Page 114 of Spicy Ever After
Her term, not mine.
Me: THEY WERE DELICIOUS, NATURALLY! THANK YOU, AGAIN.
I had snapped a picture of my short stack with butter and sugar-free syrup for Beck, but I knew he was working by the time I sent it. Still, he had to know they were heavenly.
Beck: You’re welcome. More where those came from. Whatcha doing now?
Me: HEADED HOME FROM LE JOUR WITH THE PARENTS. MARGARET’S BACHELORETTE PARTY IS TONIGHT. I NEED TO REST UP SO I DON’T OVERSTIM ON THE PARTY BUS.
Beck: Dreading or looking forward to it?
I consider the question.
Me: BOTH. I KNOW IT’LL BE TOO MUCH. BUT I ALSO DON’T WANT TO MISS OUT SINCE MARGARET IS BASICALLY MY FAVORITE PERSON.
Even as I type this, I’m aware that Beck is giving my older sister a serious run for her money in the Favorite Person department. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the whole Sisters Before Misters Code, but Margaret has disappointed me more than once lately, what with the secret move to Colorado and being in on the whole How Will We Manage Hattie’s Life Conspiracy.
But Beck?
Beck has never disappointed me.
Granted, I’ve only known him a couple of weeks—and we’ve had a grand total of four dates—but, so far, he has repeatedly and unfailingly made me feel good about myself. Every time we meet, talk, or text.
Plus, he tastes good. And I crave touching him again like Bluey craves fruit salad.
Beck: Text me if it gets to be too much and you need an extraction. I’ll come get you.
My heart does this little swoopy thing at this thought. I almost want the bachelorette party to be too much. The thought of Beck coming to get me—from anywhere for any reason—makes me feel… hell, like The Lucky One.
But I try to tame the heart swoops.
Me: YOU ARE WORKING YOURSELF TO THE BONE. YOU DON’T NEED TO BE DRIVING FROM CARENCRO TO COME FETCH ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
This is beyond true. It is also the reason our last two dates have been 1) last Friday morning when I rode around town with him to make sweet potato deliveries and 2) this Thursday evening when I went back to his house to binge-watch Dept. Q, and Beck fell asleep with his head in my lap ten minutes into the second episode.
I’m not complaining. Beck is adorable when he sleeps.
Still, I would have preferred more kissing. More touching.
And less clothing.
But between Beck’s harvesting push, working in his distillery, and taking care of his dad, Beck mostly has just had his lunch break and a few minutes at night after his shower to talk to me before he collapses—though the number of times he texts me even briefly throughout the day has grown exponentially.
And he tries to squeeze in other moments. A call when he tucked the phone against his shoulder while he made a stir fry for dinner. A long text thread while he sat in the waiting room at his dad’s doctor’s appointment yesterday. Things like that.
Beck: Hattie, honey, are you paying attention?
I frown at my phone.
Me: YEAH…??
The dots on my screen bounce for a few seconds.
Beck: Good. Because I want to make sure you get this. Yes, the harvest is important. Yes, sleep is important. Are they more important than you? Hell, no. You need me, you call. Day or night. Got it?
A flush starts under my ribs and climbs its way up my body until my face is warm and rosy.
You need me, you call. Day or night.
