CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Minutes or possibly hours later, Beau gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He placed her gently on the thick-striped comforter of the bed.
He’d been emptied and left raw and satisfied. Judging from the smug smile that hovered on those rosy lips, Bristol felt the same.
He sat next to her, against the upholstered headboard and mountain of pillows, and brushed her hair back from her face. “Bristol?”
“Mmm?”
“How do you feel?”
She didn’t open her eyes, but her smile bloomed smug and satisfied, her dimples winking to life. “Good. Sleepy. Hungry.”
“I brought dinner.”
“In the bags you threw on the stairs when I jumped you?”
“It’s frozen pizza,” he said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Mmm, pizza,” she yawned. “Let’s eat and then do that again.”
He gave in to the urge and stroked his fingers through that glossy brown curtain of hair. “You liked it?” he asked.
The pillow hit him in the face. “Now I know you can’t seriously be asking because you don’t recognize earth-moving, body-shattering sex when you have it.”
“Just looking for a verbal confirmation that it was a mutually satisfying experience,” he grinned.
“Oh, and me screaming your name was too subtle?”
“I’ve never heard anything better in my entire life.” Beau’s life had just changed, and he wasn’t about to pretend to deny it. His entire world was in Chicago and on hold. And the woman who had single-handedly changed all that thought he was someone else.
He could fix this, somehow. He just needed a little more time to figure things out.
“You look phenomenal naked,” Bristol announced. “Does yoga really do all that?” She waved a hand at his torso.
“How about you stay here, and I’ll make the pizza?” he offered, ignoring her question.
She curled on her side, hugging a pillow to her spectacular chest. “Mmm, ’k.”
Beau dropped a kiss on her forehead and then one on her lips, which went further than he intended. By the time he broke away and escaped, he was hard as stone again and couldn’t zip his jeans.
When he returned minutes later, he found Bristol in much the same position he’d left her in except for the fact that she was guiltily shoving her phone under her pillow.
He handed her a glass of wine and put his on the nightstand. There he found the matches, and he worked his way around the room lighting the clusters of candles she’d placed everywhere.
“So of the entire population of Hope Falls, what percentage is aware of what we just did?” he asked.
“The night is young, so probably only fifty to fifty-five percent,” she guessed. “And I swear, I was just mostly just checking on Violet—she’s making pumpkin roll with Grammy, by the way. I wasn’t gloating about our dirty deeds. Except to Vanna and Lissa.”
“Are your parents going to want me in their house tomorrow after word spreads?” he asked, sliding onto the bed next to her and pulling her into his side.
She propped herself on his chest. “Relax, Beau. Hope Falls may be nosey, but we know enough not to tell people things they don’t need to know. Besides, I think they’re looking forward to a new plus one. It’ll help take everyone’s minds off of Hope.”
The name of the woman who had brought him here had him tensing. “If there’s anything I can do to help, Bristol, please let me know.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Thanks, Beau. I feel bad for you walking into this. We’re a wounded family. All those traditions we established over the years, every single one of them was built on the whole. But we’re not whole anymore.”
She stared into her glass of wine. “We’re missing so many puzzle pieces. Hope was the one who insisted we wear pajamas for Thanksgiving. Every Christmas Eve, she and Violet made the cookies for Santa. There are so many holes where she should be. I think the whole town is going to feel it. She always helped organize the Christmas Eve Carnival.”
“You have a carnival on Christmas Eve?” Beau asked, picking up his glass of wine.
“That’s what all the outsiders say until they go to one,” Bristol joked. “Every year on Christmas Eve, the whole town turns out at Riverside Park for hot chocolate and carols and a walk through the lights. There’s a pie contest, too. It’s just a small town way of taking a break from the chaos so we can all really enjoy the holiday, the community.”
“It sounds nice,” he admitted.
“It is. And every year, Hope was there, doling out hot chocolate, organizing the choir, judging the Santa contest. But not this year.”
“I’m sorry, Bristol.”
She sighed heavily. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. Everything seems to remind me of her. You know the building next door?”
The building next to Early Bird was an exact replica of its three-story brick neighbor.
“Yeah, the hardware store. Mr. Maybry, the out-of-work handy man.”
Bristol nodded. “Good memory. Pollard’s. They’d been in business for sixty-plus years, and when Mr. Pollard Jr. died, Hope wanted to buy the building and keep the retail downstairs and do lofts on the top two floors. ‘We’d be neighbors for life,’ she’d say.”
“And you can’t help but think of that every time you walk outside,” Beau predicted.
“All the ‘what might have beens’ are really crushing my holiday spirit.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where all of that came from. I seem to dump sad on you every time we’re together. Let’s forget I totally brought the mood down.”
He stroked her hair again. “Bristol, you don’t have to pretend everything’s okay with me. I don’t need you to be strong for me.”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “You see a lot with those sexy green eyes.”
“I hope to see a lot more before the end of the night.”
They ate pizza and made love—several more times—and laughed and slept. And when he woke in the morning, with Bristol still in his arms, Beau knew there was no going back. He was in love with Bristol Quinn, and he wasn’t letting go.
