"I didn't. I never really met her, before um, the day before she um, passed away.” I end lamely, looking into the coffee as it turns a light brown. I turn to look at Hall, “Like I told Detective Cortez I went with Beau to grab a few of his things from the apartment. He was staying there. I had no idea whose place it was or that she was there at the time, neither did he.” I move to the island to properly face them but run a cloth over the surface while speaking, to busy myself. “She walked out of the bedroom, and I left shorty after that. I never spoke to her directly."
Detective Hall looks at me, saying something that throws me, "Why do you think the killer left behind the carnations?"
"Wa..what?" I stammer, "W-what are you talking about?" I look back and forth between the two of them. The bathroom door slams alerting me of Beau’s presence. Beau stomps up beside me and glares at the detective.
"I told you she didn't see them." He frowns pressing his lips into a thin line.
“What are you guys talking about? What carnations?" I can hear my voice shake, but I can’t stop it.
Beau's large palm lands on my back and slides up to my neck.
I turn my eyes, searching his steady green ones.
"It's nothing for you to worry about Samantha," he promises while maintaining eye contact. I turn back to the two detectives and both of them are watching us with open interest.
Cortez is the one that's speaks, "Mr. Huntington, it's nice to see you again and so soon. Yesterday when we spoke, I forgot to ask where you'd be staying." He looks at me and smirks, "I suppose I can find you here, should the need arise." His tone makes our living together sound lewd, indecent. I step over to the counter, putting my back to them as I face the coffee machine and grab Beau’s cup.
I hold the mug between my palms and let the implications of what she said sink in. Carnations. Why would that flower be significant to them? Do they know about me receiving the flowers? Did they say the killer left those flowers? And if so, why?
Beau's stern voice interrupts my musings, "I've given you my phone records and told you every detail I can recall of our brief encounter, Thursday night. I've cooperated completely. I want whoever did this off the streets, and to pay for what he did. I think you're wasting your time on us." His voice rises considerably in agitation as he speaks with the detectives.
I place my hand on his arm and give him the coffee, then turn to the two people that are making him so upset.
"I'm really sorry. As you can tell, I didn't know about the flowers. I didn't see any flowers. I don't know how I'd be of any help to you." Beau doesn’t want them to know. I don’t know why, but I step around mentioning my own stalker with carnations.
Cortez nods his head and takes the final sips of his drink, "Right, if either of you think of anything else just give us a call." He sets a white card on the island and stands up.
Hall is quick to follows.
"We'll be in touch," she says as they head for the door.
I rush around the kitchen to open it before they leave.
Once the door closes, I look over to Beau for answers. His expression is closed off, and his arms are crossed over his chest.
22
Beau stands with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. I give him a few moments before asking the questions he must know are coming.
"I didn't tell you, because I didn’t want to scare you." Beau starts before I can ask. "They were in the room with her; it's just a coincidence." He repeats the last part again, while running his hand through his hair.
"They were the same? Red? Rotten?"
He huffs, turning his back to me, "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"That's not what I'm worried about Beau." My voice trails off, my mind drifting to the possibility that her death is my fault.
I must voice my concerns without realizing it. Beau storms over and grabs my chin, "None of this is your fault!” When my eyes don’t meet his, he tilts my chin upward to direct my gaze. He repeats himself, then says, “You didn't do anything to hurt her. Jesus, even when she was spouting all that jealous bullshit, you didn't say a word, and she was being purposefully cruel.” His other hand comes up to frame my face, “You told me this wasn't my fault, and it's not yours either." His voice softens as he finishes, his thumb stroking my bottom lip. What he's said doesn't absolve my guilt. I am the one directly related to those flowers, and my meeting Tasha followed with her death. While I'm relieved Beau doesn't blame me, I'm worried his feelings might change if it turns out my stalker did this.
"Don't," He says, "Don't take this on Samantha. No matter what, you are not to blame yourself for this." I don’t want to tell him different, so I change the subject.
"Is that where you went yesterday? Were you meeting with the police?" He nods, standing up to his full height.
"Yeah, some. I met with Tasha's family. They're the reason it's being kept quiet. None of them want it turned into a scandal. They'd rather the person be caught without it turning into a media circus."
My heart aches, with sympathy, for her family. She couldn't have been much older than me, and she's gone. I know what it feels like to experience unexpected loss. It was kind of him to be with them, while they grieved.
"Do they have a funeral planned yet? Is there anything I can do to help?"
He heaves a sigh, "Not yet. Her body hasn't been released."
"Oh, Okay. You'll let me know?" He nods his head, looking sad.
"Are you working today?" He questions after a few moments of silence.
"I was planning on going in before lunch, but when the detective called I phoned Jess to let her know I'd be in later."
"Brian and I have a few more things to discuss before he heads out. I don't want you going to work alone, so do you mind if we meet there? Maybe use your office again?"
"You are always welcome, but you don't have to stay at work with me." I lift my hand stopping the retort that's undoubtedly coming "I won't be alone, and I don't want you feeling like you can't live your life. This stuff has been going on for over a month and nothing has happened yet." What I don't say is I'm afraid hell get sick of me, of this, especially given the fact that the same person leaving me flowers might have killed his friend.
