Forever My Girl (The Beaumont Series)

ask against my better judgment. I don’t want to know because I don’t want the confrontation, but I can’t stand seeing kids cry.
    He nods and covers his face. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he says. Smart kid .
    “You’re right. I just want to make sure you don’t need your teacher or anything.”
    “No, I’m okay.”
    “Good deal.” I wash my hands looking back at the boy through the mirror. He’s watching my every move, eying the tattoos on my forearms, probably wondering if I’m going to kidnap him now that he’s spoken to a stranger.
    “Hey Mister, I know you.”
    I wipe my hands on the paper towel without giving much away. “You do, huh?” I say with no eye contact.
    “Yeah, you’re the one kissing my mom in the video I have.”      
    I think back to my many music videos and don’t remember kissing anyone. “Did you see this on TV?” I ask.
    “No, you were in a football uniform.”
    I freeze. I’ve only ever kissed one girl while wearing a football uniform. I look at the boy, really look him over. His dark hair and elongated chin and his piercing blue eyes. It can’t be.
    There’s no fucking way.
    “Oh yeah, who’s your mom?” I ask, playing it off.
    “Josie Preston.”
    “Is that so?” I ask barely able to make the words come out of my mouth.
    He nods and smiles real big showing some missing front teeth. “Did you kiss my mom a lot?”
    What do I tell this boy? I can’t exactly tell him the truth, especially not knowing what’s going on. “Yeah, your mom was real beautiful. I bet she still is.”
    He nods in agreement. I used to think my mom was the prettiest until I couldn’t stand to look her at her and watch her robotic ways.
    “I gotta go. See ya around,” he says. Before I have a chance to respond, he’s out the door.
    I run out of the restroom and museum as fast as I can. The boy tried to talk to me as I went by, but I ignored him. I need answers and whether I’m ready or not, she is going to give them to me.
    I have to slow down when I hit Main Street. I can’t afford someone getting suspicious or risk being pulled over. I park across from her shop and watch the door for a minute. I’ve known about the florist shop for a few years. When our anniversaries came up or I was homesick, I Googled her like a crazy stalker and found out what she was up to, but nothing I read said anything about a kid.
    I drive around until its dark, waiting for closing. I don’t want an audience. I pull up just as she steps out with a short red head. They hug goodbye and she looks at me. Her features are soft and she’s not scared of this stranger on a motorcycle covered in black. She doesn’t know who I am, she’s just being friendly.
    I have no game plan as I watch her step back inside. She switches the Open sign to Closed . If I’m going to do this, I need to do it now before she locks the door. Leaving my helmet on, I open the door, the bells alerting her to my presence.
    “We’re closing up,” she says from somewhere in the shop. I can’t see her, but I can feel her in the room.
    I take off my helmet and pull off my gloves setting them on the counter. She doesn’t see me when she comes around the corner.
    “How old is he, Jojo?”
      

CHAPTER 6
    JOSIE
     
    My hands fly to my mouth in a lame attempt to catch the gasp escaping. The vase I’m holding crashes to the floor, the water drenching my shoes, socks and jeans. I step around the broken glass and destroyed flowers for a better visual. I close my eyes before looking at the man standing at my counter.
    It’s him.
    I can sense him; feel him moving across my skin like he’s never left. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me. I remind myself that I need to be strong. I call the shots here.
    “What are you doing here?” I barely squeak out. My voice is hoarse as if I’ve been yelling for hours on end. It’s not strong and determined. It’s not the authoritative voice I’ve practiced in the mirror a thousand times over for this moment.  
    He moves toward me. I step back and put up my hand. I don’t want him to come any closer. He looks dejected. He puts his hands into his pockets and looks down. I don’t want to look at him, but I can’t help it. It’s been ten years and he’s changed so much, yet everything is the same in the way he looks at me.
    “Jojo.”
    “Don’t call me that,” I blurt out.
    “Why not? It’s your name.”
    I shake my head, biting the inside of my