Southern Seducer: A Best Friends to Lovers Romance Page 31

  “He did?” she asks slowly, digging her teeth into her bottom lip.

  I look at her. “You can do what you want. Just be careful, okay? I get that Nate’s turning over a new leaf, but…I don’t know. Seems to be a lot going on there.”

  “I’m not interested anyway,” she says.

  But I can tell by the way she plays with the collar of her shirt that she is.

  Samuel nods, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “That was big of Nate to ask about Milly. And to tell you about Daddy.”

  “Big of your father, too.” Mama meets my eyes across the table.

  It’s Sunday supper at my place. Could just be me, but the dining room echoes with Annabel and Maisie’s absence. Everything was brighter with them here. My mood. The taste of the food and wine. Even my family seemed brighter.

  Christ, I hope I’m not too late.

  I hope the damage I’ve wrought can be undone.

  “Did you know about this?” I ask Mama.

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t. Well, I knew your daddy went down to see Wilson Kingsley. Said they had some talking to do. I didn’t know exactly what was said. But I do know John Riley felt more at peace when he came back, which was a lot different than usual. The few times he ran into Kingsley before, he’d come home in a rage. But on that occasion, he was pleased as punch.” Mama reaches over and takes my hand. “You see now? That your daddy wasn’t all bad?”

  “I do. I was up all night thinking about it. Grabbed my coffee and went for a drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway this morning to clear my head. Get a grip on everything.”

  “And?” Hank asks hopefully.

  I look around the table, and they’re all looking at me. Waiting with bated breath.

  I’m gonna cry, I know I am.

  But that’s okay. Bel showed me how vulnerability and honesty and bravery lead to good things.

  Knowing what I know now about my father, I got to witness it in action. Secondhand, yes. Years after it actually happened.

  But the fact that I got to witness my father’s goodness at all in the midst of his is a win.

  A huge, life-changing win.

  Right here, right now, with my entire family looking at me, I can set an example of hope.

  Because I actually, genuinely feel hopeful about my future.

  A future I’d be proud to share with the people I love.

  “We all witnessed the end of Daddy’s life.” I sniff. Shit, it’s already happening. Oh well. “I saw the way he suffered. I saw the way y’all suffered. When I knew things were happening inside my head that shouldn’t be, I swore up and down I wouldn’t visit that kinda pain on the people I loved most in this world. I thought my life would inevitably turn into this dark place, and that I’d only hurt you guys in the end. I was also worried you’d become my caretakers. I didn’t want that for you. I love y’all too damn much.”

  Another sniffle, this time from the other end of the table. I look to see Hank dabbing his eyes with his napkin.

  “I’m in love with Annabel. I always have been. Still, when she came up here to heal after Maisie’s birth, I had no idea things would get so serious so quickly.”

  “So hot and heavy,” Milly says.

  Rhett nods. “So naked.”

  “So happy,” Mama says. “You had no idea you’d make each other so happy.”

  “Exactly. She was going through a lot of shit, and as you guys know, my symptoms have been getting worse. I thought if anything, being the hot mess that I am would turn her off.”

  “But in fact”—Samuel wiggles his brows—“your hot-mess express turned her on.”

  Hank nods. “In a big way.”

  “Can y’all, like, not comment on my sex life? It’s weird.”

  “It is,” Hank agrees.

  “Sorry not sorry,” Samuel says.

  I sigh. “Of course you’re not sorry. So, yeah, here I was, all worried that if I let Annabel in, if I committed to her, I’d be condemning her and her daughter to a very bleak future. But now I see that’s not the case.”

  “Good,” Milly says.

  “I’m still worried. My diagnosis, it’s not great. But it’s not a death sentence, either. I’m gonna try my damnedest to stay healthy and keep happy. But I’m gonna need your help.”

  Samuel slaps his hands on the table. “Thank fuck—”

  “Language,” Mom says.

