Chapter 7 #2
“What do you mean?”
Arik cups my cheek, and his cool hand feels incredible against my warm skin. “Beau, I haven’t been with anyone since Kevin.”
“Kevin?”
“The blond in the office.”
“Oh. Wait, really?”
“You didn’t notice?
“I did and Skylar said something, but I wasn’t sure if maybe you were just…”
“Keeping my rendezvous outside the house? There haven’t been any rendezvous. Just an idiot pining in solitude and going about this all wrong.”
“Pining?” I feel myself grinning way too wide.
“I haven’t wanted anyone, Beau. Not anyone else. It’s not every day one meets a fellow history buff who is this attractive.”
I laugh, still not sure if this is happening or if I’m in some fever-induced stupor. “I’m… I’m not attractive. Especially not today. I must look awful.”
“You might be oblivious at times, but you are attractive, Beau de León. And warm. Warm-hearted, I mean, though it is a good thing you took more meds this morning.” He shifts his hand on my cheek to feel my forehead. “You did, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’re also a wonderfully welcome presence in my life.
Calming. Caring. And just the right amount of infuriatingly stubborn and combative when necessary that I can’t seem to stop thinking about you even when in the midst of my most grueling meetings.
Or sleepless nights. But it is not only your looks or those kisses we shared that haunt me, Beau. Although they do.”
I feel a little breathless again, especially with Arik’s hand combing back through my curls. “I don’t, um… only like you because you’re attractive either. Or because you’re a good kisser.”
“What else am I then?” He grins.
“You know what you are.”
“I suppose I’m… intelligent, shrewd, charming, sophisticated, seductive—”
“Conceited,” I add.
He laughs. “And absolutely captivated by you and how you are all those things too. I am also cunningly devious at times.” He glances up.
We’re standing in the nursery doorway, and hanging from the top of the door is a small sprig of mistletoe. “When did you—?”
Arik kisses me while my head is still tilted upward and slots us together with his hand on the back of my neck. I’m tired and still a little dizzy, but damn if I don’t love how well he supports me when I go limp against him and let the kiss happen.
I sink so deeply into it that my socks slide against the carpet and a spark ignites between our lips. Or maybe that’s my barely held at bay fever again. Even if it is, Arik renews our kiss deeper before releasing me.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “I know we need to talk this out more, but I also really needed to kiss you again.”
“You did? I guess that’s okay.”
“Good. Now I’m taking you to bed.”
“What?” My heart skips as he grasps my hand.
“I am taking you to bed. Because you need a nap.”
Oh. “But my sheets need to be changed. They’re kind of disgusting.”
“You can use my bed then. I’ll handle the rest.” Arik leads me the other direction to cut through the kitchen. I’m too stunned, too humbled to disagree. And way too tired to consider the new choices before me.
Because my interview went great, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying here.
“When you wake up, I have a surprise for you, but you have to rest to see what it is.”
Tease. But if he insists, then rest I will.
ARIK
For the record, I was not a wreck when I brought Bastian to the hospital.
Not completely anyway.
I knew rationally that as long as I stayed calm and got him the care he needed, he would be fine, but apparently, rational isn’t how the mind of a parent works. I could still never blame Beau for what happened. Weathering a little panic now and again is part of being a parent too.
I check on Bastian several times while Beau is napping, but he continues to sleep peacefully, needing rest more than anything, which is half his day anyway at this age. That both of my patients are asleep gives me all the time I need to enact my plan.
I had a lot of time to think about it last night.
By the time I hear stirring from above, I have everything displayed and ready and time it perfectly so that some good old-fashioned Bing Crosby is playing just as Beau comes down the stairs and sees me.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him as he enters the living room with his face lit up brighter than the twinkling lights on the tree I’m decorating. “I’m just adding some tinsel, and the lights were already attached, but I saved the fun part of putting on the ornaments for you.”
“You’re wearing an ugly Christmas sweater,” Beau blurts.
“Am not. This is classy.”
He laughs.
It is an ugly Christmas sweater, only they aren’t usually made from cashmere. It is also a lovely shade of royal blue with a Norwegian design, bows in places, and the stitched lettering of a single word.
Daddy
Beau steps closer to me, marveling at the nearly two-story tree, since it’s tall enough to fill the windows, while keeping just enough room on top for a star. “It’s already so beautiful,” he says, “even without ornaments. And you decorated upstairs too?”
“That was almost a week ago.”
“I may have been avoiding going up here.”
“Ah. Then I’m sorry if I gave you any reason to avoid me or an entire floor of my penthouse, apparently.”
He glances at me shyly. “I’m sorry too. For a lot of things.”
I can sense Beau is poised to launch into another emotional and likely self-deprecating diatribe, but while talking is important, and I am glad we’ve finally started to, it’s also important to act.
I finish flinging the last of the silver and gold tinsel in my hands onto the lower bows of the tree. I have a ladder nearby that I used for the top ones. It’s the perfect starting canvas for all the boxed ornaments at our feet.
