That wasn't true. Beverly was beautiful. She always was, and even in this moment, full up on emotions and teary eyed, a little snotty, she was lovely as ever. Of all the women Richie'd ever met in his entire life, he thought maybe Beverly was the only one he'd ever truly be in love with. Maybe not the same way he loved Eddie, or the same way Ben loved her. But it was still love, true and pure. She'd never looked better. Because she was here, and he'd selfishly wished for that so many times.
He wiped under his glasses with his free hand and then finished off his own smoke, flicking the butt away from them into the snow.
"I don't know if he'll want to talk about it," he admitted. Because Stan knew. He'd already done the deed before he'd gotten here. It was confusing, and overwhelming and weird. They didn't quite talk about it, either, even if Stan knew he knew because Richie hadn't been subtle about removing all the razors from the bathroom. "But god. They'll be happy as fuck to see you, Ms. Marsh. Maybe happy enough to not yell at me for running out to get you without a warning." His smile was lopsided over that. Practically cheerful, like Richie couldn't think of anything he loved more than being yelled at by Stan and Eddie.
"I'm fine," he said, "There's nothing to worry about." But they'd probably talk anyway, eventually. Because he wasn't always sure if it was true, and because Beverly was stubborn. "You still want that coffee?" He asked, even though he sort of knew the answer. "Or to go home?"