the glass door. She realized she was nervous. As the mother of the bride, Beverly had been part of the preplanning with Natalie and Caitlyn, and Natalie liked the older woman, but she was suddenly self-consciously aware that Beverly was also the mother of Natalie’s new object of full-blown lust.
And like it or not, Beau hadn’t just slipped into that spot, he’d commandeered it. Dear god, even when he was being manipulative and arrogant and every other unpleasant adjective she could throw his way, damn him to hell, he tripped her trigger.
And that was highly, impossibly problematic. He was everything she didn’t want in a man, wasn’t he? Relationships weren’t supposed to shake you up and make you feel unsettled and as if you were too much for your own skin. And that was an equally crazy thought. What she and Beau had wasn’t even close to a relationship. It was a…she didn’t even know what it was. Wanting to strip a man naked and work her way up, or down, his body didn’t qualify as a relationship.
As if that wasn’t the craziest thing. She shrugged away the silly thought and stepped into Beverly’s Closet.
At the tinkle of the bell, Beverly looked up from where she was plumping a cushion in an armchair upholstered in apple-green velvet. “Can I help you…” Recognition kicked in. “Natalie, it’s so good to see you again. Come on in, sugar.” Beverly’s genuine smile encompassed her. Somewhere in her midfifties, with porcelain skin, moss-green eyes and shoulder-length hair dyed a soft, flattering shade of blond, Caitlyn’s mother struck Natalie as the quintessential middle-aged Southern beauty.
Beverly hugged her, engulfing her in a cloud of perfume. “What a nice surprise. Well, not a total surprise because Milton called and explained the ruined outfit.” A delicate blush tinged Beverly’s porcelain cheeks.
“Milton?” Natalie didn’t know anyone named Milton.
“Milton Lewis.”
Lewis? That sounded familiar but it wouldn’t click into place. And obviously she still looked perplexed.
“Beau’s crew chief.”
Right. “Oh. That Mr. Lewis.” Natalie laughed. She’d really liked Scooter, née Milton, Lewis. “I didn’t think his mother named him Scooter.”
Beverly rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard to call a grown man? He picked up that name in high school when he and my late husband started tinkering with cars. Since Milton was the shortest, he’d scoot underneath the car to work on it.”
Natalie personally preferred Scooter to Milton, but she kept her own counsel. She’d quickly learned in this business when to hold her tongue. Well, most of the time. When she was around Beau, however, she didn’t manage nearly as well. “Hmm.” She, however, found Beverly’s blush sweet. “So, Mr. Lewis called you?”
Color rose in the older woman’s cheeks again. “To tell me you might come by.”
“Uh-huh,” Natalie responded with a knowing smile. Beverly was a beautiful woman and, well, bottom line, Scooter or Milton or whatever they called him was a man.
Another delicate stain of pink blossomed. “We talked for a while. I think he’s lonely since Emma Jean died.”
“And I think you’re a beautiful woman.”
“Well…why…thank you. That’s what he said, too,” Beverly told her in a sudden rush. She buried her hands in her face momentarily and then looked up, equal measures of excitement and mortification in her green eyes. “Oh, Lord, he asked me to go to dinner.”
Natalie had the distinct impression she’d just wandered into something intensely personal but was enough of a stranger to qualify as a confidante. And for whatever reason, people seemed to confide in her. “What did you say?”
“I said I’d let him know.”
Absence of a flat-out no meant yes. “Do you want to go?”
Beverly fluttered her hand nervously along her hairline. “I don’t know…it’s been so long…What if he tries to kiss me when he brings me home?”
Natalie pushed aside the memory of Beau’s mouth on her lips and breast that seemed seared into her brain. This wasn’t about her and this woman’s son. Regardless, her entire body went on red alert and her nipples stood at attention. She was pretty damn sure she was wearing her own blush now. “Do you want him to?”
Straightening a row of hangers that didn’t need straightening, Beverly avoided eye contact. “It’s not that. I haven’t…It’s been…Monroe, Beau and Caitlyn’s daddy, died sixteen years ago and I haven’t seen—” she glanced up meaningfully “—anyone since then.”
Seen? Natalie’s curiosity and confusion must have shone in her face.
“My children needed me and I was all torn up inside, and then when Caitlyn was older, I thought it was still best not to date and it’s just gotten to be a habit. What if I don’t remember how to kiss? And what will my children think? What would you think if your mother was about to start dating?”
She’d never thought about it. She took a second to consider, unwilling to throw out a glib response to something that was obviously so important to Beverly. “I think if my dad died I wouldn’t want my mother to be lonely. I think your kids will feel the same. Maybe not at first…but they’ll come around. Well, I think Caitlyn’s so wrapped up in the engagement and wedding and love in general that she’ll be right onboard.”
Beverly nodded. “I think you’re right. I’m more worried about Beau. He stepped right in as man of the family when Monroe passed.” The tension in the set of Beverly’s shoulders eased. Apparently she was more comfortable discussing her son and the past, even if it was a difficult time, than a future date and potential kiss with Scooter. “Lord, he was only sixteen but he finished school and worked in the evenings and on the weekends and we made ends meet. I cleaned houses to keep our heads above water but Beau’s the reason I have this business and the house I’m in now.” There was no denying the admiration and mother’s pride shining in her eyes. “That boy has worked his tail off to provide a home and this business for me and he’s made sure Caitlyn never wanted for anything she truly needed. He became a man at sixteen.”
Something warm and dangerous flip-flopped inside Natalie. In retrospect, she supposed she’d heard bits and pieces of this story from her sister, Shelby, but had not really paid much attention. She didn’t want to think of Beau as a man who mentored Tim, his now-fatherless pit-crew member, or busted his young butt to keep a roof over his mother’s and sister’s heads. That all ran counter to dismissing him as just another hot, albeit arrogant, guy. She realized, rather lamely, that a somewhat expectant silence had stretched between them.
“I can see why you’re proud of him. Hopefully he’ll be okay with you going out with Scoot—I mean, Milton.”
Beverly beamed, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “He’ll just have to be, won’t he?”
“And don’t worry that you won’t remember how to kiss. It’s probably been a while for him, as well. Y’all can remember together.”
Another blush, but somehow this looked more like a blush of expectation than embarrassment. She nodded, her eyes sparkling. “So, we need to outfit you because that son of mine was
