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Chapter 15
*** SALVATION ARMY RETAIL STORE
SEATTLE
DECEMBER 23
4:45 P.M.
***
"I don't know," Lila said in as serious a voice as she could manage, keeping her voice down so as not to risk any more dirty looks from the other shoppers. "I think it's really you."
But she couldn't keep herself from exploding into giggles at the end.
"Right?" Beau asked, grinning. He threw out his hip and tossed his arms over his head like a contestant on Project Runway--a show Lila was positive he had never seen. Or had he? At this point, nothing would surprise her. Beau flipped up the hood of the parka. "I'm not afraid of fashion. I embrace it."
They had decided that they were way too far north to mess around with the cold in their southern California clothes. Beau had parked the car by the Amtrak station, and they'd shivered
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their way to the nearest Salvation Army store--which was, happily, not too far a walk. They had then proceeded to try on winter clothes.
But only the most ridiculous winter clothes they could find. Like the down-stuffed ski overalls that Beau had first tried on. Or the flannel bodysuit that Lila had worn for a while, until the smell of mildew overpowered her. Or the bright purple and green, floor-length parka Beau was currently modeling, complete with fur-lined hood.
"I dare you," Lila said, wiping at her eyes. "I dare you to walk around in that."
Beau took another theatrical turn. The parka swung out around him like a cape. He drew the fur-lined hood up around his face like an Eskimo.
"You have no idea how warm this is," he told her. He petted the thick down-filled material, like he was seriously considering buying it.
"You look like a hooded eggplant," Lila pointed out. Beau rolled his eyes and took off the coat.
"Fine," he pretended to sniff. "But just because you have no vision, I don't see why I have to suffer."
Lila snickered and turned away from him, toward a rack of winter coats. She let her fingers trail along the tops of various different monstrosities. There was an assortment of plaid, ugly bright colors, and fake fur. The coats looked like they should be
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worn by very old people. They probably had been worn by very old people.
But then she saw it. It practically gleamed in its awfulness--all but demanding that she stop and gawk. It was nubby and royal blue, except for the parts across the chest where it looked like a Shetland pony had died. To say nothing of the military epaulets that swung from the collar, or the leopard-print fringe that danced from the sleeves. It was half-cape, half-coat, and boasted what looked like a hanging lace train in the back. Smiling widely, she pulled it off the rack, closed her eyes as if to gather strength, and then threw it on.
"Ta-da!" she cried, jumping out from behind the rack and surprising Beau. His eyes widened and he set down the ugly plaid scarf he'd been examining.
"Oh, wow," he said. He leaned against the nearest rack and indicated she should twirl for him. Lila obliged, throwing a little pirouette in there at the end, just for fun.
"You like?" she asked, sashaying toward him like she was on a runway.
"That..." Beau shook his head, his eyes moving from Shetland pony to epaulets to cape. "That is the most fantastic coat I have ever seen. It completely blows the hooded eggplant away!"
Lila walked down the overstuffed aisle toward the sad, lopsided set of mirrors propped up against the far wall. She caught sight of herself in the middle one, and was nearly rendered
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breathless. Beau wasn't kidding--the coat was insane. And she looked insane wearing it.
"I think this might be the coat that ate Seattle."
"Yeah, ate it and then puked it back up, then made a coat out of it," Beau said.
Lila scrunched up her face. "That's revolting."
"And so is your coat," Beau said, walking up behind her. She could see him in the mirrors, and for a moment she felt almost frozen. She watched his hands come to her shoulders, and smooth their way down her arms. She realized she was holding her breath, and let it go.
The coat, she told herself, sounding breathless even in her own head. He's just amazed by this stupid coat. "Who would wear something like this?" Lila asked, spreading her arms out wide, so the various hanging parts had a chance to wave.
"I think the better question is, who would design something like this in the first place?" Beau asked, laughing.
