By the Book (Meant to Be #2)(82)

Great. I’ll email Marta now. Michaela can get you a ticket to fly out on Sunday.



And now it felt all business again. How else was it supposed to feel when he had his assistant book her plane ticket back to New York?

She tried to push the thought aside—Michaela was probably far more efficient at this than Beau was; it was a business expense, after all—but the curt tone of Beau’s text didn’t help. That was probably just how he always texted. It’s not like she was all that familiar with his texting voice.

And then she stood up and started to pack.





Saturday morning was their last session in the library. Izzy pushed that out of her mind the whole time they worked so she wouldn’t cry. At the end, Beau took his laptop back from her and slid his notebook across the table to her like he always did.

She took a deep breath and slid it back to him.

“I, um, should leave this with you,” she said. “I think it’s safe now, don’t you?”

He looked down at the notebook for a long time. Finally, he looked up at her. “Right,” he said. “I forgot. And yeah, I think so.” He closed his laptop. “I can’t believe I’ve managed to write some of this book. You’re a miracle worker, Izzy.”

She shook her head. “You’ve written most of the book, actually. And thank you, but I can’t take all the credit here. You’ve worked really hard.”

She was so proud of him, of how much he’d accomplished, of how hard he’d worked to break through everything that had been holding him back.

He smiled at her. “I did work hard, but so did you. With me, and your own work. I can’t wait to read all your books someday. Someday soon.”

She had worked hard. She was proud of herself, too—of all the work she’d done with him, for the skills as an editor she’d gained, for all the writing she’d done on her own work. She hadn’t written most of a book while she’d been here, but she’d started one. And she had a newfound belief in the one she’d already written.

“I can’t wait for that, too,” she said.

She wondered, though: On that imaginary future day when he would read her book, would it be because she gave it to him and he read it sitting next to her? Would they still be together? Or would he see it in a bookstore, years from now, and remember her?

She knew she should ask him. But the words died on her lips.

Beau stood up and tucked his notebook under his arm.

“I told Michaela not to make us dinner tonight,” he said. “I thought we could go out.”

Dinner tonight. Their last night.

“That sounds great,” she said.

She was glad—and touched—that Beau had made plans for dinner tonight. The past day and a half had been so rushed that she’d barely thought about anything not on her to-do list.

Of course, she’d thought constantly about Beau, but her thoughts were all jumbled, with no clear shape. She wanted to stay here with him, she wanted to get the job at Maurice, she would miss him, she knew he would miss her. But would he just miss her because he would miss the company, and not her specifically? Was this just one of those summer camp kinds of romances, hot and intense and so real in the moment, but quickly fading away as soon as they were apart?

The night before, when they’d watched their show together on the couch in the TV room with his arm around her, and then later, when he’d kissed her so tenderly in his room, everything had felt so perfect, so right between them. But now she wondered if it was all in her head. After all, they’d always known she’d be leaving soon, but he’d never made any reference to the future. To their future, after she left.

No, she couldn’t think about any of this today. Not on their last day.

As soon as they walked out of the library, he pulled her to him and kissed her, so hard it made her breathless. When the kiss ended, she clung to him. Why did she suddenly feel like crying?

“I’m going to miss you, Isabelle Marlowe,” he said in her ear.

Damn it. Now she knew she was going to cry.

“I’m going to miss you, too, Beauregard Towers,” she said. And instead of crying, they both started laughing.


Saturday night, her last night in California, Izzy got dressed for dinner with Beau. She was flying out of LAX the next morning at nine, which meant she had to leave Santa Barbara by five. Her suitcase was totally packed—when she realized earlier that day how much extra stuff she’d acquired while she’d been here, she’d run out and bought an overnight bag for the overflow. She’d finish packing it when they got back tonight.

She put on the long bright yellow sundress she’d bought on that shopping expedition with Michaela. This was the first time she’d worn it.

She walked down the staircase to meet him, the long dress trailing behind her. He stood at the foot of the staircase and watched her the whole way, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi.” He reached out a hand to her when she got to the bottom step. “You look beautiful.”

She took his hand and held on tight. “Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

They were quiet as they drove down the hill for dinner. She hadn’t even asked him where they were going, she realized as he parked not far from the beach. He took her hand and steered her down the street.