  “Thank God you finally saw reason. It’s only what we’ve been telling you for what, Milly, a couple of years now?”

  Milly nods. “Yup.”

  “You have it. Our help,” Rhett says.

  “Anything,” Samuel says. “Ask for anything, Beau, and you’ll have it. No questions asked.”

  “I’m glad you said that. Because I need a favor. Several favors, in fact. But before we get into it…I just want to thank you. For standing by me, even when I’m an ass.”

  There’s not a dry eye in the room.

  My chest feels heavy and light at the same time, like I’ve just finished a hard workout.

  “I’m not gonna be a coward anymore,” I say. “I promise you that.”

  Rhett raises a brow. “That mean you’re going after Annabel?”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  Milly rubs her hands together. “There’s my brother. What’s the plan?”

  “You have a plan, right?” Hank asks.

  I put my hand on my chest in mock consternation. “It pains me, your lack of faith in my groveling capabilities. Of course I have a plan.”

  “Private jet?” Samuel asks.

  “Yup.”

  “A diamond?” Milly says.

  “Of course.”

  “Doves?”

  “What? Why would I have doves?”

  Hank lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Because you can?”

  “No doves.”

  Milly leans forward. “Where is this little shindig gonna go down?”

  “That’s where y’all come in.”

  To: Annabel Rhodes (Annabel.Rhodes@CGCorp.com)

  From: John Beauregard (GoBeauYourself@gmail.com)

  April 6, 2020 3:01 AM EST

  Subject: I’m a jerk, pls forgive me

  Hi Annabel,

  This is Beau, the guy who’s been a cowardly ass and would now like to beg your forgiveness. I’ll call you later today. But I wanted to get down in words how sorry I am. So I’m emailing you at 3 AM because 1) that’s the time I sent you my very first email back in college (down to the minute… If you’re like me and you’ve kept them all, you can check), 2) I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe, and 3) I have a plan, and I want to run it by you so you have time to make the appropriate arrangements if you’re a better person than I am and find it in yourself to give me a chance to explain everything.

  I won’t do that here. But I need you to know that I understand if you never want to see me again. It’s only what I deserve after the way I treated you. I have no excuse. It was a chickenshit move, letting you go. Much less letting you go without having the balls to say goodbye. I regret everything. I am sorry. So, so fucking sorry. I adore you, and knowing how much I hurt you is killing me.

  There are things I want to say to you in person, so I’ll stop now until we can talk. But would you, Maisie, and Lizzie be available next weekend to come up to the farm? You tell me what works, and I’ll make it happen. Yes, it involves a private jet, and no, I will not let you fight me on this one.

  Asking for your time probably makes me a dickhead. I get that. But I’m struggling without you, and I want to make this right.

  I miss you. Please answer my call.

  Love,

  Beau

  PS: Shameless ploy, but there will be gnocchi and cookies galore if you come.

  PPS: Don’t tell your mama, but Larry wants to be on the plane to surprise her.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Annabel

  Beau calls just as I’m leaving the house on my way to work.

  Makes me smile a
nd want to cry all at once, the fact that he so clearly planned this out.

  So does seeing the picture of us light up my screen.

  I blink hard and close the door behind me.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Bel. You answered. Thank you. Jesus Christ—” His voice is barely above a growl. Like he hasn’t slept. “I don’t mean to be rude. I want to know how you are, honey. I’ll ask, I promise. But first I just—I need to hear your voice.”

  A lump forms in my throat. “I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words hang between us for a beat. Then another. “You get my email?”

  I nod, momentarily unable to answer as I remember the things he said. I’m struggling without you. I miss you. I’m begging.

  “I did.”

  “Thank you for reading it, Bel. You’re giving me the chance I never gave you. I recognize that’s not right.”

  I nod again, tears leaking out of my eyes. “It’s not.”

  “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “So very sorry, honey. For everything. And for this. Right now. I know you have to go to work—”

  “I do. I can’t be a mess.”