Lila shrugged, and then went still as Beau's fingers moved toward her neck. She could feel the rough edges of his fingertips against her smooth skin. She felt a heat rush through her, and it was difficult to breathe. He reached down and flipped out the collar of the coat to look for a tag. Even through the thick layers of fabric, it was like she could feel his touch all over her body.
She looked up and met Beau's gaze in the mirror. She was
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aware of her heartbeat, of his closeness. His eyes bored into hers. Like they could see through her, to that secret, scared part of her she'd kept hidden away for years. She watched her own mouth fall open slightly and saw the dazed look in her eyes.
But then he stepped back, and when she turned to look at him, he was wearing that familiar old smirk of his, and his eyes were guarded.
"It has a label, Lila," he told her. "You know what that means."
"I have no idea what that means," she told him, and then busied herself with taking the hideous coat off and replacing it on its hanger.
"Lila, think." He grinned. "It means there are more."
They did not buy the hooded eggplant coat, or even the coat that ate Seattle--though Beau made Lila put it on again and took a few iPhone pictures of her in it, for proof.
"Proof of what?" she asked, laughing.
"Someday," Beau told her, aiming his phone at her as she posed like Victoria Beckham, one foot forward, pout on her face, "you'll think, 'Oh yeah, there was that really ugly coat in the Salvation Army.' But you'll tell yourself that it couldn't have been that ugly. That you're embellishing it in your memory. When that day comes"--he brandished his phone at her--"I will send you this picture."
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Beau ended up with a perfectly unremarkable black coat that almost looked like he'd owned it all along. A thick knit cap and a pair of gloves, and he was ready to go. Lila chose comfort over couture and went with a dark brown quilted parka with a furry hood. She even found a pink hat and gloves that almost matched her scarf.
Outside, light snow dusted the sidewalks, though there was enough shoved to the sides to indicate a recent, heavier storm. But what Lila couldn't get over was that it was snowing now, flakes dancing in the air as they cascaded from the white winter sky.
"It's so pretty!" she whispered, charmed by the snowflakes that swirled around them. She caught a few of them on her tongue.
"It's a lot different from the mar," Beau said, smiling at her. Lila laughed, because he was right. Back home, she and Carly liked to take at least one trip over the hill into West Hollywood at this time of year, to experience the Christmas season at the Grove, an outdoor shopping mall. It sported Santa's house, reindeer in the sky, Christmas performances, and, every hour or so, fake snow from above. Lila had always loved it. But the real thing was so much better.
They walked along a busy shopping street, and she didn't know what pleased her more--the brightly lit shop windows, alive with bright lights and color, or the crispness of the air.
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She loved the way the snowflakes stuck to her coat, and found herself giggling like a little kid as an idea came to her.
While Beau peered into the windows of an art studio, Lila scooped up some of the snow with her gloved hands and packed it together, just enough to hold.
"Hey, Beau?" She waited until he turned around, then lobbed the loose snowball directly into his face. "Merry Christmas," she said sweetly.
Beau stood stock-still for a moment a
nd then wiped his cheeks. He met her gaze, and the look in his eyes made Lila squeal with delight and terror.
"You better run, Lila. This means war."
They dodged in and out of stores and chased each other down the street, hiding behind a parked car here or a tree there.
"Gotcha!" Beau cried, coming around a park bench way too fast and tackling Lila backward into a snowbank.
"Oomph!" Lila grunted as her back crunched into the snow. "It's not as soft as it looks," she said. She narrowed her eyes at Beau as he sprawled on top of her. "And neither are you." She lunged to the side, scooped up a handful of snow, and tried to mash it into his face.
"Yeah, right," Beau said, laughing. He swung his leg over and straddled her, easily pinning her arms down to the ground with her hands on either side of her head. Lila struggled to move her wrists out of his control, but he didn't budge. She stuck her
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tongue out at him. "What's your plan now?" he taunted her.
Lila gazed up at him. The city seemed to fade away around them as she got lost in his blue eyes. He leaned closer, bringing his mouth close to hers. Lila's heart stopped beating. Beau moved closer. Was this really happening? He gave her a crooked smile. Lila held her breath.
