Beau nods. “Nonc, Aunt Lorraine, my sister Val, and me.”
Something eases in my heart. That’s a lot of people. Still, I’d like to be part of the plan.
“What’s the plan?”
Beau sniffs again. “Morning video calls from me and Val and regular visits from Nonc and Lorraine. And…” Beau watches me, his eyes alert, but he adds nothing.
“And?”
“And when you know without a doubt that I’ll be back, I’ll go visit her.”
I blink back tears, overwhelmed by everything he’s doing to make this work. “Can I join your video calls?” I ask wetly.
His smile is epic. His eyes glisten. “Absolutely.”
“Can I go with you to visit her?”
For the first time, a real frown of concern marks his brow. “I’d love for you to. I really would.” My heart sinks at this turn. “But once we get settled, I plan to go every month. It’ll be a lot. I don’t expect you to give up—”
“I’m going,” I declare. “If I’m off, I’m going.”
His frown eases, but doesn’t disappear. “I sold my tiny house so I could afford to fly that often. If I take Spirit each trip, I can do it for the next three years—”
“We can go more often if you want to. For as long as you want to.”
Beau shakes his head. “This has to be something I do on my own.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll just pay my own way then.”
I watch him fight his smile. “Okay.”
And then I bring down the hammer. “But you sure as hell aren’t riding a bike to Laurel Canyon. You’ll be killed.”
He scowls. “What?! No. It’s not that b—”
“Laurel Canyon. Is. A. Canyon,” I level. “With blind curves and hills and asshole drivers. You are not riding a bike to and from work.”
He glares, looking unconvinced. I go for the kill.
“No more than I’m solo hiking the PCT like Cheryl Strayed from Wild.”
Beau’s glare vanishes. “I am not riding a bike to Laurel Canyon,” he affirms with a hearty nod.
I grin. “Glad we settled that.”
He leans down and rubs the tip of his nose against mine. “You, Iris Miranda Adams, drive a hard bargain.”
“I never told you my middle name,” I say, arching a brow.
Beau blushes. “IMDB.”
“Oh.” I wrinkle my nose. “I hate my profile pic on IMDB.”
The corners of his mouth lift. “It’s cute.”
“I’m wearing a pointy witch’s hat.”
“You can pull it off.”
I roll my eyes, ready to change the subject. “What’s your middle name?”
His blush deepens. “Alexander.”
“What’s wrong with that? That’s a nice name.”
He says nothing, but he watches me expectantly.
“Wait. Where does Beau come from? I know it means handsome, but—”
Beau shakes his head.
“It doesn’t mean handsome?” I ask, utterly confused.
He shrugs. “It does, and it’s a common enough nickname back home, but that’s not why I’m called Beau.”
I squeeze him, feeling a little thrill knowing I’m about to find out more about him. “Go on,” I urge with wide-eyed eagerness.
He groans and hides his face in my pillow. It’s adorable. I laugh.
“Please tell me,” I beg through my laughter. I stroke a soothing hand down his back, and he manages to pick up his head.
“My full name is Beauchamp Alexander Landry,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Mom named me after Pierre Beauchamp, the eighteenth century dance master who arranged the five basic positions of the feet in classical ballet.”
I blink at him. “So, you’re named after the great-granddaddy of ballet.”
“Sssort of,” he hedges.
“What about Alexander?”
His sigh is mammoth. “That comes from Alexander Godunov, Mom’s ballet celebrity crush.”
I swear, Beau’s face is beet red.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
His expression goes oddly blank. “No reason.”
“Oh my God, you’re lying!”
He licks his top lip, but doesn’t look me in the eye. “Nope.”
“You so are!” My breath goes choppy with laughter. I move to press myself up. “Where’s my phone? I—”
Beau’s hand flattens against my chest, and I’m pinned to the bed. “You don’t need your phone.” He’s trying—and failing—not to laugh.
I grab his wrist with both hands, my giggles filling the room. “I d-do. I-I do. I need to look up Alexander Godu-what’s-his-name.”
“No. You don’t.” He rolls on top of me.
I sigh in pleasure. Oh God. He should never be anywhere else but here.
But I can’t let him win that easily.
“I’ll just look it up later,” I goad, but I do allow myself the luxury of running my hands down his back again. He moans, moaning harder when I grab his ass. I