Page 95 of Two-Step
And the sturdiness? It’s pretty damn sexy.
Right now, I’m sure that if I stay here beneath him any longer, my will is going to crack, and then woe unto any unsuspecting hikers.
So instead of tearing off Beau’s clothes and becoming one with nature in a whole new way, I take a deep breath and let it out, allowing myself to drink in the intoxicating solidity of his body on mine for one more moment.
And then. “We should probably start heading back.”
Beau has been watching me with a gentle smile, and he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by this pronouncement.
“Probably so.” Then, to my delight, he presses one soft, chaste kiss to my lips. Then he’s up on two feet and reaching down a hand to me. He helps me up, and together we pick up the remains of our picnic.
When we start our return trip, Beau and I reach for each other’s hand at the same moment, which leaves us both smiling.
We talk, but not as much as on the way up. Things are different, and we both know it. But here’s what I don’t know: What happens now?
If I had more than the bare minimum of dating experience—and I don’t—I might know what to say or what cues to read about what this all means and what’s okay. Was what happened between us just chemistry and opportunity? Was it more? Even if it was, does it matter? We have to work together four nights a week. No matter what, I still have to dance with Beau Monday night.
No. That’s not the right way to put it. I stillgetto dance with Beau Monday night. And Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday night. That thought alone is like someone throwing me a life preserver.
So, yeah, I want to keep seeing him. No surprise there. But is seeing him outside of lessons really such a good idea?
There’s definitely a spark between us. More than a spark. A blaze. If we give that blaze any more oxygen, it’s going to burn like an inferno. And it doesn’t seem like what I feel now has the potential to fizzle out in a few weeks.
But a few weeks—well, another seven weeks—is all I have. Then it’s back to L.A.
If we let this burn, one of us could get hurt. Could I handle that? Is that even fair to Beau?
The cypress bridge is just ahead of us, and I glance up at him. My heart does a little free fall seeing him at my side. He’s so beautiful. And it’s hard to describe, but part of his beauty is that he’s so self-contained. He’s used to being alone, being a little apart from everyone else. Quiet. Peaceful. Even just knowing him for a few weeks has shown me that.
And today, he’s shared a little of that quiet peace with me. What would happen to him if we got involved? If things burned hot like a star and then I left?
Quiet and peaceful doesn’t mean invulnerable. Would I hurt him?
God, that would be awful.
I squeeze his hand and memorize the feel of it in mine. Because maybe all I’ll have of him, outside of our lessons, is right now. And maybe that’s for the best.
When we reach the bridge, I walk slowly. Carefully. But not because I’m afraid of the crossing, but because I want my time with Beau to last.
* * *
By the timewe reach Beau’s truck, I’ve convinced myself that this day—this beautiful, amazing, unforgettable day—is a one-time thing. Like seeing a shooting star: bright, awe inspiring, and rare. As much as it moves you, when it’s gone, it’s gone.
And I can live with that. I think. Seeing him four nights a week might be hard, because I’ll want more, but I know how to live without things I want. I’ve had years of practice.
This is what’s best for him, and it’s what’s best for me.
I’m telling myself exactly that when Beau fires up the truck and aims us back toward the highway.
“Today was great,” he says, squeezing my hand on the center console. Yes, we are still holding hands. I’ll hold his hand all the way back to town if he lets me.
“It was great for me too.” It feels like an invisible sparrow flutters its wings in my chest.
Settle down,I silently scold.Be cool.
Be cool. That’s the plan.
Beau brakes at the stop sign on State Highway 13 and looks at me, his expression open, but cautious. “Could I see you again?”