“Your bedding is in the dryer,” I inform him, “mulled wine is warming on the stovetop, Bastian is soundly asleep still, and you have a change of clothes to get to.” I nod toward the loveseat.
Slung over the back of it is Beau’s ugly Christmas sweater.
“Before you ask, I did not go rummaging through your closet. You’ve had that hanging on the back of your door since… Thanksgiving, I’m guessing?”
“Maybe.” Beau laughs again. “But can you really be doing this right now instead of working? Aren’t you still in the middle of that difficult merger?”
“I am, but someone told me to be more present whenever possible, and last night my son was admitted to the hospital. I am allowed a day off. Besides, I thought you were going to put this tree up weeks ago. No harm done though. You can make it up to me by putting on that sweater and getting us both some wine—and yourself another dose of meds. Just sip the wine slowly.” I wink at him.
The whole apartment smells like it now, like a cozy winter wonderland wrapped in berries, cinnamon, and cloves.
Beau snatches up his sweater and makes an eager dash out of the room to do as told. He seems rejuvenated after his nap, so hopefully it’s a short-lived bug.
I might get the bug too, but taking the day like this is worth it, even if I do get sick. And even if I eventually lose Beau, considering the call I received before he joined me at the hospital.
He is getting that job.
It’s funny. I was working so hard to not let this be some flash in the pan, but now, I think I’m okay if it has to be because I want Beau to get everything he deserves, even if that doesn’t include me.
I hear fussing before Beau returns, and instead of wine, he comes back first with Bastian and a bottle. “I guess someone woke hungry.”
“I’ll take him,” I say, and while I feed the thankfully no longer feverish feeling babe, Beau fills two mugs with wine and comes back looking like a Hallmark card. Or a Hallmark holiday movie, complete with the very fitting saying on his ugly Christmas sweater:
Don’t make me repeat myself.
-History
Bastian’s initial fussiness seems tempered by the sight of the tree lights when I move him closer to it. It can’t look like more than a bright blur to him, but his eyes sparkle in its direction just like Beau’s did.
Usually, after a hearty meal and a good belch, Bastian conks right out again, but his drowsy eyes stay open, and even when he’s in the swing, he remains watching the twinkle of the tree lights.
He’ll only get more alert from here, more active, more temperamental too, I suppose, as he learns what he likes, what he doesn’t, and just keeps getting older, and bigger, and more of a person each day.
To say I am humbled watching the lights glimmer across my son’s face is putting it mildly. And I am never humbled.
While sitting for a bit to drink our wine, I might be even more humbled catching Beau staring at me.
Not luridly like my past dalliances. Not even really longingly.
His expression is joyful, maybe even moved at seeing how moved I am to be sharing this season with my son for the first time.
I can’t imagine Clara ever getting choked up over such a thing.
Or anyone I’ve been with, as if Beau sees a version of me no one else has in decades, or possibly ever.
“You’re really sure it’s okay for you to skip work today?” Beau asks me again. “I know how much that merger has been weighing on you.”
“It has been. And there are plenty of involved parties not so thrilled about my absence today, but I honestly needed this break. And not only because it’s nice to enjoy the holiday with festive traditions, good wine, and better company.
” I grin at him, but it’s the way he leans against me on the loveseat and snuggles comfortably that nearly catches my breath.
“I, um… keep running into the same roadblocks, and I’m not sure how to clear them. ”
“Same roadblocks? All these weeks later?”
“More like constant inane pushback from one person, but she gets everyone riled up each time and keeps adding to the discussion when we need this wrapped by New Years.”
“Have you tried ‘Art of Waring’ the situation?” Beau blinks at me.
I laugh.
“Seriously! Didn’t you say it’s a staple of the modern businessman?”
Oh he is cute throwing that back at me. “It is,” I say, even if it’s not a staple of the modern bachelor who’s maybe realized he wants more out of his coming middle age.
“Well, let’s walk through it then.” Beau settles against me, sipping his wine and staring at the fireplace. One can’t prepare for tree decorating without a roaring fire, after all. “Do you know your enemy?”
“I do. Backwards and forwards.”
“Are you being secretive and subtle in your attacks?”
“Yes. I haven’t shown my whole hand.”
“Striking when and where the enemy is most vulnerable?”
“I’ve been trying to.”
“Picking your battles?”
“That’s been one of the problems: the battles keep getting picked for me.”
“Then I’d say the next one is your real problem: Are you aware of all outside influences?”
I think about that. I hadn’t considered it, but he may have a point. “Funny how I keep forgetting that one. Maybe Ms. Johnson is being a bit more secretive and subtle with me than I gave her credit. I’ll have to look into that.”
“And strike decisively?” Beau bats his eyes up at me.
“Always,” I say—and strike with a kiss that tastes like wine.
I might steal another under mistletoe later.
I put up enough in doorways Beau doesn’t seem to have noticed yet.
But that’s all. Just a kiss or two. Or three.
He’s in recovery, and honestly, the way his face brightens again after getting more wine in him and starting to look through ornament boxes makes me want nothing more than to do just this all afternoon and lounge comfortably watching holidays movies well into the evening.
Work can wait until tomorrow.