eleven

EMMA

As soon as I had finished the tour, spending most of the time in our backyard overlooking the lake - a safer and easier sight than inside which was flooded with childhood memories - Beau insisted that we go furniture shopping to fill my parents lake house. Well, my lake house, I think to myself, gazing at Beau driving with one hand, using the other to trace the skin on my thigh. Our lake house?

Butterflies flutter in my belly as I try to process it all - Beau bought me a house. A freaking house. And not just any house, but my parents lake house. I had been wondering if Beau is taking our reconciliation as seriously as I am, but I think now I know.

Was the purchase rash and ultimately a bit overwhelming? Yes, but if that's not Beau, then I don't know what is.

Leaning my head back against the passenger seat, I feel my lips turn up at the corners as I watch him in the drivers seat of his Mustang. The wind is tousling his long, dark hair, tied back with a rubber hand, and his face looks relaxed as he hums along to the radio, the tiny cross that dangles from his ear swaying against his neck. What used to be a cloud of anger that followed him around wherever he went is now replaced with peaceful quiet.

Tilting my head to the breeze I inhale the smell of heat and sizzling pavement baking under the sun. I feel the sun rays themselves pinking the skin on my shoulders but I don't mind. Just another reminder of summers on the lake.

When we got to the furniture store earlier, I refused to let Beau fill up the house. Already in the process of decorating my condo, I know how expensive furniture can be, and I'm not willing to let him spend that kind of money - not when the lake house will be mostly empty until he gets back, anyways.

He insisted, though, on a bed. I smirk to myself out at the trees lining the winding dirt road, thinking back on our conversation.

"You at least need a bed, Emma." His voice was getting impatient - fed up with me refusing his offers, I could tell, but I didn't care. His attitude didn't scare me anymore.

"Fine," I sighed, collapsing onto one of the display mattresses. As hard as I tried, I couldn't resist relaxing into the plush comforter, the mattress the perfect blend of firm and soft. My eyes fluttered open to find Beau watching me intently, smug smirk on his face. "Lay with me," I raised my hand to him without lifting my body, too comfortable too move.

He shook his head, glancing around the massive store. "People are watching you, you know,"

I scoffed, raising my brows at him. "I'm trying out a mattress, at a mattress store," I sat up, propping myself with my elbows. "Besides, your whole job is people watching you, don't tell me you're shy now?"

Rolling his eyes at me, Beau reluctantly crawled across the bed to lie beside me, and I flopped down peacefully. Silently, I stared up at the ceiling, the warm feeling in my chest creating a broad smile on my face.

"This one's not so bad, right?" Beau mumbled, clearly out of his element. Leaning into his side, I inhaled scent - sweet smoke and Beau, much like it was before, except for the alcohol that used to seep from his pores most days.

I nodded, turning to look into his pretty green eyes. "It's expensive,"

"You need a bed," Beau repeated, squinting at me, "For sleeping." He leaned closer so he was whispering in my ear after planting kisses along my temple. "And for other things,"

Squirming slightly and blushing, I'm sure, I sprung from the bed, dizzy with desire as crude thoughts filled my mind. "This one will do," I muttered, a grin playing at my lips.

As we walked to the front of the store to make our selection, we passed the pet section and I halted, eyeing the large, plush dog bed on the shelf. Running my fingers over the plaid fabric, I looked over my shoulder at Beau's voice.

"Did we forget something?" He looked down at me, then to the items in our cart. "Sheets?"

Chuckling, I rolled my eyes. "I put sheets in already," I somehow knew he wouldn't remember them. Standing on my tiptoes, I retrieved the plaid dog bed, nearly knocking myself over with the weight.

Holding it to my chest as if embracing it in a hug, I peered up at Beau, biting my lip and feeling shy all of a sudden. "For Zeus?"

The smile staring back at me was brilliant. Nodding his head to the cart, Beau looked at me with something special in his eyes. "Come on, put it in, and we'll go pay for our shit."

"Whatcha thinking about?" Beau's voice breaks me from my thoughts as he pulls into the long driveway up to the lake house, the store truck just behind us with our mattress and bed frame.

"You," I answer honestly, before hopping out of the car and opening the large French doors for the men to walk through.

"Well hold that thought," Beau pecks my lips as he walks past me and into the open living room. "I'm just going to show them to the bedroom,"

I watch him trot up the stairs two at a time, long legs propelling him forward quicker than the men can follow, and smile. Like seeing him in my apartment before, it's unusual to see him here - in this space where I watched movies under blanket forts with my parents, learned to fish, and even had my first kiss.

As the grunts of the workers fade, I lose myself in thought yet again. There are so many things Beau doesn't know about me - so many memories to share. Leaning against the sliding door that opens up to our deck and lawn, and the lake after that, I wonder about Beau's childhood home. Maybe not his home, I think to myself, remembering the way he spoke about his father, but his bedroom maybe? Wherever little Beau felt safe, wherever he spent his days teaching himself  to pluck his guitar strings just right, I would like to see.

