Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (17 page)

“That’s okay.” I waved away her apology; I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “It confused me at first, but I’d much prefer to talk to you than hold your hand.”

Her smile was smaller this time, but struck me as no less singular. 

I liked Shelly Sullivan. She was weird. I imagined her type of odd made it difficult to find friends; but to me, she seemed like someone worth knowing.

Therefore, before I could think better of it, I suggested, “We should go out. You and me. We should go out and do stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” She looked wary.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t know. I didn’t know what two women did when they got together other than gossip—which is what my mother did with her friends—and I had no interest in that. I’d never had an in-person girlfriend. All my friends were pen pals. Except Cletus, but he wasn’t really my friend since I was blackmailing him; and he wasn’t a woman.

Definitely
not
a woman.

“We could make soap,” I suggested for no reason in particular.

Her eyes lit. “You know how to make soap?”

“I do. I make soap all the time, when I’m not baking.”

“I’d like to learn how to make it. I like soap.”

“Good.” I grinned, excited.

“Yeah. Good.” She also grinned, but it was tinged with confusion, like she couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“We’ll make it at my kitchen, at the bakery. It’s a sterile environment, it has to be, and that’s important for soap making.”

Her eyes grew even wider at this news. “It’s sterile?”

“Yes. Well, not hermetically sealed type of sterile. But it’s professionally cleaned—from top to bottom—every day.”

“That sounds amazing.”

I chuckled. Her enthusiasm about the cleanliness of my kitchen was adorable. Seeing that she had a thing for hygiene, I added, “And we’ll wear latex gloves while we do it.”

“While you do what?” Cletus’s voice cut in; both Shelly and I turned our heads toward the sound.

My heart did a pathetic little flutter, leaping toward him, and my eyes devoured every visible detail of Cletus Winston. It was the first time I’d seen him in over a week and I . . . well, I’d missed him. I’d missed his company and bluntness. I’d missed his funny facial expressions and deadpan jokes. I’d missed his somber nod, because he did it so well and used it when he didn’t know what else to do.

I braced my feet apart as he neared and my heart continued to act erratically. I made an effort to subdue the misbehaving organ by reminding it that I was blackmailing this man.

We were not friends. He did not like me. He tolerated me, nothing more.

But he is so . . .

“Hi, Cletus,” I said, feeling inexplicably out of breath.

He stepped next to Shelly and offered a disappointingly benign, “Hello.”

Cletus’s eyes skimmed over me briefly with what felt like purposeful detachment, then he turned his attention to Shelly. “Do you need me to order gloves for the shop?”

She shook her head. “No. I told you, I’m fine with grease. Car engines are cleaner than people.”

“Unfortunate, but true.” He gave her a half smile.

The sad little flutter became a painful, deflating flop. But I plastered a grin on my face, because I was good at this. I was good at people being disinterested in my presence.

I shoved the muffins at Cletus’s chest, unable to raise my eyes higher than his chin. “Here. These are for . . . for your family.”

In an automatic movement, his hands lifted to the plate and I released it to his grip.

Not waiting for a response, because my heart hurt and was screaming at me to leave, I gave Shelly a quick smile and promised, “I’ll see you later.”

I turned and walked quickly out of the garage.

You have lost your mind. Your mind is lost. What were you expecting? Honestly, what did you think was going to happen? He doesn’t care two sticks about you.

I was a good five feet from the shop, lost to my litany of regret, when I felt fingers close over my arm and spin me around.

Startled, my hands flew to my chest and I gasped. It was Beau. He released me immediately.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No.” I exhaled a shaky laugh and shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I just didn’t see you.”

He gave me an apologetic grin. “Did Shelly say something? To make you leave?”

“What? No! Not at all. She’s great.”

His grin wavered, disbelief clouding his eyes. “Really?”

I didn’t get a chance to respond because Cletus emerged from the shop, clutching the plate I’d brought to his chest. I took an automatic step backward, prepared to finish the march to my car and make my hasty escape.

“Just stop right there,” he called, his forehead stitched with irritation.

Drawing even with Beau, he scrutinized me. Then he scrutinized Beau. Then he scrutinized me again.

“Beau,” he passed the plate to Beau but kept his eyes trained on me, “take these to the front and close up. We’ll join you in a moment.”

Beau’s gaze moved over Cletus’s stern profile, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as his attention bounced between us. Eventually, he said, “Sure thing,” while turning and strolling to the front office of the shop.

Once Beau was gone, Cletus placed his hands on his hips. “Something is wrong with you.”

I straightened my spine, flinching at his statement. “I beg your pardon, but that was incredibly rude.”

He blinked at me as though he were confused, much of the irritation waning from his features. As though finally realizing what he’d said—or at least how it sounded—a regretful noise escaped his throat and he scrunched his face like he was frustrated with himself.

“No. You mistake my meaning. I’m . . . concerned. You appear to be upset. What’s wrong?” His voice gentled and his eyes searched mine. “What’s happened? And what can I do to help?”

I crossed my arms because my stupid heart was fluttering again. He caught me off guard. I was not at all prepared for Cletus Winston’s concern.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to bring y’all muffins. Can’t I bring y’all muffins?”

He was scrutinizing me again. “No. Something’s off. Is it Jackson James? Do I need to maim him? Because I will. I could give him leprosy, you know. Armadillos are carriers.”

My mouth fell open and a bubble of laughter emerged unchecked. “Cletus Winston, you will do no such thing.”

“Sheriff’s deputy or not. Just say the word. It might improve him, actually.”

“You are terrible.” I laughed, even though he was terrible, and I felt terrible laughing at such a terrible joke.