He reaches for his coffee, “You don’t have to drink that. It’s cold by now.” He nods, and I take it from his hand and pour it down the sick. I rinse his mug and set it under the spout to make a new brew as he watches me.
"I want to be with you. I don't have any other place I'd rather be," he says sweetly. I keep my eyes on the coffee brewer, so he can’t see the gooey puddle of swoon I’ve turned to at his words. When the brew finishes, I collect myself and lean up on my toes to reach his lips for a kiss. He bends to meet me.
"Okay," I murmur, handing him the mug.
Neither of us rush to leave. Beau fixes his coffee slowly and savors each sip. I watch, unhurried to change into more work appropriate clothes. We would both like nothing more than to shut out the outside world, just for today, but for now we have this moment to feel content in. My responsibilities tug at me as he gets up to wash out his mug, breaking the moment. The holidays are approaching, and the store is getting busier.
We get ready together. I quickly run to the bathroom to change out of the clothes I threw on for the detectives and freshen up a bit.
He’s throwing on a black leather jacket when I walk out.
I shove my feet into white converses, leaving them untied as I run to grab a purple sweater jacket from my wardrobe. He comes up from behind to help me into the jacket, running his hands over my shoulders before pulling away. I turn as he gets down on one knee to tie my shoes. I blush at the simple but sweet action.
Before walking out the door, he pauses and asks me to wait. I hold the door open as he walks to his bag and pulls out a familiar blue cap. I smile when he slides it on and pulls it low over his face.
"I thought you'd lost that for good. I'm glad you didn
't." His lips tip up, and I find myself staring at his mouth, a return to our past dynamic. It’s funny to feel nostalgic for something that has only recently gone away.
"You better stop looking at me like that, especially if you plan on making it to work today," he taunts.
"Promises, promises," I reply before walking out the door. I hear him mumbling as he follows behind me down the stairs.
A loud bang makes me jump back, almost knocking into Beau.
He grabs my upper arms to steady me then moves around me quickly, "I thought downstairs was empty?" He walks down the steps, looking back towards the lower apartment door.
"I thought it was. I’ve seen a woman in a maid uniform come out a few weeks ago, and I had a flyer shoved next to my mailbox for a painting service. I think someone bought it or the sellers are fixing it up to get more interest. I was thinking I should have snagged it up myself. Maybe it's not too late. I'll get ahold of the management company today." Both of us continue to watch the door when no one comes out, but I don't hear any movement from behind it. I finally push open the door to the street.
“I don't like not knowing who's down there. When you contact the management find out the buyer’s name, if there is one. If not, put in an offer." He states firmly, "Hell, find out if they'd sell the whole building to you. I can cover the cost." He adds, like it wouldn't be a big deal for him to drop a few million.
"I'm not letting you buy my building," I rebuff
"Why the hell not?" he sounds affronted.
"I don't know, because it's crazy," I offer, throwing my hands in the air.
"We'll see."
He grabs my hand and tucks it into his pocket as we walk to work. I feel warmed by the small gesture. He points out a few things on our way, speaking closely to my ear. It feels like we are the only two people on the crowded sidewalk. He has a way of creating intimacy in public that astounds me.
Too soon, he opens the door to the store and escorts me inside. Jess looks up grinning. Gina is behind her, filling an order. Erin, the newer hire, is swamped at the register, looking a bit flustered as she rings up an order and tries to answer another customer’s question. I sigh, thinking how much I love this store, but for the first time I wish I could take a vacation from it.
I pop the help wanted sign in the window. We could use some seasonal help, especially if this is what I walk into with the new hires.
Beau scans over the crowds sitting or standing about the store.
He must deem the crowd safe because as he turns to me, kisses my temple, and says, "I'll be right in the back room if you need me." He catches the eye of a few of the woman in the store as he walks away. Their stares linger on him, before moving to me. I shrink away from the obvious question in their eyes.
I love that he is so open with his affection, that he holds my hand and kisses me right in front of everyone. It’s just a bit difficult to receive those curious looks. I fidget a little under their gazes, then turn to the register to help Gina and distract myself.
The day passes quickly after that, and before I know it Brian is walking up to me with a small smile.
"Hey Brian, how are you?"
"Good Samantha, you?"
"I'm good. Beau is in the back. I think he's waiting for you," I say while bagging up a purchase for a young man.
"Was he still mad about last night?" He smirks, looking like he couldn’t care less.
"Not that I know know of. Why was he mad?" Brian chortles, shaking his head
"I was sure you were awake for some of that phone call. I was just giving him a hard time, but he's one jealous fu”—looking around at the few children, he quickly corrects himself — “um fella, when it comes to you." He rubs his hand over his stomach, “Got me right in the gut the bas--ahem.” The kid in line eyes get big as he sizes up Brian, likely wondering, like myself, how anyone could possibly lay a harsh blow to the man’s stomach.
Beau chooses that exact moment to walk out from the back, "I thought I called you here?" He ribs, "Quit chatting up my girl." The young man and I both get our answer.