From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand come up. Then there was ice against her face and snow in her mouth--and Beau was whooping with laughter.
"I'm going to kill you," she vowed, scrambling to her feet. Her skin was chilled through and stinging slightly. Beau laughed louder and jumped out of range. Then he took off running.
Lila ducked her head and charged after him.
"Ha!" she cried in triumph a while later, when she nailed him from her hiding place behind a tree, from a good distance. "You forget--I used to kick ass in Little League!"
"I didn't forget," Beau said, advancing on her. He picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder, pretending to hurl her into oncoming traffic. They wrestled for a moment, and Lila had to prop herself up against the side of a building once she wriggled away, in order to catch her breath. Beau leaned down to pack a snowball and winced. He looked at his knuckles, flexing them. Lila looked too. His knuckles were raw and red. A fresh cut left a streak of blood on his snowball.
"Hey," she said, frowning. "You hurt your hand!"
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"I'm fine," he said.
"Except for the fact that your hand is bleeding."
Beau straightened, packing the red-streaked snowball. He looked at her as if he was considering something.
"What is it?" she asked. Suddenly she remembered the smudge on his hand back at Stanford. Had his hand been hurt all this time? "What happened?"
"I didn't just take Erik's keys from his room," Beau said, shrugging, though his eyes were steady on Lila's.
She tried to make sense of what she was hearing. "So you...what?" She shook her head.
"I suggested that one way he could make up for the fact he was all over some skank in front of you was to help us out," Beau said. He smirked a little bit. "It turned out he was happy to help."
"You suggested this," Lila said, watching Beau carefully. She glanced down at his hand. The bleeding had stopped, but there was still a cut across the knuckles and it was definitely swollen. She raised her brows. "And how exactly did you suggest it?"
Beau raised his brows right back. "I punched him."
"You punched Erik."
"Yup." Beau sounded defiant. Unashamed. "Then I kind of demanded his car keys."
Lila stared at him. He stood there challengingly, in his new
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black coat and hat, daring her to get mad at him. But she wasn't mad. She was...well, she didn't know what she was.
"Well, good," she said finally. And then she smiled. She could see her breath in big puffs in front of her. "He deserved it."
"Yeah, he did," Beau agreed. The look on his face made her mouth go dry. It was serious and sweet and protective, somehow, all at once. But she didn't have time to think about it, because he was packing a fresh snowball between his long fingers.
Lila ran.
As she laughed and dodged, she knew one thing for sure. Beau wading back into a Stanford party and punching Erik meant something. Beau wasn't exactly the angry, pick-a-fight type. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't care about her.
The only question was...how did she feel about him?
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Chapter 16
*** PERK-O-LATE CAFÉ
SEATTLE
DECEMBER 23
7:35 P.M.
***
The afternoon went by in a swirl of snow and Christmas lights, and soon night fell. Lila realized that she was getting cold, despite her new winter coat. They'd been running around outside all afternoon, playing like demented puppies in the snow.
"I'm beginning to understand the appeal of seasons," Lila said as they walked down the street, weaving their way between last-minute shoppers carrying colorful packages. Even the festive shop windows, decked out in holiday splendor, looked colder now that the sun was down. She huddled a little into her coat. With the dark came a bitter wind that seemed to seep directly into her bones.
"I don't know," Beau said, his cheeks red from the last handful of snow she'd managed to smush into his face. "Snow is cool
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and all for, like, a day, but I like the fact that I can go surfing in January."
Lila frowned at him. "You don't surf." She tried to imagine Beau in a wet suit, jumping into the back of a jeep with Erik and his surfing buddies. The picture didn't exactly come together.
"Hell, no." Beau laughed, as if he was trying out the same image. "Have you ever talked to those dudes? I mean, not the sharpest brahs in the toolshed. But I could, if I wanted."