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“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” Beau asked for the third time since getting out of Bristol’s car in front of Bristol’s parents’ house. They lived in a cozy brick bungalow on a corner lot. There was a wreath on the door and an inflatable Santa on the tiny patch of lawn.
“Beau, you brought enough food and booze to feed an army. My mom’s going to be impressed, and my Dad is just happy you have a penis,” Bristol said, her chin holding the top casserole dish in place.
“What about the pajamas? Does everyone really wear pajamas, or are you punking me?” he asked, looking down at his flannel pajama pants.
“Beau, trust me,” Bristol grinned. “Everything is going to be fine. Now, are you ready for chaos?”
Beau swallowed hard. He’d faced disappointed fans, aggressive reporters, and jacked up opponents. He could do this. “Let’s do this.”
Bristol gave the front door a well-placed kick, and it swung open. It sounded to Beau like there were a thousand angry people inside.
“Remember that my mom’s Italian?” Bristol shouted over her shoulder at him.
“Yeah.”
“Well, so are her sister, her aunt, and her mother.”
He followed her through the foyer, past the living room crowded with furniture, and down the skinny hallway toward the chatter and the scents of turkey and gravy.
He watched her disappear into the kitchen and heard the chorus of greetings.
“There she is!”
“Doesn’t she look beautiful?”
“I hope you made those sweet potatoes!”
“Hi, Nana! Aunt Cara, Aunt Lia, you’re looking beautiful as always,” Bristol’s greetings rang out.
When he stepped into the kitchen, just one foot on the green linoleum, a hush fell over the room. It was a small kitchen, but they’d managed to squeeze in the entire female population of the family. The windows were steamed up from all the cooking and body heat, and everyone was wielding wine glasses.
Lissa and Savannah, thankfully in colorful pajama leggings and sweatshirts, looked up from the mountain of potatoes they were peeling at the small table. They waved and smiled as if they knew exactly how he’d spent the last eighteen hours of his life.
Mary, in a pair of pink pajama bottoms covered in kittens, shoved a glass of wine at Bristol and directed Violet in the potato mashing department. Bristol gave her daughter a kiss on the top of the head and admired her potato handiwork.
But the other three women with their dark hair and eyes like Mary’s watched him warily. He felt as though he’d just stepped into the lioness’s den.
“Everybody, this is Beau,” Bristol said, making the introduction. “Beau, this is everyone. My nana, Ludavine.” The woman dressed in head-to-toe black nodded imperiously. Her graying hair was cut in a sleek bob, and though she had to be hovering around seventy, her face was mostly unlined. “This is my Great-Aunt Cara,” Bristol continued, pointing at the woman in plain flannel pajamas sitting on the barstool and stirring the pot on the stove that bubbled. “And my Aunt Lia.” Lia, a carbon copy of Mary, in pink puppy pants, smiled cheerfully.
“Hi, Beau,” they said as one.
“Hi, everyone. Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Quinn,” he said, handing over the fall-themed centerpiece he’d gotten her.
They all began speaking at once, but to whom and about what he couldn’t tell. Lia grabbed the bags out of his hands and started unloading. The bottle of wine went straight to the corkscrew, he noted.
When Lia returned, it was with the six-pack she’d dug out of the shopping bag. “Okay, you’re going to take this, and you’re going to go outside to the garage. Take your coat, too.”
Not sure if he’d just been kicked out or given a reprieve, Beau trudged back down the hallway, the sounds of female chatter seeming only to get louder behind him.
He let himself out the front door and wandered around the side of the house. At the back of the lot was a one-car garage in the same brick as the house. When he peered through the glass of the door, he spotted salvation.
Big Bob Quinn himself in fleece plaid pants waved Beau inside and became even more cheerful when he spotted the six-pack. “Thank God. You just saved us a trip back into that she den.”
“Us” consisted of Nolan, Bristol’s affable ex, and a tall, skinny guy hunched over the rabbit-eared thirteen-inch TV shouting profanity at a referee who couldn’t hear him.
“Glad I could help.” He should have gotten a case.
“Grab a chair,” Bob said, helping himself to one of the beers.
“Hey, I’m Vince, Savanna’s fiancé,” the skinny guy said, offering his hand when he was done yelling.
“Vince, nice to meet you. I’m Beau.”
“Crazy in there isn’t it?” Nolan said, pulling up an extra camp chair for Beau and grabbing a beer out of the pack.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You ever see that movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding?” Vince asked.
Beau shook his head. He had. Alli had made the entire team watch it on a road trip once, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “No, but I know the gist of it.”
“This is like My Big Fat Italian Thanksgiving,” Bob said, chugging the beer as if it were medicinal.
Beau sat back in his chair, popped the top on a beer, and finally started to relax.
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The relaxation came to a screeching halt when Violet came to collect them. The men were welcomed back into the house by a slightly tipsier group of women than he’d left. They all crowded around the table in the Quinns’ tiny dining room. Violet and Bristol had to crawl under the table that had been extended to its full length to accommodate the crowd just to reach their seats in the corner.