  “I know. I hate making you cry, so I’ll be quick. I have a lot I want to say to you and a lot of explaining I need to do.” I hear him swallow. “I understand completely if you say no. But I would really, really love it if y’all came up to the farm so we could talk.”

  I wipe away my tears and glance out the window. “I don’t want to cry anymore, Beau.”

  “I don’t want you to either, honey. I promise if you come there will only be happy tears.”

  I want to go. So badly. As much as he hurt me, the void he’s left in my life hurts more.

  I also want to be strong. I need to stand up for myself. For my family, too.

  “Please,” he says. His voice breaks. The ache in my chest throbs.

  “I don’t know what the right thing to do here is,” I whisper.

  “Just one night,” he says. “That’s all I ask. If what I have to say doesn’t sit well with you, then…welp. That’ll be the last time you’ll ever hear from my sorry ass again.”

  My turn to swallow. My pulse is pounding in my ears. I feel lightheaded. I feel exhausted. I feel tender and sad and relieved to hear Beau’s voice again.

  Honey.

  I miss my best friend. But do I hear him out? Do I walk away? Could it blow up in my face? Or is it worth the risk?

  Seventeen years of emails. Seventeen years of friendship. Seventeen years of love.

  Taking a deep breath, I let my head fall back on the headrest. “When you say cookies—how many we talking, exactly?”

  He laughs, and the tightness in my chest loosens. “Lots. As many as we need to entice y’all back up to the mountain.”

  “I think we can do Saturday,” I say. “I can’t take more time off from work right now.”

  “Saturday is great. How about a three PM flight? Maisie’s nap will be starting, and it will give you some time to pack up that morning.”

  “Yeah,” I manage, still nodding. “Yeah, that works.”

  It’s the longest week ever, waiting for Saturday. Work is all right. Leaving Maisie with someone else for so long every day is hard. I find myself missing her, especially at the end of the day, when things on the desk slow down.

  Pumping at work totally sucks. So does waking up well before the crack of dawn.

  But what gets me through is knowing I get to see Beau. Not sure if that makes me a sucker or not, but there it is.

  He sends an Escalade to pick us up from my house on Saturday afternoon. I help strap Maisie into her car seat and climb in beside her. Mom plops down in the front seat, a big smile on her face.

  I feel like I’ve been electrified. I’m suddenly wide awake, the exhaustion from the week barely noticeable inside my limbs.

  As we weave our way through traffic toward the airport, anxiety sets in. Maybe I’m not making the right call here. Can I really forgive Beau? Can I trust him not to slink away like a coward again or go radio silent on me?

  I can’t go through that another time.

  If he’s going to keep me from moving forward, then he’s not worth my time.

  But I know Beau. And I know he wouldn’t invite me back up to Blue Mountain if he wasn’t serious about apologizing.

  I pull up his email on my phone.

  He signed it love.

  That means…what, exactly?

  I don’t want to hope, because hope has made a fool of me one time too many.

  Then I think, my God, since when have I become so faithless? That’s not what I want my daughter to think of the world, that it’s mean and small and dark. Looking at her snoozing in her car seat, I know I want better for her. Is it too late to want better for me, too?

  We’re at the airport. But instead of heading for the usual departure terminal, we take a right turn.

  “Terminal for private flights,” the driver explains.

  Mom, still smiling, shakes her head. “Beau and his toys.”

  A jet, bright white with oval windows, is waiting for us on the tarmac.

  “Stop,” I say, even though the guy I’m saying it to isn’t here.

  “We’re about to go, actually,” Larry says, emerging from inside the jet.

  I’m glad I’m carrying Maisie, because Mom drops literally everything she’s holding—purse, bottle of water, a blanket for the baby—and does a running leap into his arms.

  Watching Mom and Larry embrace on the steps of a private jet is like something out of an episode of Entourage, only without the toxic masculinity and rampant sexism.

