“Sorry,” I amend, quickly. “It just flows. Jett. Pack. Jetpack.”
She arches a brow, but I can see she’s holding back a smirk. “I got it, it didn’t need explaining. Here, can you take him for a sec? I didn’t realize it but I forgot to double-check if the giraffe is packed. If he’s not, we’ll be going back, and then I’ll be the worst date ever. Making you walk the streets for thirty minutes playing hide and seek with my son’s toys.”
“Hold him?” I ask, and my expression must give away the fact that I’ve never held anything important. Hell, even when we’re doing major repairs like swapping carburetors or engines, Atticus is the guy.
I don’t know why she does it but she reaches up, wrapping her hand around the back of my neck. Instinctively my eyes close to her loving touch. But when I realize it, they fly open and her blues blink back at me. “You can absolutely hold him, Beau.” Her hand falls away, leaving me full of hope.
Lowering the bag to the ground, Jett kicks his feet as Beck passes him off. He starts to cry a little which makes me feel like absolute fucking shit. But when Beck takes my free hand and positions it low on Jett’s back, encouraging me to rub up and down his spine, he chills out immediately.
“I think he fussed just because he missed your leather jacket.” Beck crouches by the bag, riffling through with both hands.
“You or him?” I ask, feeling brave with Jett pressed against me. He curls his fingers into my cheeks before plopping his head down on my shoulder, relaxing against me completely.
She looks up with a grin, but it slides away in a silent crash when she sees her son relaxed against me. Her lips part, but no words make their way out. The early March air turns the tip of her nose pink, and my hand works up and down Jett’s back as she releases the found giraffe and rises.
We fall into a silence as we continue down the street, very close to her parents’ house. I know because she told me they have a blue SUV, and I can see it from here.
I want to say something, to ask if everything’s okay, but I feel as comfortable and peaceful as Jett looks. And I don’t want to disturb him. Truth be told, I think I need this moment. The feeling of his tiny heart beating against mine, his unworried grip on my shirt keeping me near—it’s all so wholesome, borne from love and instinct.
The moment makes me tipsy as we stop at the end of the driveway at her parents’ house.
“You went quiet,” I whisper, swaying with Jett against me.
Her eyes cloud and her bottom lip shudders with a single tremble before she smiles. Her hand moves beneath her eye before I even see the tear she wipes away.
“I’ve just never seen him with a man. I mean my dad, yeah, but you know what I mean.”
I nod.
“I’m happy he’s comfortable with you, and if I’m being honest, it hurts, too. Because his father should be here. He should be in his father’s arms.”
I’ve never been the recipient of a backhanded compliment until now. It’s a million times worse than a pure zing, because it’s so fucking honest. All of it.
“I’m sorry he’s not here.”
Her eyes flash to mine. “No, Beau, I–”
“Is your date taking place in my driveway? If not, bring my grandson in here and go!” A woman’s voice calls from the front door, and even though urgency surges through me to not leave Beck’s parents hanging since we’ve already been caught shaving off a private moment, I stand there, unable to look away.
It seems she can’t either.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But… come on. She only gets louder.”
I nod, and follow behind her, feeling like when she glances back at us several times, it’s not for Jett at all.
“Mom,” she says, the word stretching like molasses as I step carefully up onto the porch to stand next to her. “This is Beau.”
“Hi, Beau. Is Beau short for something, or did your mama name you Beau because you were such a handsome sweetheart as a baby that she just knew you’d grow into a charmer?” The woman grins at me, and damn, Beck looks so much like her mother. Before I have to ask, she extends her hand to me, and I adjust Jett in my arms to shake.
“I’m Nancy Reid, I’m Rebecca’s mom, and this is Carl, Rebecca’s dad, and it is just so nice to meet you.” Nancy’s sapphire eyes shoot to Beck, and they share a look full of unspoken words, and somehow I get the feeling Beck’s in hot water.
From behind her, an older man steps to the side, outstretching his hand to me.
“If you’re Beau, then I’m Carl.” His forehead wrinkles with playful confusion. “Unless…” he points to me. “You’re Carl. Then I’m Beau?”
Beck rolls her eyes, and Nancy enjoys the complete dad joke her husband just laid down. The way he snorts at his own joke as he rocks on his feet, wiping the corner of his eye–I fucking like this guy. One day I hope to make myself cry with my own awful dad jokes.
What a dream.