Beard Science(37)

Cletus grinned. Then he chuckled. His eyes lost some of their zealous focus as he pushed away from the tree and strolled closer. “Oh yeah. She did, didn’t she?”

“I felt sorry for Billy, though.” I scooched to one side as he sat down. “His name always confused everyone, like your momma was trying to talk to Shakespeare’s ghost. ‘William Shakespeare, would you please stop Beauford from pulling down his pants in front of the girls?’”

Cletus laughed harder, leaning backward and holding his stomach. “I remember that. How old was Beau?”

“He was ten. He was trying to show us his new Tarzan underwear. I don’t think he meant any harm.”

“He sure did love that underwear.” Cletus nodded and he scratched his beard. “I’m going to have to find him some Tarzan underwear in adult size.”

“So you can torture him about it?”

He pretended to be shocked by my accusation. “Certainly not. I don’t torture my siblings.”

“Yeah, right.” I gave him my side-eye. “You forget, I’m a people watcher. I know you sell embarrassing pictures of them on stock photo sites. Jethro was griping about it after church over the summer. If it’s not torture, what do you call it then?”

He lifted his chin proudly. “I offer invaluable character building opportunities. I help them reach their true potential through suffering.”

“Oh, please.” This made me snort-laugh and I pushed his shoulder with my fingertips.

And he laughed too, which was fun. It was nice to laugh with someone in real life instead of via a letter sent once a month. And it was more than nice to laugh with Cletus.

I liked the sound of his laugh with its rumbly and artless sound. When he smiled or laughed in earnest, his dark lashes had the effect of making his eyes appear brighter and his grin lit up his whole face.

The first time I’d heard him laugh he’d been helping his momma at the library. I’d been fourteen and I think he’d been around twenty at the time, maybe a little older. His mother—who was always kind to everyone—had said something funny, and the sound of his rejoining laughter caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to do it. I’d never seen him be anything other than stern, angry, or stoic prior to that point.

Lively eyes that captivated me with their cleverness, pretty lashes, and a mouth full of straight white teeth framed by an exceedingly pleasing mouth. I’d started noticing him everywhere after that and I’d listened for his laugh, though—after watching him for a while—I decided it was best to keep my distance.

Nevertheless, his smiles, true happy smiles, were rare. Before blackmailing him, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard his laughter.

“What are you thinking about?” My hair had fallen across my face again. He tucked it behind my ear, his fingers and eyes lingering on my neck.

“Just that, uh . . .” I searched for an appropriate story to tell, an alternate truth to, Well, Cletus, since you asked, I was just thinking about how epically tremendous your smile is and how nice your fingers feel on my skin.

Unable to meet his steady gaze, I shifted my attention to the stream and cursed myself for being a terrible liar. Actually, allow me to clarify that: I’m great at lying to myself. I’m super crummy at lying to others.

His hand dropped. Another silence followed; this one was weightier, and I couldn’t figure out why. All I knew was I could feel his eyes on me and they felt heavy.

But then, out of nowhere, Cletus said, “I guess we’re going to have to practice.”

“Pardon me?”

“Practice kissing. Like what you did with Billy.”

I reeled back as my head whipped to the side, our eyes colliding. I couldn’t believe my ears. “You think . . . you want me to practice kissing with Billy?”

“No. No. Absolutely not.” Again, Cletus’s gaze flickered over me. “I mean you and me. I’ll help you practice.”

The heart flip returned, but this time it was more forceful than before. And it brought some friends—the tummy cartwheel, the throat cinch, and the chest ache.

What. The. Hell . . .?

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I rasped, forced to clear my throat, astonishment making my lungs burn.

“Why?” He shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Meanwhile, my hands were sweating. I was sweating everywhere. Even my feet in the cold stream were sweating.

“Because . . . because . . . because—” I glanced at the canopy above us, then the other side of the riverbed, the dirt next to me, the tree trunk to my left. Basically, I looked everywhere but at Cletus. “Because I’m blackmailing you and it doesn’t feel right. Like, I’m forcing you to kiss me.”

