By the Book (Meant to Be #2)(44)

Oh no, she shouldn’t have complained to Beau about this. Now he would think she’d done it to get him to advocate for her.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I’m sorry, I sort of forgot that…Anyway, I didn’t tell you that because I wanted your help.”

Beau poured her more wine. “I know you didn’t. I’m the one who asked, remember? I won’t email Marta if you don’t want me to. I just don’t want that jerk to win.” He sat up. “How’s this—I’ll only say something to Marta about you if she asks. Or if she tries to make you go back early. Does that work?”

It felt really nice that he had her back.

“Yeah. It does. Thanks.”

It wasn’t until they’d moved on to the ice cream that she said what she’d been waiting hours to say.

“So. About your name.”

Beau put his bowl of ice cream down and glared at her. “I thought you forgot about that.”

She let her grin spread across her face. “I was just biding my time. You promised to tell me.”

He picked his bowl up with a huff, but she could tell he was smiling. “I guess I did.” He took a scoop of ice cream. “Okay. My name is actually James Thomas, after my dad and my grandfather. My mom’s father, Thomas Russell. This used to be his house, his and my grandmother’s.” Izzy had known his grandfather’s name, but only because it was written in some of the books that she’d borrowed from the library and brought up to her room. But Beau had only ever talked about his family that one time. And this was definitely the first time he had ever even mentioned his mom. She was learning more about him today than she had in the entire time she’d been here.

“Anyway,” he said. “My dad gave me the nickname Beau when I was a baby. He read it in a book, I guess, and it just sort of…stuck.”

There was clearly a lot more behind what he’d said: about his dad, his mom, why he was here in his grandparents’ house. Maybe even about why he’d struggled so much with his book. But Izzy didn’t think now was the time to ask about any of those things.

“Well, I like Beau,” she said. “It makes you sound like a soap opera hero, or a fairy-tale prince, or something.”

He laughed and…was he blushing?

“Oh yeah, obviously two things I aspire to be, thanks for that.”


At the end of the night, Izzy stood up. Very, very slowly.

“Ow. My entire body hurts. I’m going to get you back for this.”

Beau chuckled as he piled their dishes on the tray. “I’m going to warn you right now, getting out of bed tomorrow morning will be rough.”

She reached for the empty wine bottle and winced. She didn’t even know her abs could hurt like this.

“Thanks for telling me this now. At least I don’t have to get up before six a.m. like on a weekday.”

They walked to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher together, like they always did now. She took a step toward the fridge to grab a can of seltzer to take upstairs with her. But either because she was so sore her legs didn’t quite work, or she was a little tipsy, or some combination, she tripped. Right into Beau, who caught her. And held on.

His chest was so broad, so warm. It was nice to rest her head here, just for a second. His arms were strong but gentle. It felt so good to have them around her, his hands resting there, on her back. She could feel them through her thin tank top.

She’d tried, all day, to ignore the way she reacted to him. But now the little moments from the day flooded back to her. When he’d put his hands on her shoulders on the beach; when he’d touched her hand, just for a second, in the water; when she’d felt his breath on her neck and the warmth from his body in line at the ice cream shop. Now she faced what she’d tried to look away from all day: She’d wanted those moments to last longer.

She could feel his heart beating against her ear. Or was it her own?

And then he dropped his arms.

“Izzy—”

No. That’s not what this was, he wasn’t interested in her like that. Of course he wasn’t. She wasn’t interested in him like that either. This was work, remember?

She didn’t even like him, remember?

“Oof, I’m so sore I can barely stand up!” She took a step back, toward the kitchen door. “I should go to bed while I can still make it up the stairs.”

She turned to leave the kitchen, like normal, like she always did at the end of the night. This was just a normal night, that’s all.

“Good night, Izzy,” Beau said, when she was at the kitchen door.

She looked back at him. He hadn’t moved from that spot by the sink.

“Good night, Beau,” she said.





Saturday morning, Izzy stayed in bed longer than usual. It wasn’t that she’d slept all that late—she was wide-awake by eight. But at 9:30, she was still in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Because the thing was, when she went downstairs, she’d have to face Beau.

Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought. Maybe she hadn’t actually rested her head on his chest. Maybe she hadn’t enjoyed his arms around her quite so obviously. Maybe she hadn’t wished…

Ugh. She pulled the covers over her face and then winced. Just that small motion made her arms hurt. Maybe that was her excuse to stay in bed forever?