I STALLED. Was that really Beckett, or was I fantasizing about something that was clearly never going to happen?
He caught up with me and fell into step beside me. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” I looked over at him, then back at the wet sand, growing darker the farther we got from the fires.
“I—” He faltered. Because there was nothing to say. Merritt was right. The head cheerleader belonged with the quarterback, and the fat artsy girl would get her chance with some porkchop-shaped investment banker in college.
“It’s okay,” I said, sparing him the lie that was sure to come. He stopped and took my hand.
My legs wobbled. His skin was warm on mine, and something about his touch sent my stomach rolling with the tide.
“It’s not okay,” he said, his hazel eyes storming with the ocean. “Merritt had no right to say that to you. And for the record, she was wrong.”
I searched his gaze for a hint of a joke to come but only found the truth.
He was telling the truth.
“I don’t want to go back there,” I said.
“Then don’t.” He gripped my hand tighter and led me back toward the deep sand of the beach. Toward the abandoned parking lot. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
My mouth fell open, then closed. I couldn’t argue with Beckett Langley. Not when his large hand was enveloping mine. Making my hand feel small instead of meaty for the first time in my life. Whatever adventure he was walking toward, I was following, no matter what.
“Do you need to tell your friends?” he asked.
My friends. Allies, more like it. I shook my head. “I can send them a text.”
He nodded and kept walking through the thick sand.
We reached his Mercedes, and he hit the unlock button. There were people walking past us in the parking lot, but Beckett ducked his head away and got into his car before anyone noticed him. He was flying under the radar? I didn’t understand it. Was he embarrassed to be with me?
I liked him, but past history and basically every rom com told me I needed to be on guard. To watch out for secret enemies. But something told me Beckett was different. That he was genuinely kind. I walked to the passenger side, trying to catch my breath before I’d be in such close quarters with him.
The passenger door popped open, and I jumped, only settling when I realized Beckett had opened it for me from the inside.
“Get in,” he said, giving the door an extra push so it would stay open for me. It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
I ducked into his car and sat in the leather seat. Without thinking, I buckled my seatbelt.
As he backed out, he said, “Do you want to know where we’re going?”
I bit my lip and met his eyes. “I like surprises.” Especially when they involved him and me somewhere on our own.
I fired off a Sermo chat with way too many exclamation points and then put my phone in my purse. I wasn’t wasting any of these moments with my face in a screen.
He started down the cracked streets, his car taking the bumps as easily as Zara’s had. My eyes flitted around the car. Beckett’s car. Beckett Langley’s car.
What did the necklace hanging from his rearview mirror mean? It was delicate—a woman’s necklace with a football charm hanging from the end. The small golden player lunged, holding the ball in one hand, protecting himself with his other hand.
Beckett caught me looking at it. “My dad gave that to my mom after he won the Heisman. He said he couldn’t have won it without her support.”
My heart broke for him, knowing how the story ended. His mom had left his dad for his first client and best friend, right after he made it big.
“She left it in her note to me when she left us,” Beckett said bitterly.
The last two words tore me apart. Left us. Because she hadn’t just ditched her husband; she’d abandoned a son. We were in second grade when it happened.
“Do you miss her?” I asked.
For a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer, but then his head nodded sharply. “The necklace is all I have left. My dad threw out everything else.” Out of instinct more than anything, I reached over and touched his hand, just for a moment. He gave me a soft smile, then seemed to shake off his
sadness. “We’re here.”
The Seaton Bakery sign flashed at us through the windshield. “It’s closed,” I said, nodding toward the darkened windows.
He pulled his keys from the ignition and held one up. “I’ve got the hookup. Running their social media has its perks.”
My heart jerked to attention. So he had been the one to respond to that comment about my lips. I pulled them between my teeth and bit down as I got out of the car to follow him.
He let me inside, then locked the door behind us. The light behind the register was the only one on. He walked ahead of me and stood behind the glass display. “What would you like today, ma’am?”
“You can call me Rory.” I smiled. “And that one looks delicious.” I pointed at a cupcake with an Oreo protruding from cookies and cream frosting.
