The Beau & the Belle
Page 16

“Ever driven stick before?” he asks once when he catches me looking.
He thinks I’m thinking about his transmission. I chuckle under my breath.
“Never.”
“You should learn. You never know when it might come in handy.”
I bite down on my lip to hide my smile. “Are you offering to teach me?”
He shrugs. “I’ve taught a few people before. Maybe if we have time out at my mom’s place.”
“So you aren’t annoyed that I’m coming with you?”
He meets my eyes for a fraction of a second before turning back to the road. Then he sighs. “Maybe I was at first.”
So my suspicions were correct.
“And now?” I push the subject.
“Your parents have been good to me. I’m glad to help.”
Fair enough. He’s being honest, and I want to reciprocate. “I want to meet your mom.”
“Yeah?” He seems amused. “Why’s that?”
“From what you’ve told me, she seems like a strong woman, and I want to see if she looks like you. I want to ask her what makes you tick.”
“Lauren—”
I turn to face him, cutting him off before he can continue. “You must think I’m so silly, but I’m not. You don’t have to be the feelings police. I’m not in love with you or anything.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“So why did you kick me out of your apartment? We were just talking.”
He sighs. “I’ve been around teen girls before. You’re nowhere near as opaque as you think you are.”
“Ooohhh, check out mister Jedi-law-school-mind-reader over here,” I taunt, unfazed by his comment. “How’s this for transparency? I LIKE PRESTON.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“I thought I told you to steer clear of him.”
His hand tightens on the steering wheel, or at least that’s what I imagine.
“You never said that.”
He changes lanes for no reason then reaches for the radio and turns up the volume. They’ve been talking about the weather all morning—it’s all anyone has been able to talk about for the last few weeks. Hurricane season in New Orleans is always a tense time, and this year is no different. There’s a tropical depression being upgraded in the gulf, and they say there’s a small chance it might head our way. It’s hard to believe considering how beautiful the weather is right now. Out the front windshield, it’s nothing but bright blue sky from here to the horizon.
“You think the storm is coming for us?” I ask, trying to pierce the tension brewing between us.
He shrugs. “Maybe. This morning they were talking about it heading to Florida. Either way, it’s going to be pretty big.”
I sigh and let my head fall back against the seat. He’s back to sulking and stays that way up until we pull up onto the gravel drive outside his mom’s trailer. I smile, pleasantly surprised by the property. Beau didn’t give it enough credit. It’s beautiful, a small yellow house—or trailer, I guess, but it doesn’t really look like one. There’s a large front porch, a chicken coop, and a garden. There’s a dense forest surrounding the home that gives the effect that we’re tucked away in our own little world.
Two dogs leap off the front porch as we drive up, barking and wagging their tails with excitement. I lean forward just as his mom pushes open the screen door and steps out, waving excitedly. I squint through the windshield to take in her dark hair and tan complexion. She’s beautiful, and it’s clear Beau takes after her.
He puts the truck in park in front of an old red semi, and I reach out to touch his arm. “I can stay in here if you want. I don’t know how long you usually stay and visit, but I have a book and the weather’s nice…”
My sentence trails off once I realize he’s staring down at where my hand is touching his arm. The contrast is clear. My hand is delicate, my skin a few shades lighter than his. He flexes and the muscles shift. I withdraw my hand like it’s a disobedient pet.
He shakes his head and turns to push his door open. “It’s too late. You have to come in.”
“Why?” I call out after him.
“Because my mom wants to meet you.”
I DECIDE WITHIN the first five minutes of meeting Beau’s mom that I love her a million times more than I like him. He’s always been polite and kind to me, but his mom is actually enthusiastic when she speaks, as if she’s excited that I’m here. After a short introduction in which Beau tried to distance himself from me as much as possible—“This is Lauren, my landlords’ daughter.” Oh. Okay—she wraps me in a warm hug and ushers me inside. On her small kitchen table, there are platters overflowing with steaming food: pancakes, scrambled eggs, croissants, sausage, fruit salad, coffee, and orange juice. I had cereal back at the house, but I don’t have the heart to deny her when she loads up a plate with food for me.
“She can’t eat all that,” Beau protests.
“Don’t listen to him. He underestimates me,” I tease, accepting it with a smile. “This looks amazing.”
She beams. “Now what can I get you to drink? Do you want coffee? I can make a pot of decaf if you’d rather have that?”
I hold up my hand. “No. The orange juice is great. Thank you.”
After we all have our food, we go outside to eat on the front porch. There’s a small table and Mrs. Fortier takes the spot beside me then grins when she sees me eat a big bite of my pancakes.
“I’m so happy you came with Beau today, Lauren.”
I nod while I chew, careful not to speak with my mouth full.
“I’m happy to be here. This is such a pretty place.”
Her cheeks flush with the compliment. “Well thank you. I work hard to keep it looking nice for when Beau comes to visit.”
“Does Mr. Fortier help with the gardening?”
There’s a moment of silence before Beau speaks. “My father actually died a few years ago.”
Oh god. I blanch.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Mrs. Fortier’s hand comes to rest on top of mine and she squeezes. “It’s okay, dear.”
I glance down at my eggs, cheeks tingling with embarrassment for having brought up such a sad subject. The next few minutes pass in silence as I take a bite of pancake before Mrs. Fortier brings up a new topic.
“Now tell me, Lauren, how long have you and Beau been dating?”
WHAT?!
As if it was choreographed, Beau and I both begin to choke on pancakes, coughing and wheezing until Mrs. Fortier is forced to stand up and clap us repeatedly on the back.
“My goodness, are you two okay?” she asks, handing us water.
I nod and then guzzle down a few sips, relieved when I don’t immediately start coughing again.
“Mom,” Beau admonishes as he takes his seat once again. “You know we aren’t dating. She’s 17.”
She smiles innocently. “Oh right! I’m so forgetful sometimes. I might have a little of that Oldtimers.”
“It’s Alzheimer’s, Mom.”
“Well, see! Perfect example,” she jokes.
I can’t meet Beau’s eyes. In fact, I can’t look at either of them. I think my eyes have lost the ability to focus.
“I just have to say though, you two would be so cute together.”
“Christ, Mom, did you hear me? She’s 17.”
He shoots back from the table and takes his mug back into the house, presumably for a refill, or perhaps a cyanide tablet.
I squeeze my lips together to keep from laughing.
She leans forward, looking horrified. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought you were in college.”
I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. I will be soon enough.”
She nods and drops her voice low enough so he can’t hear it inside. “And for the record, he’s always been so easy to tease.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” I say with a little conspiratorial smile.
“This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.” She takes her coffee and leans back in her chair. “But honestly, girl to girl, I think I’m going to be 80 before he finally brings a woman home for me to meet.”