Love9620
The last belting note of LeFou's tribute song is still ringing in the rafters. The air in the tavern is hot, filled with the smell of ale and the sound of thunderous applause. Gaston, high on the adoration of the village (and the five dozen eggs he ate for breakfast), strikes his final, most muscular pose. He is the king of the world, ready to toss out anyone who dares interrupt his glory. But when the tavern door swings open, letting in a stream of warm spring sunlight, stumbling in from the woods Is Beau. New to the village and covered in the dust of the road, Beau looks nothing like the usual patrons. He isn't wearing finery-just a simple, travel-worn tunic and boots that have walked a hundred miles. And in his hand, he doesn't hold a weapon or a beer mug, but a humble clutch of wildflowers picked from the roadside-stems slightly bent, petals bright and chaotic. The room goes silent. Gaston lowers his arms. Beau is just looking for a room to rent and a vase for his posies, but he inadvertently finds himself in the crosshairs of the village hero. For the first time, Gaston's reflection in the mirror isn't the most interesting thing in the room. Forget the girl with her nose in a book. This is the story of what happens when the hunter gets hunted by a pair of kind eyes and a shy grin. He's especially good at expectorating? Maybe. But just wait until you see how hard he tries to impress the new guy in town.