“But you’d practice with Billy?”

“Yes. He’d be doing it to help, not because of something I’m holding over his head.” I felt the urge to place some distance between us, so I stood and grabbed my shoes. I perched myself on a large rock and pulled on my socks.

“What if I promised I wasn’t doing it because of the blackmail?” Cletus tried to catch my eye so I lowered my chin to my chest as he added, “I want to help.”

I shook my head, unable to speak. I didn’t want to kiss Cletus.

Sometimes Cletus was open with me. But sometimes he was distant. I never knew from one moment to the next what mood he’d be in, just like I never knew what color his eyes would be.

I didn’t want to kiss him and then spend time with him after, pretending like everything was fine. I didn’t want to kiss him and then be invisible to him again when our deal was at an end. Because I would remember. I already felt too much.

So, no. I didn’t want to kiss Cletus.

Not if it didn’t mean something to him.

Because it would mean something to me.

The ache in my chest became a burning thing, I pressed my fingers against my sternum and rubbed.

“Here are the facts.” Cletus paused, his tone rational and reasonable. “You need practice. Yes, at first you got my attention because of the video. I freely admit that. But we’ve become something else. We’re friends, right?”

“I hope so,” I admitted as I stood from the rock and faced the trail, not yet brave enough to meet his gaze when the subject was whether or not he would teach me how to kiss.

“Then let me help you, as a friend. I can teach you how, give you confidence in your technique. I know what I’m doing. I’m basically a kissing professional.”

“I have no doubt you know what you’re doing,” I said without turning around and a little stab of jealousy prickled behind my eyes, making my brain hot.

How many women has he kissed?

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. I could feel his eyes on me and it did nothing to ease the riot of emotions and longing assaulting my heart, making it difficult to breathe and think.

“How about we do it once, no big deal. If you—”

“Cletus!” I faced him suddenly. He sounded so practical, so academic about the whole thing. Like kissing me would be as forgettable as eating a tuna sandwich. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Fine.” He lifted his hands as though he surrendered. “Don’t talk about it. Just think about it.”

I exhaled an agitated breath and turned away. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”

In my peripheral vision I saw him nod once, like the matter was settled.

I felt slightly sick. Because the truth was, given the strength of my reaction to his suggestion, I probably wouldn’t think about anything other than kissing Cletus Winston for the foreseeable future.





CHAPTER 16


“Hide not your talents, they for use were made. What's a sundial in the shade?”

 Benjamin Franklin



~Jennifer~

Rain pounded against the roof when Billy picked me up on Saturday morning. Rainy days are my favorite because hot food tastes best on a cold rainy day.

My mother was not happy about my decision to go to Nashville. It took some convincing, but she finally acquiesced. She said it was because I didn’t have any events or special appearances booked. But the truth was, I didn’t give her much of a choice.

The only thing giving me some guilt was that I had to bake, decorate, and freeze the cake orders for the next several days ahead of time. The cakes wouldn’t be as fresh as usual, but they were finished and ready to be delivered.

Hopefully, their personality would keep.

I escaped my house easily enough, Billy holding a big umbrella over our heads, but then stopped short in my driveway. Billy’s truck was nowhere in sight. In its place was an impressive, black Lincoln town car. The first thing I noticed about the car—other than its make, model, and color—was that it had suicide doors and appeared to be vintage.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“This is Cletus’s car. He wanted us to drive it over.”

Beau was leaning against the car and lifted his head from where he was scrolling on his phone. The redhead gave me a welcoming grin, and then he wagged his eyebrows. “Bring any muffins?”

I chuckled and blushed because I’d looked up the euphemism-use of the word muffin on my laptop. My father would see it in the search history, but I told myself it was just as well. Sooner or later a girl with a mind to marry has to figure things out. Ignorance didn’t feel much like bliss these days.