Once Upon a You | A Beauty and the Beast Retelling ✔️

8 | Take Me Out (Ross)

"So you're leaving house at 8 am on a non school day doing what, exactly?" My brother's voice taps against my skull with an insistent baritone.

I debated telling Gus about tutoring Bea but I decided against it. If my own brother is on the hunt for a mountain lion I am not going to be one to lure him to Bea's home.

The one bright spot in my life.

No, I'm not going to tarnish it. I'm going to keep her locked away in a corner of my mind, safe from both my brother's and my mother's judgmental stare.

"Volunteering," I say instead.

Mom ruffles my hair in an attempt to express affection, but the gesture is stiff and makes me uncomfortable. I don't exhale until I escape her and Gus' presence and reach the safety of the road and the bus stop.

I've never lied to my mother before, and it's leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I know she means well, but I really wish she would stop being such a nosy busybody.

The manor. Again. Her house actually looks more like a hotel than like a family home. Ivy and ferns grow through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which lead directly to the colossal structure. The mansion looms proudly behind creaky iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in viridescent green, swaying gently to the breezy winter wind.

At its threshold stands the delicate marble fountain.

I imagine that in the summer, the soft gurgling of the clear water is melodic as it resonates in the surrounding silence. Right now, the frozen water glistens in the winter sun, its icy tendrils reaching impotently towards the sky.

I shudder, but the SMS she sent me yesterday gives me strength to walk in.

And what a sight it is that I am walking in on.

"So, eating cream at ten a.m. straight out of the tub," I can't help but tease her with a shake of my head as I accommodate myself by her side. "You barbarian."

Bea's sitting on the floor in the foyer, her fluffy ears perked up, massaging her stomach as if she's just had a copious dinner.

"No one has manners when they're eating alone," she retorts with a pout.

My family also has no manners even when we have guests, but that's a whole other point to be made.

"I shifted involuntarily again, today. Attacked a chicken coop. So, you're looking at me and my comfort food."

"Are you serious?" A loud exhale. "Whoa, Bea. That's messed up. That's so messed up. I'm sorry."

My reaction helps her relax a little.

Like I could be justified in how I felt about not seeing her, about her cutting me off, because I wasn't alone in thinking it was uncongenial but... my reaction was enough, wasn't it? If I felt awful about it, that was enough.

I step forward and graze her forearm with a couple fingertips, a small gesture to match my expression of empathy. It is soft and tentative.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, my eyes not leaving hers. There's something so foreign about those words combined with her fingertips on my skin that I have to look away.

Slowly, invisible to anyone but me, her hands creep closer to mine, until they are almost touching. Then they are touching, and then resting on top of mine, content and relieved.

"Well, it's not your fault," Bea says, unusually calm. "Is it?" She lifts a quirky brow.

I shake my head no with a smile. "How... How was your Christmas?"