Page 62 of Under Pressure

“They didn’t want to risk it. Mom always had really terrible endometriosis, and they always said one was more than enough for them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Being an only child is one of the reasons why we’re so close, I think. They had a shit ton of love to give, and I was lucky enough to receive all of it.”

I crack a smile. “Maybe that’s why you’re so needy. You’re used to being spoiled.”

“Now you might be onto something there.”

“I’m a genius, clearly.”

The hand on my shoulder has wandered without me noticing. Beck’s fingers are twirling the hairs at the base of my neck now, and once I zone in on that touch, I feel it zip all the way down to my toes. They curl on the hardwood as goosebumps pop up all over my body.

“What about your parents?” he asks, and that warm, gooey sensation in my chest vanishes.

I press my lips together before prying them apart again. My pulse thunders in my ears so loudly they ache. “What about them?”

“I don’t remember seeing them at school. Or at Blank Page. Are you close with them?”

“No.”

“Your grandma was around a lot, though, wasn’t she? Not at the coffee shop, but at school. I remember her at graduation. She was the one who stood up during the last speech and told them to hurry it up so she could take you out to celebrate.”

A choked laugh forces its way out of me. The memory of the day he’s talking about is so vivid in my mind. It replays in perfect detail, from the initial mortification I felt hearing her shout in the silence to the happiness that replaced it when I felthow fiercely she loved me. There wasn’t a single fuck given when it came to my nan then. She was too old and proud to care what other people thought of her, and she refused to waste the rest of her life following society’s rules.

I loved her all the more for that. She taught me everything I know.

“She was,” I croak, blinking furiously so I don’t cry in front of him.

Luckily, he reads into my tone and doesn’t ask for clarification about why she doesn’t—can’t—come around anymore. I’m being too obvious for him to need to wonder.

“I thought she was cool as fuck back then. My dad was a bit rattled, but my mom was gushing about it for a solid twenty minutes after the ceremony.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. Nan was a category five hurricane trapped inside an old, wrinkled body.”

He slips his fingers deeper into my hair until he can massage the base of my skull. My eyes flutter shut. “Sounds like a pretty great thing to be, if you ask me. If even one person remembers me as a certified badass once I’m gone, I’ll be honoured.”

“I opened Blank Page in her honour,” I admit.

“She loved coffee?”

“Somuch. It was her entire personality at one point. She was the one who encouraged me to open a café, and I had her name it before she passed, though she didn’t know it at the time. It was only a dream then. Something we shared between the two of us.”

The tightness in my throat loosens when he spreads his fingers and works them deeper. The distance between us has all but disappeared. His thigh presses to mine, providing another anchor. A reminder that he’s here, listening, and I haven’t sent him running yet.

I don’t want to think about why that has me feeling so conflicted.

“It’s a great name. Not as great as my favourite word, though, but it’ll do for now.”

“Oh? And what is said favourite word? Baseball? Sorry to say, but I’m not changing the name of my coffee shop to anything related to the sport.”

His features remain completely relaxed, our eyes so stuck together that the only way to separate them is to turn away from each other. There’s something so completely enthralling about holding Beckett Rourke’s attention like this. It makes me feel powerful. Like I’m the one in control, when in reality, that’s all him.

“Quinny.”

“What?”

“My favourite word. It’s Quinny.”