Brian winks at me before turning around to face Beau, "She's just much better to look at than your ugly mug." Thank goodness there aren't a lot of people crowding the register like earlier, to witness these two rib each other.
Beau's eyes narrow playfully, "You're asking for it, Watson."
"Aren't I always Huntington?" Brian smiles as they greet each other with a handshake. "I wasn't sure you'd be so forgiving after last night. I was checking to see if I was going to get another jab for my troubles." With that final comment they walk to the back, leaving the front feeling emptier without their overwhelming presence.
Jude comes in not long after, about an hour early for his shift. He brings a few computer mock ups of the ideas he has for the small space that the coffee counter currently occupies with him. We talk at the register since the backroom is in use, and the mid-morning/afternoon rush has slowed down at the moment.
He wants to make the front counter a glass display case and add a few low refrigerator units on to the side to allow him storage for a premade selection of goods. If that goes well, he ideally wants to make his area a little larger and have made to order fresh selections with simple items.
He excitedly explains, “Like soup, sandwiches, or panini's. Little things.” The conversation turns serious as we talk costs. I'll be fronting the money to make the changes, but he insists he pay me back for half when it is established. “I really want to have a stake in this Sam.” I wouldn't mind just footing the bill, but I know it’s important for him to contribute as my business partner.
George comes in at five, and I'm more than ready to get home. I nearly cheer as he enters through the door.
I knock on the closed door then open it, finding both men looking at me. I haven't seen either of them in the three hours since Brian got here. They’ve stayed holed up in here doing god knows what.
"You guys almost ready?" I ask, looking between them.
"You done for today, sweets?"
"Yeah. George is here, so..." I trail off, wanting to ask if he’s ready to go home, but the phrase feels strange. Oddly domestic.
"Brian’s flight isn't until ten tonight. You wanna grab a bite before we head home?" He says it so easy. I reply with a smile and nod then add, "Sounds good. You flying back home, Brian?"
He looks at Beau with a furrowed brow. "You didn't tell her?" He asks, sounding confused.
"I didn't mean to not tell her. It's just been a shit crazy day," he replies wide-eyed, then looks at me. "He's going to Alabama, sweets. He needs more information that we can get from here." I wrap my arms around myself.
"Oh, like to check up on him?" Beau nods, looking sympathetic to my sudden shift to visible discomfort.
"Hey, I've been taking up your office all day. Did you get a chance to call the management company?" He changes the subject quickly.
"No. Actually, I'd forgotten." Beau stands and ushers me to the seat behind my desk where he was sitting.
"Why don't you give them a call? It's probably too late to get anyone today, but you can leave a message. I should have reminded you," he adds regrettably.
I scroll through the numbers on my cell phone while telling him, "We were both busy."
Once I find the number I'm looking for, I pick up the receiver to my desk phone and dial. It rings several times before an answering service picks up. I leave a detailed message, along with my cell and work numbers, for them to return my call as soon as possible.
"I'll try again tomorrow morning," I offer when I hang up.
Beau holds open my jacket. I walk over, turning my back to him and slide my arms in. He loops his arms around me as he ties the belt and brings his face to my neck He kisses me gently then pats my butt, ushering me forward. I'm not sure what my face looks like during this whole ordeal, but when I see Brian grinning at us, I flush and pull the belt tighter.
We find a trendy pub a few blocks from the store. Walkin
g is an experience. Everybody notices us, but it's hard not to. I quickly order the first thing my eyes land on. I get fish and chips, while both guys get burgers.
Before our food arrives, both men drain a beer each. I quickly down my pineapple juice as the waitress brings refills for all of us. She's friendly and very flirty with both Beau and Brian, but neither men react. Beau steals a few steak fries from my plate, dredging them through the ketchup on his plate. I snag an onion ring from his as revenge.
Dinner is fun and easy. I don't think either man grasps what a big deal it is for me to be there with them. This is what I've been missing for years, and I don't ever want to go back to how it was before meeting the both of them. It would definitely be harder now, knowing what I'd be missing.
When I look around, I see a few people openly looking at our table. As the food disappears, their conversation grows more active and louder, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables.
I stay quiet, mostly content to listen as the two men reminisce about their childhood. They both attempt to include me often, but I find I just don't have much to share in the way of happy memories. The ones before my mother passed would only make me sad, and the ones after aren't worth the thought. Rita was a true bright spot in my life, but her loss feels too fresh to talk about in casual conversation.
As the evening progresses, Beau finds little ways to include me. He picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles or rests our intertwined hands on the table top. They are all small gestures to remind me that I am not being ignored, though I don’t actively participate.
“I think it's time we get going," Brian finally comments as he raises his arm to the waitress. She heads over quickly, and he asks, "Can we get the check, please?"
"Oh sure," her smile falters. She turns away and walks over to the register with a little less pep in her step. When she returns, her smile is back in place as she places the bill down near Brian. He snatches it up before Beau can reach for it.
"Next time," Beau says, standing up. He pulls the back of my chair out, prompting me to stand. Our coats are draped over the backs of our chairs. He again helps me into mine before putting on his own.
Get to You Page 23