welcomed sentiments ➵ bethyl au

6

To say the least, it was mostly Maggie's fault this time. Or her doing, for that matter. But above all it was most definitely her idea, and Beth's decided that's true when she rises from her bed, and notices the tiny yellow post it note on her door.

hey bethy if u
wake up keep sleeping
me and glenn have ur
shift covered ❤️❤️
-maggie

She hesitates, because as much as she loves her sister and doesn't want her to work, she's rather sleep deprived. The note itself was rather hilarious, Beth had sort of forgotten what it was like to sleep, when she hadn't done so for the past two days. Sure, she'd lay in bed and relax, but she'd never been able to actually shut her eyes and sleep. Beth had assumed it was stress, would take pills to help her sleep, but nothing over the counter was strong enough.
So she ignores the problem, sweeps it under the bridge, because she's gonna have to fall asleep at some point.
The problem in itself is easily dismissible, too. She wears her makeup and lines her eyes and covers the purple lines underneath, until she deems herself decent and is out the door, hair pulled high in a bun and her uniform pulled on and over her tiny frame.
But generally, she'd deem her day fine. Before she went to the bakery, she'd stopped at a pharmacy to pick up Advil for Maggie and some other type of sleeping pills for herself (those she'd stashed away in her car, she had no intentions on confiding in Maggie about her sleep deprivation).
So, her day was fine, right up until she was leaving the pharmacy, right up until she sat in the car seat and stuck the keys in the ignition, right up until the car wouldn't start.
Right up until none other than Daryl Dixon walks by her. It's strange to see him outside, not on his motorcycle, as if it's another limb.
She'd never ridden one, a motorcycle, her dad all over protective and sweet, not wanting her to get hurt. It might've been the motorcycle, then again he might've been speaking about the one riding the motorcycle.
But when his gaze fixates on her, when he steps maybe too close and voice probably too soft, asking her if she wants him to see if he can fix anything, she decides she'll risk it, and nod.
She decides she'll risk it when he affirms there's nothing he can do for the time being, but he works for the local mechanic so he can do something about it later when he has tools. She decides she'll risk it when he quietly suggests he takes her to work on his bike.
(Except it's not a bike, but she already knew that. She's seen his 'bike', his motorcycle, from a distance.)
She decides she'll risk it when she nods, following him around the corner to where it was parked.

➵

The main issue was her purse clunking against her back as she held on for dear life around his waist, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The former that is, the latter was something she'd look back on and be rather fond of.
It was the closet she's ever been to him, with him. She could smell the leather, the gasoline, the cigarette smoke. Rough and tough and a force to be reckoned with.
Her hair blowing in the wind seemed to blend in with the clouds if they were ever so low, her hair seeming whiter than usual. She felt blinding, her complexion pale and glowing. She'd felt so tired, lately, but now she felt so alive.
When he'd brake, pull up to a red light, the engine wouldn't cease, only continued rumbling. This, this she felt in her stomach, her veins and her heart. She'd lift her head up briefly to make sure she was still alive and with him when he'd halt.
It seemed like nothing phased this man, as he stared straight ahead at the moving cars.
She wouldn't speak for a moment, even if he could hear her, but even if she wanted too she couldn't, the engine seemingly louder than anything she's ever heard in her life.
Yet when the light blinks green she finds herself buried in him again, holding him tighter than before.
Her skin is pressed tightly against what bare skin is revealed on him, his neck, and it's intimate in her eyes, more intimate than she's ever been with another boy.
But she finds herself biting her tongue because this isn't a boy, and she isn't a girl.
This is a grown man with broken scars and a story he isn't telling, and she's a mature woman with a story she'll hide and keep under wraps as long as she can, underneath woven bracelets.
Once again she finds them slowing, yet this time the engine is cut off, and he stays sitting for a moment until she realizes she's at her home away from home, of sorts.
"C'mon," he speaks quietly, but surely.
She swings her leg over the seat after unwinding her arms from around his waist, but he stays sitting.
"'ve got somewhere to be?" Beth asks, finding her familiar accent not so appealing.
He looks taken aback, but instead shakes his head. "Nah."
She smiles warmly, walking backwards until her back meets the clear glass doors.
"Then come on in. Whatever you'd like, on the house."
He shakes his head again, his arms crossed over his chest. "Nah, I can't."
"I'm sayin' you can, ain't nobody gonna say otherwise." She quips, opening the door. "Not gonna sit here all day starin' at you on your motorcycle, so come in already, Daryl. Don't be a stranger."
His lips are pursed when he nods, leaping off the bike and following her in.
The contrast between the outside air and the bakery air hasn't been more clear until now, for Beth. The fumes of the engine and the sweetness of the ingredients seemed to be colliding, and she paralleled the two scents to the pair of them walking in together.
This, she'd keep secret to herself. Perhaps it was just a measly crush, nothing more. Someone she'd enjoyed spending time with, enjoyed holding tightly and breathing in.
Her focus was on him, laughing and guiding him in until she heard a familiar voice sigh happily in exasperation.
"Thank God you're here, I'm never covering for any of you again."
Beth turns, glances to the counter and finds Glenn, to which her sister immediately jumps out from underneath where she couldn't see.
"What, is Maggie that awful?"
"She can't work when she's pregnant, she's always complaining!"
"I work better than the both of y'all combined, so shut the hell up before I smack the both of y'all silly," Maggie retorts, smiling triumphantly as Glenn's eyes widened.
Beth smirks, before glancing backwards to find Daryl shying away from her, backing towards the door.
"Hey, c'mon. Let's get you somethin', you're hungry, right? Least I can do, if you're gonna fix my car."
"Said I'd get you the parts, never said I'd fix it." Daryl grins, and she can't help but tease him, despite the watchful eyes of her sister and brother in law, and shove his chest.
"Yes you did! 'sides, I don't know that crap, and I'm sure Glenn doesn't either."
"Hey-"
"Argue all you want, honey, you don't," Maggie pokes. Glenn grumbles to himself, leading to Maggie lovingly squeezing his side, leading him to the back room. Beth took it as a sign of the two of them needing privacy, or them offering it to her and Daryl.
She purses her lips, because she can't be that obvious, right?
No, she doesn't care. Not the slightest. Her reputation hasn't mattered and she couldn't care the slightest about what the town thought about her if she started hanging around the epitome of cigarettes and motorcycles and leather vests.
But it dawns on her, as she's smiling up at him with big blue eyes and pressed lips that he might.