The sound of three pairs of feet stomping down the stairs startles me to reality. Turning away from the view, I walk back towards Beau.

"All done?" I ask as he closes the door behind the movers, locking it even though the closest neighbors are some ways off, around the bend of the lake.

"All done," Beau repeats, snaking his long arms around my waist and drawing me into his chest. "What do you think? Should we break the bed in now or later?"

Hearing the smugness in his voice, I roll my eyes but take his hand and guide him up the stairs anyway, a familiar heat building deep inside me.

***

"I'm serious ," I laugh loudly while spread out on my old bedroom floor, "It was very traumatizing to be seven years old and have no one show up to your birthday party,"

Turning his head to face me, Beau rolls his eyes. "You had the stomach flu, Emma - why would they come?"

"I get that now," I sigh dramatically. "But back then it was lonely!" Beau chuckles as my voice trails off and even I don't believe myself. Mom and Dad still made it the best day possible - no, I didn't feel well enough to have a lake party, but we spent the day watching my favorite movies, enjoying my favorite kind of popcorn - the cheesy kind that no one else liked because it was all I could keep down, and cuddling on the couch. I think that was the day I finally realized my parents were my very best friends.

"I can't believe I had sex in my parents bedroom," I groan, covering my face with my hands. It didn't seem right to sleep with Beau in this room, either, though.

Laying down beside one another on the floor of my old bedroom, I feel nostalgic, although the new owners changed most of what made it mine. Gone are the sky blue walls dotted with clouds that Mom sponge-painted herself, the dragonflies that hung from the ceiling have been taken down, and the glow-in-the-dark stars, the ones Dad meticulously placed according to his favorite constellations to comfort me in the dark, have been peeled away, leaving tiny little stains in their wake.

The book shelf they made me is still in place though, and I send a silent thank you to whoever decided not to tear it down. Curious, I rise to my feet and make my way over to the wooden structure.

"What're you doing?" Beau sits up, too, hair disheveled around his head in a "just had sex" kind of way. "And it's your room now, so don't feel weird."

"Come here," I smile at Beau when I realize the markings are still there. When he's beside me, I point out the lines carved into the side of the shelf, tears pricking my eyes.

"What's that?" His voice is soft as he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"We used to mark my height," I explain, trailing my fingers over the lines measuring my growth over the years. "Look, they must've kept track of hers, too," I chuckle, noting the new lines, drawn in sharpie instead of carved into the wood, on the other side of mine. Surprisingly, the thought that the new family carried on our tradition makes me feel warm.

Looking around some more, I feel sort of bad for the girl that made a home of my former room. While I'm glad Beau bought me the house, I can't imagine it was easy for her to leave it.

A metallic sound catches my attention and I turn back to Beau. "Jesus, what do you have that for?" I jump at the sight of Beau's pocket knife as he flips it open and closed haphazardly.

Beckoning me towards him with the blade, Beau doesn't speak, a small smirk on his face. Once I'm right in front of him, he lowers himself to plant a deep, lingering kiss on my mouth.

Already hungry for more, I tug at his bottom lip, eager to taste him again. But Beau has other ideas - his hands find my hips and firmly shove my body backwards, pushing me into the book shelf.

Glaring at him for holding out on me, I watch him curiously. Leaning forward so his breath is warm on my face, he raises his hand above my head and suddenly I know why. A smile tugs at my lips as I hear the wood splinter where he places his knife, marking the spot just at the tip of my head.

"There," Beau mutters, taking another second to carve "E.C." right beside the dash he made. He steps back proudly, holding his hand out for me to do the same.

Before I do, I stick my hand out to him, palm up. "May I?"

Beau gently places the knife in my hand, as if he's worried I'll hurt myself, and I repeat his earlier move, although much less roughly, pushing him back against the wood. Grabbing the corresponding wooden stool Dad had built for me so that I could reach the books at the very top, I step up and delicately carve a line to measure Beau's height, careful not to include the size of his hair. To finish it off, I carefully mark his line with a neat "B.L."

"There, now it's all done." I bite my lip, pressing the pocketknife back into Beau's hand.

When I meet his eyes, I see a hint of sadness in them and my heart breaks for him. Not for who he is today, but for the little Beau that never had anyone who cared to mark his height and watch him grow, for the little Beau that grew up invisible, until he wasn't. For the Beau those few years ago that couldn't handle not being invisible anymore after a childhood of being ignored or yelled at.

Still on the stool, I wrap my arms around his neck, loving how his fit around my waist perfectly. I plant a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, before finally making my way to his lips.

"Thank you," I whisper, my forehead pressed against his.

Rolling his eyes, Beau beams at me anyways. "For what this time?"

I shake my head lazily. "Just for being you."

The sweet Bemma love we all needed! What do you guys think? Is accepting the lake house crazy? Do you think we'll learn more about Beau's childhood?