“Good choice.” He took two and placed them on napkins. After handing one to me, he led the way to a table away from a window and sat down.
My heart still fluttering at whatever this was, I sat across from him. He peeled the wrapper from his cupcake and ripped it in half.
“What are you doing?” I asked in shock. It was so pretty—why would he ruin it so quickly?
“This.” He put the bottom half of his cupcake over the frosting and smashed it down until frosting spilled between the edges. “Cupcake sandwich. The best way to eat it.” He took a big bite, just to prove it.
Horrified, I shook my head. “You’re a monster.” He laughed. “How are you going to eat it then?”
His eyebrows rose in a challenge, and suddenly, I felt self-conscious. Everyone knew fat girls couldn’t eat junk food in front of anyone else. Because that meant everyone else was right—I was just fat because I
couldn’t diet. Not because of my hormones or insulin resistance or any other underlying health condition associated with PCOS.
But then I remembered what Zara said. To hell with all of that. I was the prize. Even if I felt more like a participation trophy.
“Like this,” I said, licking frosting off the top like an ice cream cone. When frosting stuck to my lips and covered the tip of my nose, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Whatever you say, Cupcake.” My heart jolted. Was that a nickname?
For me?
From Beckett Langley?
I hadn’t won the bet yet, but this felt like the ultimate win.
We ate for a little while, and then Beckett broke the silence. “Why do you let Merritt get to you?”
I shook my head, not wanting to say the words I was thinking. Because she’s right. Instead, I deflected with a question of my own. “Why did you date her?”
His eyes stayed on the tabletop, but the rest of him sagged. “She’s not always so bad.”
“And by that you mean…she’s sometimes terrible?” I raised my eyebrows. We were both at the same party, right?
“She’s so worried about what everyone else thinks, she forgets what she thinks.” He quieted for a moment and then added, “She didn’t care about me. She cared about her image. How dating me made her look to the rest of the school.”
A twinge of guilt hit me. Was I doing the same thing? Trying to date him because he was Beckett Langley and he would help me prove my point about curvy girls? But it was more than that. I’d had a crush on him long before we got to high school, before he became a football god, starting as quarterback his freshman year.
“I don’t want to talk about Merritt,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied. “Then tell me about this. Why photography?” His full lips lifted at one corner. “The truth?”
I nodded, my cupcake long forgotten. (And that was saying something, because cupcakes.)
He picked at his wrapper and met my eyes, his hazel ones darkening. “I like creating something that lasts.”
The meaning behind his words hit me hard. “But why the secrets? Why aren’t you submitting your photos to the yearbook?”
He shook his head. “My dad. He wants me to focus on football and become successful like him. Doesn’t want me to end up—and I quote—a starving, washed-up artist, crawling back to him when it all goes south.”
“Ouch.” I hurt for him and me. Was that what people thought about artists?
He stared down at his cupcake, then turned his gaze on me. “I’m kind of a bummer, huh?”
I laughed. “Not at all. It’s kind of nice to see the man behind the legend.”
He rolled his eyes and gestured around the shop. “Some legend, sneaking off to take pictures.”
“I think it’s beautiful,” I said. “You have a real talent.”
His shoulders lifted in a modest shrug, and then he met my eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.” He gestured at the shop. “My dad can’t find out.”
Although every part of me protested, thinking his talents should be on full display, I nodded. “I promise.”
“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your dream?”
“I’d like to be an artist.” I’d been planning on it since middle school. “Why is that?”
“Well…” I ripped a part of the wrapper, thinking how to get the words just right. “You know how you want to save a moment forever?”
He nodded.
“I want to make it mine.”
His lips turned up. “You should do it. Follow your dream.” Our eyes locked as I said, “I will if you will.”
The pain was palpable as he considered the plan. So much longing for a reality that he couldn’t create stirred behind his hazel eyes. “I wish it were that easy, Cupcake.”
I didn’t have the words to tell him it was.
He took out his phone and turned on some music, then stood from the table and extended his arms to me.
My heart racing, I put my hands in his and leaned my head against his chest for our very first dance.
“Let’s not worry about the future,” he said into my hair. “Let’s just make this moment count.”