Beau took a seat next to Bristol. There was a box of tissues in front of his plate. In fact there were three boxes of tissues on the table.
Once they were all seated Nana Ludavine cleared her throat, and everyone quieted. Ready for whatever grace the Quinns said, Beau bowed his head.
“Okay the rules are everybody passes the food unless your arms are broken, and everybody tries a bite of everything with no whining,” she looked fiercely at Violet who smiled. “And no crying. Anyone starts to cry, we change the subject. We have a lot to be thankful for, and that’s what we should be thinking about today.”
Beau looked around the table to gauge the reaction to Ludavine’s laws. Since the food was already being passed, he assumed all had accepted the edicts. Bristol squeezed his thigh under the table. “How’d it go in Man Land?” she whispered.
“Very peaceful,” he said, heaping potatoes onto both their plates from the bottomless bowl that Mary helpfully shoved at him.
Nolan and Lissa sat at the foot of the table crammed against the bay window. Lyric smeared potatoes and corn into a pattern on the tray of her highchair. Vince caught Beau’s attention and mimed drinking. Beau nodded vigorously. From a cooler at his feet, Savannah’s fiancé produced four cans of light beer and tossed them around the table.
“Who’s sitting at that place?” Violet asked through a mouthful of stuffing. She pointed down to the empty place setting on the opposite end of the table next to Great-Aunt Cara. Beau saw Mary’s hand tremble when she reached for her wine glass.
“That’s for Aunt Hope,” Bristol explained quietly.
“But she’s not here anymore,” Violet pressed, confusion written on her pretty little face.
“We don’t want to forget Aunt Hope,” Bristol said, her voice thickening with emotion. “We want to feel like part of her is still here with us.”
Beau reached under the table and squeezed her leg. They all heard the whimper, and Beau looked on in horror as Lissa’s face crumpled, and she reached for her napkin.
“Oh, crap,” Bob muttered, his eyes watering. “Lissa, you hang in there, you hear me?”
Someone else sniffled.
“Subject change!” Vince announced at a near shout. “Mary, this turkey is delicious. Is it free range?”
“What does free range mean?” Ludavine demanded.
Lissa put her napkin down and took a large gulp of wine. Aunt Lia passed the bottle around.
He admired them all. Their determination to stay grateful to enjoy their time together, even when the absence of one was so painful, was a testament to the strength of their family. They protected their own, just as he would. He respected that.
They chattered on, Beau deflecting questions about yoga and Bristol deflecting questions about marriage. They stumbled a few times but managed to make it to dessert without breaking any of the rules.
Mary and Lia got up to bring the desserts in despite the fact that no one at the table had any room for more.
When Mary placed Bristol’s pecan pie on the table another silence descended. “Is that…?” Savannah asked, not wanting to finish the question.
Bristol nodded. “Yeah. I found her recipe.” She wiped at her eye.
“It’s a good pie, not a reason to be sad,” Nana Ludavine said, dabbing the corners of her eyes with the napkin.
Beau looked down at the pie. In the very center was a small heart. He felt his throat start to tighten. Mary trembled next to him, trying to hold back a flood of emotions. He put one hand on Bristol’s leg and patted Mary’s shoulder awkwardly with the other. The aunts were sniffling, and Bob was blowing his nose. Nolan, his own eyes damp, wiped a tear from Violet’s cheek.
“Subject change!” Beau announced in desperation. “Who wants another drink?”
“Me!” Everyone including Violet wanted one.
“Can I have a soda?” Violet asked.
“Kid, you can have anything you want,” Beau said, and everyone laughed. They opened another bottle of wine, and Bob grabbed another round of beers out of the refrigerator and doled them out. He looked around the table, eyes still misty and raised his beer. “Look, I know we’re all missing our Hope. It’s a hard day for all of us, being reminded of what we lost. I’d just like to thank you all for being here and for making this day as special as it can be.”
No one was bothering to try to hide it now. Beau grabbed a fistful of tissues and handed half to Mary and half to Bristol. He shouldn’t be here, he realized. They should be able to grieve in peace. Coming here had been a mistake. They weren’t ready, and maybe neither was he.
“I’d also like to thank Bristol,” Bob continued. She looked up to meet her father’s red eyes. “You helped us make the decision to donate Hope’s organs. Without you speaking up when you did, I don’t think we would have had the guts to do it. And now, knowing that pieces of her are living on in others is what gives us the greatest comfort.”
Bristol stifled a sob, and Beau unfroze from his seat long enough to slide a comforting arm around her shoulders. He had her to thank. She had saved the only thing in this world that had mattered to him… until now. She was his hero.
The guests around the table blew their noses and raised their glasses and cans.
“To Hope,” Bob said, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“To Hope,” everyone echoed.
To Hope, Beau repeated in his head. I promise you, Hope, I will make things right for your family.
A sad silence settled in the room, and no one seemed willing to change the subject this time.
“Hey, who likes puppies?” Violet piped up.