Run To You

she looked young, but not that young. The crisp pinot hit her tongue and left behind a hint of pear. “This is wonderful,” she said, meaning more than just the wine.
    “I’m happy you like it.”
    Beau unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap as he watched his mother take a seat. “Why aren’t you eating?”
    “I ate earlier.”
    “You’re too thin.”
    “I ate!” Naomi insisted, and as the other two discussed Naomi’s eating habits, Stella stabbed her fork into a big piece of shrimp and avocado and took a bite. She was even hungrier than she thought and had to remember to slow down and not scarf like a wild beast. She placed her napkin in her lap and had to remind herself to use her best table manners, too.
    Stella loved good wine and good food. She rarely cooked for just herself, but growing up, she’d certainly done her share. Besides family meals, twice a year she and her mother and Abuela made tamales for the entire family. It took them from sunup to sundown, and the tamales were devoured within hours. Sometimes when she let herself, she missed standing beside her mother and grandmother within the steamy kitchen in Las Cruces. She missed her mother’s busy hands and the sound of Abuela’s rich voice competing with Una Familia con Suerte blaring from the television on the kitchen counter. Most of the time, though, she didn’t let herself miss them at all. Most of the time, she pushed those feelings and memories to the back of mind where they couldn’t hurt her.
    “Mmm.”
    “You okay?”
    She didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until she opened them and looked across the table into Beau’s narrowed gray gaze. A shadow from the umbrella slashed across his forehead and nose and the chiseled bones of his cheek and jaw. She wondered what she’d done now. Not that she cared that much. “I’m fine. Why?”
    “You moaned.” He stabbed at his salmon like the fish had committed a felony.
    “Really?” He was mad because she moaned ? That was ridiculous, and she turned her attention to his mother. “I moaned?”
    “I wouldn’t call that a moan.” Naomi took a sip of wine. “More like a little sound of pleasure.”
    “Call it what you want.” Beau shrugged. “Sound of pleasure. Breathy moan. It’s the same sound.”
    Her moan had been breathy? He made it sound sexual and she hadn’t even been thinking of sex. Not at all.
    “Don’t embarrass our guest.” An amused little smile tipped Naomi’s lips. “Beau’s never brought a woman to meet me before.”
    After everything she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, sex was the last thing on her mind. Until now. Until he’d put it out there on the table like a dessert course. Stella looked at the man scowling at his mother as he chewed. His Adam’s apple moved up his thick neck when he swallowed. She couldn’t imagine getting naked with Beau. He just wasn’t her type. She liked skinny guys with a sensitive side who weren’t afraid to show it. She liked guys who wrote poems and song lyrics, and she didn’t even mind a little nail polish or eyeliner every now and then. She couldn’t imagine that Beau had a sensitive side. Let alone that he wrote poems or wore eyeliner. The thought of him painting his nails made her smile.
    “Don’t start picking out wedding china and counting grandkids, Ma.” He reached for his wineglass, and the evening sun caught on the rim and in short strands of his blond hair. He was handsome, though. If a girl liked big guys with hard muscles and chiseled good looks. “I told you on the phone, I’m doing a favor for one of Blake’s buddies.” He took a drink, then set the glass next to his plate. “I’m just making sure Stella gets to her sister’s place in Texas.”
    That was news to Stella and she forgot all about picturing him with black fingernails. “You are?”
    “We’ll talk later,” he said, and dug into his dinner.
    She flipped her hair over one shoulder and returned his scowl. “I’m not taking the bus.”
    Naomi gasped. “Beau, you are not dumping this girl at the Greyhound station!”
    “You’re right, I’m not,” he said without taking his attention from Stella. “I think we covered that at the airport. You’re afraid to fly and hate the bus. Those two options are off the table.”
    Stella took a sip of wine and asked the million-dollar question. “What’s on the table?”
    “I’m working on it.” He took a big bite of salmon and washed it down with