Chapter 41

• Beau hated fancy places — hated the hush of soft jazz he didn’t recognize, hated the shiny cutlery, hated the way folks tried not to stare when he stomped his boots across polished tile that probably cost more than the old pickup sittin’ out back.
• But for Sadie? For his Bug in that soft summer dress, hair all loose over her shoulders, mouth painted sweet and warm like pie at sunrise? He’d sit under any damn chandelier, drink water from crystal glasses, keep his big rough hands polite on his knees like he didn’t wanna drag her under the linen table right there and show her exactly what all those starin’ eyes should know by now.
• She caught him starin’ — all soft grin and mean sparkle when she kicked his boot under the table.