Page 35 of To Have and to Scold

His cheeks redden. “This is important to me. Besides, taking a short break is only going to help me work faster when I get back over there. You should do something for yourself, too.” His gaze is judgey. Like he knows everything.

“And what do you think I should do? Go get a pedicure? That’s for after the wedding season’s over, Beck. I can’t afford that luxury right now. We are behind. How do you not realize that?”

He grunts and massages his temple. “I know it better than you do. I look at those timelines several times a day, figuring out how to make this work.” Now he’s talking with his hands, gesturing with his arms. “I know it’s tight, but we’ve got this. And I gave my word to my team that I’d be there tonight. I’m not missing my game.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mary says, appearing in the doorway next to Beck. She’s holding a big basket, her arm through the handle. “I just wanted to show Beck my crochet project before I leave for lunch.”

“You’re not interrupting,” I tell her as Beck stands.

I’m not mistaking the way his eyes light up as he looks over the contents of her basket. “It’s coming along,” he says, grabbing a mass of oatmeal-colored yarn and studying it. “Mary is a master crocheter,” he tells me.

“See? These are the sleeves.” She grasps one long column hanging from Beck’s hands and lifts the design up for me to see.

“Oh, now I can see the sleeves. They’re tiny,” I say.

“This is a sweater for her cat, Leif,” Beck tells me, his face serious. “She’s getting started on the Christmas presents early this year.”

“The cats aren’t going to complain about their gifts,” Mary says with a laugh. “It’s the grandkids who change their minds on what they like so often that I can’t start on projects for them until September or so.”

“But with the way Leif eats, he might grow out of this before Christmas,” Beck says, his eyes dancing.

Mary giggles. “Well, then I’ll just give it to the kitten, Mossimo.”

“Good plan,” Beck says, rummaging around the contents of her basket. “Here it is. She’s making me a Christmas gift, too.” He holds up a long panel of brightly colored crochet lines.

She snatches it out of his hands, jams it back into the basket, and turns away. “Beck, please. Did you used to find and open all your presents before Christmas?”

“Never,” Beck insists. He glances at me. “Mary’s made me things before.”

“I gave you a scarf after Chloe left,” Mary says, reaching up to pat his arm.

Beck grows stone still, his back straightening. I’d overheard a mention of a Chloe on my first day on the job and I’ve wondered who it was and what happened.

“Mary.” Beck’s voice is a low growl, subtle, but definitely a warning for her to stop talking.

She doesn’t. “Beck, Chloe leaving, although it wasn’t easy, was the right thing.” She seems to remember I’m standing right here and sighs. “Sorry. It’s a personal matter, so I won’t say more. Remember what I told you when I gave you the scarf? It takes time to heal, but you will.”

He swallows hard and licks his lips. “Thanks, Mary.” He’s good-natured about her sharing something awkward. It’s obvious it bothers him immensely, but he’s being kind about it.

“Because you brought up a painful subject,” Beck adds. “You have to show me my present.”

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “I won’t. Besides, are you sure Chloe’s a painful subject for real? You know it was the right thing to break up.”

“Maybe the most painful part about it is everyone thinks it’s their business to analyze it and ask me about it every chance they get.” His eyes are blazing underneath the casual tone of voice and whisper of a smile on his face.

“Willow Cove loves ya, Beck. That’s all.” Mary pulls her basket closer to her. “Glad to know you don’t want to talk about it, though. Thanks for being honest about how you feel. I’ll try tostop bugging you.” She pats his shoulder and leaves my office, flicking a quick smile at me.

Seeing the way Beck was with Mary wasn’t surprising. I often hear them laughing at something they’ve said to each other when he’s passing through the reception area. But it’s adding complexity to an otherwise black and white situation here.

It’s cut and dried: whatever pull I sometimes feel to Beck has to be shoved under the mattress and hidden away like a wad of emergency cash. Therefore, he’s not supposed to be extra kind and attentive to ladies in their sixties. It messes with the algorithms of our whole dynamic.

“So? What did we decide?” he asks, lifting his amply muscular arm above his head to rest his hand casually on the top of the doorframe.

It’s hardly fair of him.

Still, there’s an undercurrent of nerves there, like he’s embarrassed about Mary bringing up his ex, Chloe.

It’s not like I can ask him about it, though, since he clearly doesn’t want anyone to be doing that, especially an outsider like me.

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