. She heads up the publishing division, and she’s an amazing writer. We spent a few months working out the pacing and creating a series around the story. I have an assistant who handles my social media, but I keep a pulse on what fans are saying. Their love of my alpha characters and the worlds I create make me want to write more in the genre, not less. That’s why the writer’s block I’ve had ever since starting this second series feels like it came out of nowhere. I’m glad it’s lifting.” A silent message of understanding passed between them.