Page 34 of In The Weeds
“When?” I shoot back.
“At night.”
I set my hands on my hips. His eyes narrow, studying the stack of spare tires behind me like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
“Beckett.”
His eyes reluctantly crawl back to mine.
“I’ve been getting in late. I’ve been—” he hesitates, so clearly looking for an excuse I have to fight not to roll my eyes. “I’ve got a project.”
“A project.”
He shifts on his feet like a man with something to hide. “Yes.”
“Is that project avoiding me?”
“No,” he draws out the word like it has a thousand vowels at the end of it, gazing over my shoulder at the open door with naked longing. I bet he’s fantasizing about running right out into the hills. “It’s—well, it’s complicated.”
This conversation is ridiculous. “Try me.”
He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone at such a loss for words.
“It’s a duck,” he finally manages.
A group of farmhands walk past the open door, their laughter carrying into the small space. I blink at Beckett and he stares right back. Is he serious? “A what?”
“I’m trying to figure out where I can put a duck,” he mumbles. His words are tucked under his breath and I have to strain to hear what he’s saying.
“And you can only do that in the middle of the night?”
“Ah, I don’t—” He lets his arms fall by his sides. I focus on the vine tattoo that curls from his wrist and around his broad forearm, all the way to his elbow. There are small white flowers on it, a new addition since the last time I saw him. “I thought you’d prefer it that way.”
“You thought I’d prefer you sneaking around?”
He nods.
“When did I give you that impression?”
He doesn’t say anything in response, hands clenching at his sides. I sigh and press two fingers against the ever-present headache between my eyes.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” I explain. “I found a rental in Rehoboth. I can be out of your place in two days, once it becomes available.”
It’ll be a pain to drive back and forth from the coast, but it’s better than—whatever this is.
His face crumples in confusion. “You’re leaving?”
I don’t understand why he cares, considering he’s seen me for a combined twenty-eight minutes since I’ve arrived and he’s—hiding in storage sheds, apparently. I nod and slip my hands into my back pockets, rocking back on my heels.
He considers me quietly. Here in the muted light, his eyes look moss green. Dark and deep. “Did you find your happy, then?”
“What?”
He takes a step forward and reaches for a towel, wiping his hands on it with quick, practiced movements. His whole face is angled lines, a frown twisting everything down. “The first night you were here, you said something about looking for your happy. Did you find it?”
I’m surprised he remembers, but I guess I shouldn’t be. Beckett has always been good with the details.
“Bits of it.” Gus and Monty dancing at the fire-station. A sausage and cream cheese biscuit. The smell of fresh blooming jasmine at Mabel’s greenhouse.
