Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(116)

“I was, uh, hoping you had a moment to talk a matter over.” I spoke haltingly, worried I might’ve overstepped.

I never used to worry about overstepping with Beau, but ever since Shelly and he had hooked up, she made me feel like a perpetual third wheel.

Which I am, so . . .

Beau and Shelly glanced at each other, silent communication passing between them. I braced myself. If Beau was happy, I was happy. I did my best to limit our interactions to my scheduled custody times: Wednesday morning fishing every week, Saturday night at Genie’s, a camping trip here or there, an invite to dinner at the Winston homestead on occasion, a quick lunch if he had time.

I suspected Shelly didn’t like me much. I suspected Shelly didn’t like anybody much. Except Beau. Which was why I hadn’t gotten my hopes up about—

“Absolutely,” Shelly said, walking past me to the door and drawing her keys out. “You want tea?”

Only if you don’t poison it. “Sure.” I found a smile to put on to hide my surprise. “Tea would be great.”

She didn’t smile, but she did give me a single nod and opened the door wide enough for me to follow.

“Are we fishing tomorrow?” Beau asked, closing the door after us and stepping next to me.

“Yep, yep. The boat is all stocked. I’ll be back here in the morning, bright and early.” I glanced at Shelly’s departing back as she headed to the kitchen. Once she’d exited overhearing-radius, I turned fully to Beau. “Sorry I’m interrupting, but I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I need . . .”

“What?” His eyes grew rounded, worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot,” I said starkly.

He grinned, looking at me funny. “Yeah. Everybody knows that.”

“I need advice. Your advice,” I whispered, ignoring his teasing.

“Okay.” Beau stuffed his hands into his back pockets. “Shoot.”

“Remember when you got that girl pregnant in high school?”

Beau stiffened, his lips parting, his eyes wide and startled. “Hank. Oh my God, Hank—”

“No. No, I didn’t get anyone pregnant.”

“Oh thank God,” he breathed out, chuckling his relief, his shoulders slumping with it. “Thank. God. What a disaster that would be.”

I frowned, oddly offended. “What the hell, Beau?” I hit his shoulder. “You think I’d be such a terrible father?”

He screwed his face up. “Come on. Like you want to be a dad.”

Drawing myself to my full height—which was exactly one-fourth of an inch taller than Beau’s six-foot-two-inches—I glared at him. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’d make a great dad. You don’t know.”

Beau stared at me, his eyebrows drawing together. “What are we even talking about?”

“Charlotte Mitchell.”

Something flared behind his eyes, but he shut it down before I could read it, his tone cagey as he said, “What about Charlotte Mitchell?”

“She’s got kids.”

“And?”

“And I think—no, I know I’m . . .” My mouth suddenly dry, I inhaled and exhaled, then did it again, and again.

“Hank?”

“I’m in love with her,” I blurted.

Beau’s eyes widened to the size of pasties, but otherwise he didn’t move.

“Or I’m infatuated with her competence, humor, work ethic, cleverness, face, goodness, and body—not necessarily in that order. Body and face are probably tied for first. Her smile is fucking mesmerizing, but so are her legs and breasts, and her strength. She’s so strong, so damn strong. She can lift a whole damn crate, did you know that? Those are followed by goodness and humor—another tie—then competence and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. Hold your horses.” Beau gave me a quick, searching stare, then paced toward the kitchen. He peeked around the corner, paced back, and then stood close, his voice a whisper as he said, “The last time we spoke about Charlotte—actually discussed her in detail, not you ogling her at the car wash, not us talking about her quitting, and not Roscoe filling us in on why she doesn’t like you—you were giving me shit about her owing you a thank-you note for splitting up her marriage. You didn’t want her working at your club. You didn’t even want to know her.”

I lifted my hands between us. “Okay, okay, let me back up a bit.”

“Please do.”

“I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version of the last few weeks. Try to keep up.” Keeping one eye on the doorway to the kitchen, I gave Beau the quick and dirty details—dates, places, names, events—that had brought me to this moment.

Unsurprisingly, he listened with patience. He also didn’t have many questions until I got to the part about keeping our relationship a secret.

“Wait a minute, Charlotte wanted you to keep y’all dating on the down-low?” He looked ready to file a formal complaint.

“No. That was me. She said she’d be proud to date me, but I pointed out that it would be bad for the kids. Reluctantly, after a good deal of persuading on my part, she agreed. But that’s all a moot point now since Sienna is throwing a party for us next month and making like we’re all best friends.”