When Beau signed, YOU OK WITH MY HOME? color came flooding into my cheeks once the notion that going to Beau’s house to work on this project might very well mean it would just be the two of us. Alone.

“Um . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Beau said quickly, and his cheeks were just as red as I knew mine were. Not that he was thinking about us being alone together or anything . . . right?

“. . . promise . . . not . . . and we have . . .”

I signed, DON’T UNDERSTAND, with a shake of my head, and Beau took a minute to think something through, whatever it was, before he signed, YOU T-R-U-S-T ME?

It wasn’t what I thought he’d been about to say, but I signed, YES, without even stopping to consider the question.

I did trust Beau, even though I didn’t know him half as well as I was starting to want to now. Weird.

Beau gave what I think was supposed to be an encouraging smile before he put the car into gear and backed out of the driveway.

The car ride was less than ten minutes, but I felt myself growing apprehensive when Beau turned a corner and all the houses lining the streets started getting a lot bigger.

All the lawns were well-manicured despite it being knee-deep into autumn, the houses all two stories with fresh coats of paint, and beyond intimidating. Ultimately it wasn’t too much of a surprise when Beau pulled up into the driveway of a house that could’ve graced the cover of some gaudy architectural magazine. The house before me was done in a stylishly dark stucco color, with the same immaculate lawn and what looked like a lighted path leading up to the front door.

I was holding tightly to my laptop when Beau parked his car and I felt him shut the engine off. He was watching me with a guarded look on his face, like he was just as nervous as I was to have me here at his home. As important as acing this midterm was, I couldn’t shake thoughts of what Beau thought of this whole thing, maybe being alone with me, if he thought something was going to happen . . . or if I even wanted something to happen.

“What does your dad do for a living again?” I asked Beau, turning to face him.

P-E-D-I-A-T-R-I-C S-U-R-G-E-O-N, Beau finger spelled for me, taking his time, then said aloud, “He works . . . Children’s Hospital.”

I knew Children’s Hospital very well. Connor had visited the one back in New Jersey regularly for treatment and was now going to the one nearby in Aurora.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s impressive.”

There was that tight set to Beau’s mouth again as he reached around to grab his backpack from the floor in the back, shoving his keys in his pocket. It was clear he was done talking about his dad.