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I walk to the fridge to grab myself a bottle of water as she perches her purse on my countertop, her fingers wrapping around the bamboo handle.
“I don’t think what you’re doing with Beckham is a good idea.”
I freeze, my hand outstretched halfway to the water bottle. I tell myself not to whip my head around in shock; it’ll only give me away. Instead, I clear my throat and reach for the bottle, closing the fridge behind me as I unscrew the cap and take a long, welcome drink of the cool water.
“What do you mean?” I attempt to play coy but I can already tell she can see through it, just like she saw through my sad attempts to act unbothered around him at her house.
“Brontë,” she says, her shoulders dropping just as I let out a sigh.
“It’s not what you think.”
“It’s not?” She crooks a suspicious, yet perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.
“Well, I mean, it is but it’s just—we’ve only fo?—”
“Ah—” She holds up her hand. “I do not need or want to hear details. I just noticed something at your party this weekend and I felt as your stepmother,” she says it slowly, eyeing me, “I should warn you and say my piece.”
“Warn me?” My stomach suddenly feels tight. “Warn me about what?”
“About Beckham, sweetheart.” Her expression is sympathetic or maybe it’s pity like she’s had to give this warning to others in the past. “He’s not a bad man, but he’s not Prince Charming. He’s never going to give you a happily ever after.”
“Oh.” The tension in my belly slowly dissipates. “I know that. I’m not looking for that. Maybe someday.” I shrug, bringing the water to my lips for another drink.
“Well, if you are going to pursue something with him, outside of flirting or whatever it is you two have told yourself this is, you need to tell your father.”
“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “Wait, did you say something to him?”
“To your father? No. I wanted to come to you first and frankly, it’s not my place to tell him. It’s yours and Beckham’s.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to tell my dad. It was just—” I wave my hand because in all honesty, I have no idea what it just was. I thought it would just be a flirty conversation we had, or maybe that one hot kiss, and then it was that one night in Vegas, but after the way we flirted tonight and he didn’t mention once that we shouldn’t do this, I truly have no idea where we stand.
“I don’t say this to be mean, Brontë.” She reaches her hand across the counter for mine. “If it was just a drunken mistake or it is just flirting, that’s one thing, but if this thing turns into a fling, a weekend thing, an exciting whatever because it’s forbidden… Feelings will manifest; they always do. Either you’ll fall for him or him for you and someone will get hurt. If I had to put money on it, I’d say it will end up being you.”
“Has…” I swallow down the dryness in my throat. “Has he done this before? Beckham, I mean? Does he go after younger women and break their hearts?”
She furrows her brow. “Honestly, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen him do it and your father has never mentioned it. I’ve met two women he’s dated; both were longer relationships. The most recent one… she was, she was the one who got hurt. She wanted it all with him but he didn’t. I just don’t want to see that happen to you. Like I said earlier, he’s not a bad man. He doesn’t have a reputation for being a player but—well, he’s kind of like George Clooney, always insisted he has no interest in kids or marriage, and I think women always assume they’ll be the one to change his mind but end up with a broken heart instead.”
I nod my head slowly, pondering her warning and thinking about what this would mean if my dad did find out because we slipped up.
“And after how hard you and your father have worked and still do work to rebuild your relationship, the last thing you want is a brand-new complication thrown into the mix. I won’t say you owe your father respect because I know it’s a very complicated relationship between you both, but Beckham doesn’t and if he wants to pursue this with you, he needs to tell him.”
“I understand and thank you for your honesty.” I suddenly feel guilty that I even put her in this situation to begin with. “And I’m sorry you had to come over here and talk to me. I should have been smarter.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, your father is none the wiser. He is a pretty oblivious man sometimes for being so smart. It took him about five solid months of heavy flirting from me for him to realize I was interested in him.” She laughs and flings her purse over her shoulder, turning to head toward my door.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” She spins back around to look at me.
“Do you have a good relationship with your father?” She cocks her head, I’m sure wondering why I’m asking, but she answers anyway.
“I do, yes. He’s back in Meridian, Idaho, with my mom. They’ve been married forty-nine years this year.” She smiles. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Are you worried you won’t find a meaningful relationship because of how your childhood was?”
I can’t hold back my laugh. “Do you always see everything so clearly?”
