Page 47 of To Have and to Scold

On the drive over, I realize I’m feeling all sorts of anger, displaced, I’m sure. Fun music on the radio doesn’t even help. Because Beck is a good person. A very attractive, kind person who is quick to brighten my day with a laugh and a smile, who in another life, I might find myself willingly entering a summer fling with.

I can’t. And it bothers me so much that I have to force myself not to flip off the Toyota Tacoma driver who didn’t make a full stop at a stop sign. What a jerk.

I’m glad I didn’t actually flip him off since I can’t afford any cuts to my reputation. But still, it felt good tothinkabout it.

It’s in this sour state of mind that I pull up to the mansion and take it all in. The broken shutters have been fixed but it still needs an exterior paint job and there’s no way I’m doingthat. Beck was right when he said I should spend my time doing things that only I can do instead of painting. Of course he was right. I just don’t know how to let go of some things, okay?

It’s a fatal flaw. One that I’ll work on later when I’m safely back in Atlanta with Amore again.

I knock on the richly carved double front doors before opening them a crack and peeking in. I don’t see Beck, even though his truck is outside.

“Knock, knock,” I say. It’s okay for me to let myself in, isn’t it? I’m so crazy as to hug him—twice!—that I might as well continue the streak and just go in.

Music is playing and I follow the sound of Benson Boone’sBeautiful Thingspast the great room to the kitchen. Maybe some workers left a radio on?

That’s when I see him at one of the newly installed, tall kitchen windows, his back turned to me.

His…bareback. His board shorts are slung low on his hips. Why is it so sexy that Beck is in flip-flops right now? His torso ripples and moves as he’s bent over his work at the window, singing.

Singing!He’s singing a mushy love song. It fits with the Beck vibe, come to think of it. And it fits that he’s in flip-flops, shirtless. But this is work-mode Beck, the guy who I overheard get after an employee for wearing old tennis shoes instead of steel-toed boots on the job.

The music is up so loud he doesn’t know I’m here. I hate to startle him, but this is going to be a little awkward when he discovers I’ve been standing here, watching him, listening to his silky voice.

So, naturally, I do the only thing that makes any sense at all. I start to sing along with him.

The only words I can think of right now have something to do with wanting and needing, and though it comes out softly, I feel like I’m surprisingly on key.

He startles a little and rotates around to see me in all my T-shirt-and-baggy-shorts glory. A bashful expression creeps over his eyes.

Beck is embarrassed? Well, that could be a first. The guy is nothing if not confident.

But right now? He starts to sing again, this time, a little softer. Inexplicably, I raise my voice.

The song mentions having love and it’s probably a good thing that it ends because my cheeks have started to heat up.

“You said you wouldn’t get here until nine,” he says, breaking our gaze and dropping a long strip of dark gray sticky foam on the floor. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m early because he’s smiling, his gaze taking me in. But there’s still a stained flush to his cheeks.

“My shopping trip was short-lived. I’m going to have to order what I need.” I tell my eyes not to ogle Beck’s chest, and they are so disobedient that I have to cross my arms over my own chest and rotate to look out at the ocean. The sun is setting, but I’m not even seeing it becauseHello!I have to concentrate on not objectifying Beck.

He rambles to the corner, where his T-shirt is crumpled on the floor. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s hot in here. We need to get the air conditioning tuned up before we start using it again.”

Instead of responding like a normal person, I jump into wedding planner mode—all bossy and prescriptive. “Yeah, your attire is not up to code for a jobsite, that is for sure.”

Why must I be such a stickler for the rules right now? Especially when my heart is racing at his handsomeness.

He chuckles before lifting his arms to slide his T-shirt back on over his head. “Yeah, don’t tell my crew.”

Because I cannot stop myself, I stare pointedly at his flip-flops.

“And these?” He kicks his leg out and shakes his foot. “I had a practice with Leo and forgot to bring work boots with me. Which is why I’m applying weather stripping instead of doing anything too crazy.”

“Yeah, you could get a nail right through the soles of those flip-flops.”

Dallas, will you stop? Who made you the safety police?

He smiles. “Right.”

It’s best for all if I stop talking about anything even remotely to do with shoes or clothing. “Should we paint? Or actually, I’ll paint, and you can finish the weatherstripping thing.”

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