He drifted to a stop outside one of the many independent coffeehouses they'd passed during their epic snowball fight. This one seemed brighter than the stores around it; PERK-O-LATE, the big red sign over the coffee shop door read, with a drawing of a coffee mug with a fire lit beneath it. The big window was steamed up from the heat inside. Lila was suddenly seized by the desire for a piping hot mocha latte, with extra whipped cream.
"Check it out," Beau said, pointing at a hand-lettered sign in the front window. "Open mic night."
"You left your guitar in the car," Lila protested.
Beau only smiled and pushed open the door, waving Lila indoors in front of him.
She paused the moment she crossed the threshold, soaking in the rush of coffee-scented heat and background music. The walls were painted bright gold and blue, and every spare inch was covered with movie posters. Booths were built along the far
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wall, and the rest of the space was filled with comfy armchairs, upholstered stools, and square dark wood tables. Seattleites lounged at the tables, black sweaters and ripped jeans mixed with hippie dresses and dyed-white punk rock hair.
"Grab us a table, and I'll get you a drink," Beau said.
Lila accepted his offer with a nod. She thought back to last night in Big Sur, when she'd been starving but hadn't wanted Beau to buy her so much as a gas station snack. God, had she really turned down food? What was she thinking?
She wove her way through the tables, and found a little booth toward the back. She flopped down, happy to peel off her heavy outer layers and relax in the warm atmosphere of the coffee shop. It was a cool spot. Coffee shops in L.A. were filled with jerks with laptops, trying to be "screenwriters" while hogging the best tables all day long. But Perk-O-Late seemed to veer toward the hipster crowd without actually wallowing in that scene. For every pair of skinny jeans with a facial piercing, there was someone in a North Face jacket and Timberlands. They all looked like cool people who might spontaneously go on a hike. There was a small stage set up in front of the big window overlooking the street, and on it stood a hippie-chic girl, singing some kind of folk/punk hybrid. Her blue-tinted hair swayed slightly as she played her guitar.
Beau is much better, Lil
a noted. She jumped a little bit in her seat when Beau appeared before
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her as if summoned, setting down two heavy mugs piled high with whipped cream. Lila felt herself blushing, like she'd been picturing him naked or something.
Which she then proceeded to do--and really felt her cheeks burst into flames.
He eased into the booth. "What's going on in there?" he asked mildly, his eyes laughing. Like he already knew.
Lila reached for the mug closest to her. "Yum," she said, embarrassed to hear the huskiness in her own voice. "A mocha latte with almost more whipped cream than coffee, I hope." Suddenly it occurred to her that he hadn't asked her what she wanted. She faltered, her gaze rising to his.
He'd known. He'd remembered.
"Almost," Beau said. A smile played around his mouth. "There's some caffeine in there, too. We still have miles to go before we sleep."
"I love that poem," Lila said in a whisper.
Beau leaned back in his seat. "I know."
She had to look away from him then, because her eyes felt too hot and his saw too much. So she picked up a spoon and dug out a serious chunk of the whipped cream. It was the good stuff--homemade and thick and sweet. She licked up a mouthful like it was ice cream.
"This might be the best thing I've ever tasted," she said in a normal voice, breaking the spell between them.
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Beau drank a little bit from his own mug, but he was practically humming with nervous energy. He unzipped his coat and shrugged out of his hoodie. It felt like déjà vu to see his ratty concert T-shirt again. Beau standing in his basement, glaring at her, felt like it had happened in a different lifetime.
"Want to get up there?" he asked, nodding toward the stage as the folk/punk girl concluded her set and everyone around them applauded.
"Up where?" Lila asked, pretending not to understand.
"Come on." He grinned at her. "We're in a different state, so I don't think it counts if you perform with me here. It won't affect your whole the state of California will fall into the ocean before I sing with you again mandate."
"Oh, yeah," Lila said, embarrassed. She stuck her finger into her whipped cream and pulled out a big dollop. "I did say that, didn't I?" She couldn't believe he remembered it, word for word. She licked away the whipped cream, full of cinnamon and sugar and the hint of mocha below.