Chapter 6 #2
He swaps ties and leaves the previous one on a table by the door. The floral one is maybe not quite right for a businessman, but it would look nice for a Christmas dinner somewhere. With someone.
Not me, obviously.
But not anyone else right now either apparently.
“Something on your mind?” Arik asks.
“Huh? Oh! Just wondering if you’ll be home later.”
“Maybe even in time for dinner.”
I seriously half expect Arik to lean forward and kiss my cheek. He does. Leans forward, I mean, and kisses Bastian’s forehead.
“See you two tonight.”
The smirk Skylar tosses me before they leave does not help my spiral.
The question remains: what do I want?
Because I’m not sure I know.
ARIK
Slow is the worst invention mankind has ever attempted. We aren’t built for slow. We aren’t built for patience.
At least I’m not.
Although I can’t deny that every new thing I have learned about Beau has me more charmed than I already was.
It is so much more than the physical appeal of him, like the way his curls fall into his eyes.
The dip of his chin when he’s being bashful.
The color that fills his cheeks when I flirt with him.
How snuggly his jeans hug his thighs.
But as much as I do enjoy those things, most appealing might be the way he adores Bastian. And young as Bastian is to even grasp his surroundings, I think he adores Beau too.
Whether Beau adores me remains to be seen.
The past week, he’s been pulling away from me.
My recent ploy—no, tactic? What does one call the pursuit of someone without making it sound like hunting wild game or pulling off a heist?
Method of wooing? Let’s go with that one.
But while I thought said method was paying off, it suddenly took a nosedive last week with no explanation, and he’s been distant toward me ever since.
I thought I was understanding Beau better and leaving him wanting just enough that he should have realized by now he wants me too.
Where did I go wrong?
Finally, after noticing all the printed photographs pinned to the refrigerator door with Christmas magnets, I decide on my next course of action.
The photos are all mostly of Bastian in various adorable outfits.
One I remember Gabby taking has Beau holding Bastian with me in it too, brushing my thumb across Bastian’s forehead and smiling, but I’m not smiling at the camera or at Bastian.
I’m smiling at Beau, just him with far too much affection.
I wonder if he’s noticed. I don’t think I did until now.
But I do know I need to fix this, and that means returning to the forum with:
DiamondDaddy:
Damage Control
The sheer amount of “I told you so’s” in the comments later makes me a little grudging to except the advice, but it’s difficult to deny the truth when they remind me that they did tell me to talk to Beau first, and if I had, I might have avoided this fallout.
The biggest problem is that as much as I want to talk to him now, I can’t. Between him avoiding me, and me getting pulled away from the penthouse due to work every time I think he might be ready, I’m going to miss my chance.
So I’ve made up my mind. I’m talking to him tonight, and if this damn merger tries to pull me away again, fuck it.
“Are you certain you don’t want this gift-wrapped, Mr. Anders?” the woman at the checkout counter asks me.
“No thank you. It’s not ready to be wrapped yet.”
One of the single fathers from the forum brought up love languages, and I have no idea which is mine or which might be Beau’s, but I can definitely do gift giving. Nothing expensive. It can’t be about the price tag but about the perceived value of something personal.
I’m terrible at personal, but I think I figured out the best possible present to help break the ice—and only one week till Christmas.
Bolstered to dive into the deep end, I arrive home to an eerily quiet apartment. Maybe Beau went out with Bastian again. He’s been taking him out more and more lately.
“Beau?”
I circle around through the living room, wondering if he’s finally putting up the Christmas tree. He had planned to weeks ago but still hasn’t gotten to it.
Not there. He and Bastian aren’t in the sitting room either, and there isn’t a note in the kitchen. If they go out, Beau always leaves a note near the fridge.
The nursery is next, and at last I find Bastian asleep in his crib.
But still no Beau.
Finding him studying in his room is common enough, but he would have heard me arrive. I ready to call him again as I near his door, only for the sight of him in bed to steal my voice.
He looks awful. Covers pulled up to his chin, shivering beneath them, yet with sweat across his brow as a clear sign of a fever. He is panting as he lies there as if he is more passed out than asleep.
I rush to check his temperature with the back of my hand. He’s burning up. I’ll need the thermometer from my bathroom to confirm it isn’t dangerously high, but before I turn away, Beau stirs, groaning as his eyes flutter.
“B-Bastian…?”
“He’s asleep. Why didn’t you call me if you were feeling like this?”
“I… I-I don’t… know.” Beau squeezes his eyes shut before trying to focus on my face, which he seems unable to do. “It wasn’t… this bad? I just wanted to rest my eyes.”
He’s still shivering. He needs this fever broken. He also nuzzles the back of my hand still pressed to his forehead. I turn it to cup his cheek, and the smile he offers me just about breaks my heart.
I need to focus.
“Beau, have you taken anything yet?”
“I-I just… need to rest my eyes…”
I’m taking that as a no and am going to risk getting some ibuprofen in him. “I will be right back. I’m going to try to make you feel better, okay?”
“I bet you could make me feel real good…” He smiles again, eyes drooping.
He is clearly delirious—much as I don’t mind that slip.
I leave him to his haze to collect the digital thermometer, meds, water with electrolytes mixed in, and a cold washcloth.
Getting him to swallow the pills is the hard part, but given his temp is 103, he needs them.
I manage to get him to drink half the electrolyte-filled water, and when I lay the cold washcloth over his forehead, he smiles again with a dreamy expression.
Even with his curls damp against his skin, he looks adorable.
“You must have been feeling a little under the weather before this,” I say, sitting with him to be sure his fever doesn’t spike higher before starting to go down. “Why didn’t you say anything? You are allowed sick days.”
“Too much, um… to do? And it didn’t seem this bad before,” he says again, like he only half believes himself. He squirms with another groan and almost loses the washcloth. I adjust it for him. “I’m sorry. It hit me so fast.”
“You can’t control getting sick, Beau.”
“But I got it from the school. I should have known better.”
“School?”
Beau nods, but it seems like he’s fading, eyes barely open. “Kids are… little petri dishes.” He chuckles. “I’m sorry I took Bastian. I don’t want him getting sick too… but the interview had to be during the day.”
Of course he’s been looking at teaching positions. Why would he stay if he can do what he actually wants to? “Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, stroking the curls from his forehead. “Just rest. I’ll check on Bastian.”
I still wait a few minutes until I’m certain he’s asleep and his temperature reads 102. At least it’s going down.
It hurts that he didn’t tell me he had an interview, but how can I blame him? I’ve been more of a complication in his life than a blessing. Maybe I was fooling myself thinking that anything other than mutual desire was ever on the table.
I’m even less inclined to believe in Christmas miracles when I return to the nursery to check Bastian’s temperature.
He’s burning up too.
Fantastic.