  If nothing else, Maisie has an awesome role model in my mom for going after what she wants, confidently and fearlessly.

  My mom is one badass chick.

  Flying private is just as amazing as you’d think it is. I did it once a few years back with Beau, when I tagged along on a flight to Vegas with him and his agent to see a Billy Joel concert.

  Not only do we get to bypass check-in and security lines at the airport, but while we’re up in the air, we get served champagne—I recognize the bottle as the same one we had up on Blue Mountain, probably from Samuel’s cellar—and these mini fried chicken and pimiento cheese biscuit sandwiches that are definitely from the restaurant at the resort, and definitely delicious.

  “These were on the menu at one of Milly’s recent weddings, as I understand it,” Larry says, reaching for his third sandwich. “They were apparently quite the hit.”

  “I get why,” I say. “They’re ridiculously delicious.”

  The food and the tiny glass of champagne relax me a little. The flight is super quick, about thirty minutes. But as we land in Asheville, the sun still high over the mountains, I’m hit by another wave of anxiety.

  What am I going to say to Beau when I see him?

  How am I not going to fall apart?

  “Take a deep breath,” Mom says, putting a hand on my arm. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it, all right? Try to remember you’re going to see your best friend. He’s always made you feel better.”

  Except for that one time, when he crushed me and broke my heart.

  Samuel picks us up from the airport in another SUV, this one decked out with the Blue Mountain Resort logo.

  We zoom past the barn. Don’t stop at the main house. We pass Sugarhill Cottage.

  We keep going, the forest thickening around us.

  I’ve been this way before, once, with Beau.

  I quietly put a hand to my mouth, heart swelling.

  The first thing I notice when the farmhouse comes into view is the smoke that rises from its chimney.

  People are inside.

  I’m shaking as I get Maisie out of her car seat. The smell of a wood-burning fire fills the air, along with something more savory.

  Dinner.

  “You making something?” I ask Samuel.

  Grabbing my bags, he winks at me. “Course I am. I’ve been working on someth
ing special for y’all all damn day. Left it to the only person I trust, Mama, while I went and grabbed y’all from the airport.”

  “You’re really not going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nope.” He holds out his arm. “After you.”

  The floor creaks as we step inside the house. It’s definitely old, but it looks like the interior’s been cleaned top to bottom, letting the architectural details shine. An old brass doorknob, the carved wooden mantel that surrounds the crackling fire.

  There are voices.

  So many voices, rising from what must be the kitchen at the back of the house.

  I move through the hall into the kitchen like I’m in a dream, awareness of my body fading as the smells and the voices intensify.

  Am I dead?

  Is this heaven?

  Please, please don’t let this be a dream.

  The entire Beauregard family, with one glaring exception, is gathered in the old-fashioned kitchen. The appliances and countertops are avocado green. Seventies chic at its best.

  Mrs. B looks up from her cocktail—whiskey, from the look of it—and her entire face lights up.

  “You’re here!” she cries, and the room erupts in screams and shouts and offers of food.

  Milly gives me and Maisie a tight hug. Hank joins in, and Rhett piles on.

  “Hey. She’s mine,” Milly says, trying to elbow her brothers aside.

  Rhett just tightens his grip, making me laugh. “Like hell she is. Welcome back, Annabel. We missed you.”

  “I was gone for, like, a week.”

  “It’s been a long-ass week here on the mountain without you,” Hank says.

  Maisie squeals. By some miracle, she hasn’t melted down yet.

  It’s coming.

  As if she can read my mind, Mrs. B peels her children off me and grabs my hand. Meets my eye.

  “May I?” She tilts her head back toward the hall.

  “Of course.” I look down at the baby. “Okay if I bring her?”

  “This is for her, too.”

  Letting Mrs. B lead me out of the kitchen, I cast Mom a glance. I need reassurance. I can do this. My legs will carry me where I need to go.