Page 44 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
“The lease was almost up, anyway. New York is expensive.” I’d really like to run away from this conversation. The water is getting choppy. I didn’t prepare for a triathlon today. Good thing I started with a wholesome breakfast.
We go back and forth like this until Celeste says, “I still don’t believe it. There’s no way a guy like Beau would marry someone like you.”
His coffee mug bangs on the table with a little too much force. Either that or he’s upset that the cereal milk carton is empty.
Catching my eyes for one long beat, he takes the phone from my hand. During home games, the Knights ring a gong to announce his arrival on the ice. I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with his being so humble. I almost hear it now, somewhere in the distance.
His jaw flexes and his nostrils flare. “You don’t think someone like me would marry Margo? You are wildly mistaken. I am going to adore, serve, and love her for the rest of our lives. I’d like to see you try to stop me.”
Beau Hammer has entered the chat.
The line is quiet. My eyes match the mugs on the table, wide and glassy. I know he doesn’t mean it, but it feels good for him to come to my defense against their continued attempts to cut me down and undermine me.
At last, my mother rallies. “Have you set the date?”
“St. Patrick’s Day,” Beau says and stabs the redend callbutton.
He turns to me, captures my gaze, and passes me my phone. I drop it like a hot potato.
I don’t need to take a breath, I need to catch my breath. There’s a difference.
After that, the energy inside of me needs diffusing so I start to clean up. Beau helps and we quietly work together.
After folding the dishtowel, I lean on the counter. Tone flat, I say, “So that was super fun.”
“I detect sarcasm.”
“You detect correctly.” But a smile appears anyway. “For a man of few words, you sure know how to use the right ones. Thank you.” I almost can’t thank him enough.
“Want to go for a run?”
“Actually, yes.”
March means it’s still winter in Nebraska whether the groundhog saw its shadow or not. But the day is mild and the sun shines as we take the community loop that starts on 4thStreet, goes past the train depot, out toward the corn fields, and back around with a hazy view of the Omaha skyline in the distance.
We’re quiet the whole way. Because Beau is an athlete and his legs are practically twice the length of mine, I imagine he could complete the circuit in half the time. Kidding. His legs aren’t that long, but he could go faster if he wanted to. However, he keeps my pace.
When we reach the condo, we pause by the entrance. He stretches his hamstrings and quads.
I follow suit. “I’m so bad. I always skip this part.”
“Warm downs are worth it. But so are you, Honey Butter.”
My legs are a little shaky, but I nearly fall backward over the bike rack. I tried not to think about my mother and Celeste, their complete disrespect, and calling out my lies. As usual, I failed. Apparently, it’s been on his mind too.
Beau steadies me with a firm hand. For someone so stoic and cold, he really knows how to rattle and warm up a gal.
Honey Butter. I like it.
We go upstairs and he walks me to the SkyBnB’s door. Does he want to come in? Make sure I recycle his cereal milk carton? Discuss the wedding we will not be having on St. Patrick’s Day?
Shifting from foot to foot, I say, “I’ll admit, I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by your generosity: giving me a place to stay, breakfast, playing on team Margo, and the whole fiancé thing.”
“I have to go work out, but we’ll discuss it later.”
“But we just went for a run.”
“That was my warm up. I have hockey stuff, as you called it.” The hallway is dim, but I think he winks as he turns and trots away.