At least, I hope it’s a joke.

Before I could give the matter too much thought, Cletus nodded, reached for my hand, and tugged me toward the front office. “That’s better. I much prefer your real smiles. Those fake ones don’t fit your face. By the way, I like your shoes.”

I stumbled, having trouble keeping up with him, both his long stride and the rapid subject changes. He opened the door and guided me inside, keeping our hands linked as he pulled the door shut behind us and turned the bolt.

“Shelly said she’d close up the garage,” he called to Beau, who was just setting three coffee mugs on the counter. “She doesn’t want any of these mystery muffins and I didn’t try to talk her out of her poor decision.”

“More for us,” Beau agreed with a grin.

“Exactly.”

I shook my head at the two brothers. “Y’all need to learn how to share.”

Cletus turned his gaze on me, his eyes darting from my chin to my forehead before moving between mine. “Sharing is overrated.”

“I agree,” Beau approved cheerfully. “Who wants coffee?”

Cletus brought us even with the front of the counter, whereas Beau was standing on the other side. He pulled the plate of muffins to the center of the tabletop. “Is it decaf? I don’t want to be up all night.”

“It is,” Beau confirmed, already filling his cup.

“Jenn?” Cletus prompted, “Do you want any?”

“Yes, please.”

“How do you take your coffee?” Beau set out a bowl of sugar.

“Black is fine.”

Beau and Cletus exchanged a glance, then they both turned identical questioning looks on me.

“You don’t take anything in your coffee?” Cletus asked.

“No. I’m surrounded by sweets all day. I like my coffee black.”

“Huh . . .” Beau studied me, like I’d revealed something important about myself. Then, out of the blue, he said, “Jennifer Sylvester, you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

I stared blankly at Beau, frustration and disappointment warring with feelings of being flattered. During my date with Billy, when he had called me gorgeous, I experienced similar emotions. Like any normal person, I appreciated compliments about my exterior, but they also just felt like confirmation that my father was right. My outside was what people were interested in, and that my face and body determined my value.

Cletus stiffened beside me but said nothing. When I glanced at him his expression was carefully blank.

“Oh, thank you, Beau,” I said, trying to focus on the positive. It had been a very nice compliment, even if it had been in reference to something that wasn’t even really about me. I had no control over the color and shape of my eyes.

“No, thank you.” His spreading grin was both sweet and seductive. “You should come with us on Saturday. I’ll drive you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Cletus and Claire tried out over the summer and made it to the semifinals in a big-deal talent show. Saturday is the last round. There’ll be record labels, the whole nine yards.”

I eyeballed Cletus. He maintained his air of determined inscrutability and took a gulp of his coffee.

I couldn’t read Cletus’s thoughts on the matter, and I didn’t want to overstep. “I appreciate the invitation, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing.” This assurance came from Cletus and he paired it with a soft smile. “If you want to come, you should come.”

“Good.” Beau nodded, grinning at me happily. “It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date,” Cletus contradicted, casting a frown at Beau.

I didn’t know if he realized it, but Cletus was still holding my hand and his grip tightened as he challenged his brother. He’d linked our fingers together and held my palm pressed against his thigh. His hands were magnificent, strong, and beautiful. A thrilling current of energy raced up my arm at the contact.

“Not you, dummy. Me.” Beau wrinkled his nose at Cletus and grabbed a muffin. “Jenn and me.”

“Jenn and you?” Cletus looked and sounded mystified.

“That’s right.” Beau spoke around a bite of muffin, then moaned, looking at me. “What the hell did you put in these things?” He chewed, finished the first muffin with one more bite, then grabbed a second. “When we get married, you should make these every day.”

I smirked at this, because years of people watching meant I knew how Beau operated. He was a shameless flirt.

“Slow your gourd, Beauford.” Cletus pulled the plate farther away from Beau, his voice rising with irritation. “Don’t eat the whole plate, greedy britches.”

“There are at least twenty muffins here, Cletus. Slow your own gourd.”

“I want them to last,” he argued.

“Or, she could just make more. Because, I have to tell you, Jenn, I’ve never had a muffin this good before.” Beau pointed a remarkably attractive and flirtatious smile at me; it was one I recognized well from every time he attempted to put the moves on Darlene Simmons. His voice was deep with lurid suggestiveness.

However, and sadly, his suggestiveness—the real meaning behind his words—mostly flew over my head. I hazarded a guess, but decided to look up how a muffin might be a euphemism for intimacy.

“Hey, hey. Switch off the high beams, Beauford Winston.” Cletus snapped his fingers in front of Beau’s face. “Jennifer isn’t one of your lady prospects.”

Beau lifted a dismissive eyebrow at Cletus, then slid his eyes back to me, mischief written all over his features. He winked. “I was just complimenting her muffin.”

“That’s it.” Cletus grabbed the plate of muffins, administering a severe glare of disapproval to his younger brother, and turned back to the office door, bringing me along with him where our hands were linked.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“You’ve lost the right to these muffins.”

“Cletus,” Beau’s shout was ripe with strangled frustration, “you can’t have all the muffins.”

“I can and I will,” he called over his shoulder, then tilted his chin toward the bolt. “Jenn, unlock that for me, please.”

Flustered, I obliged and he pushed the door open with his elbow.

“When you get home, you and I are going to have words.” Anger seeped into Beau’s tone and the unexpectedness of it had me turning back to Cletus’s brother. His usually friendly gaze was harsh with fury.

Cletus hesitated, a deep crease appearing between his eyebrows, and then he turned his glare on his brother. “Beauford Fitzgerald Winston, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. But you need to sort it out. I’m giving you a month.”