Page 112 of Two-Step
Beau wheels around, scowling. “Go back inside. You’ll get soaked,” he shouts over the rain.
“I’m already soaked.” It’s true. I’m in shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt, and now the cotton clings to me like plastic wrap. I run for the bird feeder that hangs from a low crepe myrtle branch. Rain runs down my arms as I reach up to unhook the feeder. It splashes in my ears and nose. I’m gasping and my heart races with the knowledge that this is just the beginning.
“Go in and open the garage door,” Beau shouts across the yard, his arms already laden with outdoor items.
Flinging birdseed and rain, I dash back to the house. Mica greets me in the doorway with an excited bark. Unlike us, he’s smart enough to watch from a safe distance. Leaving puddles in my wake, I traipse inside and through the kitchen. When I open the garage door, Beau is on the other side, a wicker rocker in his arms.
It takes a few minutes, but we manage to clear the yard and the porch, and Beau pulls his truck into the now crowded garage before we close the automatic door. I fetch two towels from the laundry room and hand one to Beau just inside the kitchen. I swear, I think I’ve been drier in a swimming pool.
Dripping and out of breath, I concentrate on employing the towel and figuring out what to say to him. I begin with the simplest words.
“Thank you.”
He nods, toweling off his hair. “Anyone would have done it.” He’s talking about helping with the furniture. I’m not.
“I don’t think so.”
He grins. “It’s true. Hurricanes bring people together.” Beau unzips and peels off his rain jacket, but despite the protection, the top of his shirt is still soaked. “You’ll see. You’ll know your neighbors by the end of the week. Sooner if it’s bad.”
I glance out the kitchen window at the hammering rain. “Looks like it’s gonna be pretty bad.”
Beau shakes his head. “This is just an outer band. Not even hurricane strength yet,” he says, hooking the towel around his neck. “It could even let up soon. For a little while, anyway.”
The prospect of weather worse than this is terrifying. “So when will it reach your definition of—” I use my hands to make air quotes,“bad?”
Beau grimaces. “Tonight. Unfortunately, just after the sun goes down.”
I bite my bottom lip.
Beau steps closer, brushing wet hair out of his eyes. We’re both soaked to the skin, and it feels like it strips us of something important. Like boundaries.
His focus on me is so intense I stop breathing.
“What do we need to do before then to protect you?”
I swallow, his closeness addling my brain. “I-I think the house is safe enough.”
One corner of his mouth quirks. “No, I meant from Moira.”
Oh. Right.Thathurricane.
I glance at the clock over the microwave: 10:48.Shit.“I basically have twelve minutes before Moira hijacks my Insta account.”
Beau gives a tight nod. “Okay. We’ll have to block her before then.”
My stomach tries to fall out of my butt.
“Oh shit. I’m really doing this,” I blurt. “She’s going to come fucking unglued.” I clap my hand over my mouth, my own curse words startling me. “Pardon my French,” I murmur into my palm.
Beau arches a brow.“French?Really?”
I suck in a gasp and drop my hand. “I forgot for a minute you teach French.”
His eyes narrow in a way that I know is teasing, but it still makes my pulse race. “We’ll talk about your Francophobiaafterwe block Moira.”
This time when he says it, my stomach stays where it’s supposed to, but my heart climbs two inches because he keeps using the wordwe.
We.
