Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(75)

“I said seize, not siege.”

“Even so.” Jenn turned her smile on me, it transformed from affectionate to sympathetic. “A woman only wants to be conquered after she’s done the conquering. Rescued after she’s done the rescuing. Then it’s a choice she’s actively made rather than a debt she needs to repay. I think the grand gesture you need to make is asking her for help.”

I stood straighter, caught off guard by her suggestion. What an interesting idea.

“Show her you’ve been conquered.” Her smile turned sweet and she added, “When was the last time you asked anyone for help, Billy? Or told them how much you needed them? Maybe start there.” With one more gentle pat, she walked off to join Ashley and Shelly.

I stared after Jenn. When was the last time you asked anyone for help? I honestly couldn’t remember.

“Astute woman is astute.”

Shaking myself, I realized Cletus was still next to me, his elbow still on my shoulder, his attention fixed at some point in the distance—I suspected his wife based on the look in his eyes.

“Tell me something, dear brother. This is what I keep puzzling over: you are remarkably adroit with the womenfolk, and menfolk, and catfolk and dogs and hamsters when you want to be. But particularly women. I’ve seen you in action. You can be smooth. When you apply yourself, you got almost as much charisma as Beau and he’s basically considered a lethal weapon in most states. So why disarm the charm with Scarlet?”

I didn’t answer. The answer was complicated at best, dysfunctional and convoluted at worst.

Cletus was right. I was good with women, when I applied myself and when I had a goal in mind. With my family, employees, colleagues, and even constituents the goal was clear: I gave them what they needed from me in order for them to be successful, whatever that thing might be. Some folks needed praise, some folks needed boundaries and discipline, others charm and charisma, still others simply wanted frequent communication.

And yet, with Scarlet, even when we’d been teenagers, I didn’t know how to approach her. At first it was because I didn’t know what she needed from me in order to be successful. Once I realized that I was in love with her, it was too late to figure things out. She was gone. When she came back, my attempts to give her what I’d thought she needed had been one colossal failure after another.

Which brought us to now.

“Here’s another thought.” My brother dropped his elbow to stroke his beard with his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe flirt.”

I gave him a side-eye.

“You should flirt.” He nodded like this was the definitive answer to all my problems. “Not everything has to be blood, sweat, and tears. You’re allowed to take enjoyment in the woman you love, make her smile, make her feel pretty, special. What could it hurt to flirt?”

I opened my mouth to respond but in the next instant he’d smacked me on the back and said, “Good talk.”

He then crossed to Jenn and stood behind her, placing his hands on her hips and bending to whisper something in her ear that made her laugh. My attention returned to Scarlet and Drew. Their heads were together, friendly smiles on their faces, though hers looked strained around the edges, fatigued.

You should flirt.

Drew resembled a Viking on most days, or a pro-football linebacker, and tonight she seemed especially small in comparison. Perhaps, I reflected with remorse, she looked so small because she also looked drained, like she carried the burden of weighty matters.

I’d never thought of Scarlet as small before. Her spirit—when she was happy, when she sang, and now I knew when she lost herself to pleasure—seemed uncontainable to me. Likewise, her body was breathtaking, but also not containable by the words small or big, tall or short. She was Scarlet, larger than life, beautiful in much the same way fireworks light up the night sky.

Watching her now, I wondered if this idea of her in my head was part of the problem.

Her skin seemed paler than usual; her cheeks lacked their typical rosy hue; even her freckles appeared faded. She may’ve had all the explosive beauty and spirit of a firecracker, but she was also just a woman who’d been struggling for a long time. I’d added to her struggles. I’d been the cause of many of them. I didn’t want to do that or be that anymore.

I wanted to be the reason she smiled.

Maybe flirt.

Jethro and Beau had been right when they’d said I was rusty, out of practice. These last few months in particular I’d been avoiding all social commitments. I’d have to fumble through, figure out my flirt strategy as I went along. The time to close this distance between us—this distance I’d created and her plans to leave for Rome—was now or never.

Pushing away from the doorframe, I strolled to where Drew and Scarlet sat. At my approach, she did a double take but then gave me her eyes, which seemed interested rather than wary.

“Sc-Claire. Drew.” I gave them both a nod while I tripped over her name, directing my next question to him. “I imagine you’d like to dance with your wife?”

The big man peered up at me, the side of his mouth hitching behind his blond beard. “You imagine right.”

I reached out a hand.

He glanced between me and my hand. He then set the neck of the guitar in my palm. “When y’all are ready to dance, just let me know. Ash and I can take over.”