“I used to own a pottery studio,” I clarify, realizing he’s leaning further down than usual. Our mouths are closer. I can see the creases in his lips. I can smell the toothpaste on his breath. “In my past life, I owned a pottery studio. A sculpt and paint place. I held classes and workshops. Did my own work, too.”
His eyes flit to my hands gripping the wheel, and my belly flutters as his tongue drags across his bottom lip. “Good with your hands…” he mumbles before pushing back off the car and stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“That’s exciting.” He chews the inside of his mouth, and I just stare at him because he is a sight, despite the fact Jett’s begun grumbling. “You shouldn’t do that alone, though, that’s… dangerous.”
“More or less dangerous than driving around strangers?” I ask, eyeing him.
“Touché.”
“The realtor is my mom’s friend. And she’s my mom’s age so… I don’t think she’s going to take advantage of me.”
Beau wiggles his eyebrows, rocking on his black boots. A strand of chestnut hair falls over his face, and he tips his head, sending it back. “Now that would be freaky.”
I roll my eyes. “Have a good day today.”
He smiles, and I feel iteverywhere. It almost makes me breathless.
“It’s already good because I got to see you and Jett.” He winks. “I mean that.”
And then, he turns on one heel and filters inside the mirrored doors of the Wrench Kings.
My new favorite place.
9
Beau
It feels like a win.
Today has been busy as hell. My phone has rung in my pocket off and on all day. In fact, it’s ringing again now as I bite into my burrito. Miller, mid-bite, eyes me. Delane, sipping her soda as she graces us with half her focus using just one Earpod instead of both, eyes me too.
“Answer it,” she says, and sometimes with the way she talks to me, I really thinksheshould be in charge.
I shake my head, attacking the burrito with all the energy I wish I could use on Beck. “No,” I reply as a chunk of guac and lettuce falls from my mouth onto the spread foil.
Atticus crunches his taco, saying nothing. Sometimes his silence is infuriating. But right now, as the only one in the know about my reality, I’m glad he’s quiet. Grateful, actually. Because I don’t want to get into any of this shit with Delane and Miller.
Miller wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking because he’s such a goody fuckin’ two shoes. But I don’t even get irritated by it because it’s really just him, through and through. I get the feeling he was raised in an extremely conservative and possibly religious household, but I’ve never pried.
“I don’t know who’s calling you but I answered the phone twice earlier,” he says, and I know why. Because Delane was listening to her audiobook, ignoring the world around her, and Miller doesn’t like leaving people hanging, so I’m sure he dropped everything to hustle to the phone.
“Delane was busy,” he adds quickly, his eyes flitting to her for approval. She rolls hers and dunks a chip into salsa. “Anyway, it was Tobias.”
The table is free of conversation, the only noise to be heard is the devouring of our favorite Mexican food. Miller’s gaze bounces between the three of us, confusion evident in the way his reddish brows pull together.
“Tobias, the Vice President of Wrench Kings,” he clarifies, watching us each for a response. Except, we all know who Toby is and none of us are impressed, shocked or blown away that he’s calling.
Atticus truly doesn’t give a shit. Delane is never really worried about anything. But Miller is concerned and confused, and that’s a bad combination for someone like him.
He clears his throat. “No one cares that the Vice President of the entire company is calling our specific location asking for you?” His head moves between the three of us and the only reaction he gets is a shrug from me.
He wrings his hands, abandoning the rest of his burrito. “I want to know why I don’t have to be worried. Because right now, I’m thinking they’re going to come close us down fornegligence.”
“A singular person not being available for a phone call does not make an entire operation negligent,” Atticus says, breaking his silence. I point to him while I take down the last of my burrito.
After a swig of Diet Coke, I agree with Atticus. “What he said.”
Delane twists in her seat, holding a particularly salty chip between two fingers. Looking at Miller she says, “If Beau isn’t worried, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it, okay?” She ruffles his hair and his fair skin turns pink.