34. Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
Elowen Briar
A Real Date Minus A Push-Up Bra
Beau stands as I approach the table, pulling out my chair with a practiced grace that makes me feel like I have stumbled into a black-and-white film. High class and so deliberate, it almost makes me roll my eyes. Almost. He decided that if I want Italian, then that’s exactly what we’re getting.
He had arrived earlier than I expected. He doesn’t look fresh out of the bookstore. He looks like he just left a modeling job half-way through. He is so undeniably sexy.
“Thank you,” I murmur, sliding into the seat.
I squirm to find the right position where my stomach doesn’t fully crease, but I’m comfortable just the same.
Fuck body dysmorphia. He smirks, slow and smooth, the kind of smile that promises trouble and attention all at once.
It’s unfairly attractive, pulling at me in ways I attempt not to name.
I try to hide how I have the almost unresistable urge to climb him like a tree every time I lay eyes on the damn man.
Every movement is sensual. Every look into his eyes feels like he can read exactly what I’m thinking.
Does he always have that effect on women?
Men? I barely know him. He could be married for all I know.
Oh god. “You’re not married, right?” No, Elowen.
He’s not married. Don’t even ask that. Beau snickers as he adjusts the tablecloth on his side.
And then there’s the smell. Stronger than normal, a whiff of whiskey lingers faintly on him, wrapped in something warmer and sharper.
It should be off-putting in the middle of the day, but instead I find it oddly sexy. My stomach twists.
Is he that nervous to see me? I can deal with alcoholism.
Hell, I have enough training to subdue him and throw an intervention, if needed.
The intervention you might ask? Stripping one piece of clothing off until he completes the sentence, “I promise to get sober.” Elowen, you are fucked in the head, my dear.
I catch myself inhaling a little deeper than necessary and force my attention to the menu. Please, focus. I should’ve gone with the v-neck and push up like Imani suggested.
“You look distracted. Something on your mind?” he inquires, his voice low but edged with that same smug amusement. He leans back onto his chair across from me and slowly tilts his head.
“Just deciding between soup and salad.” I smile.
His eyes smirk and his smile tugs wider. “I doubt that, mi tesoro.” I nearly choke on my damn water.
The waiter approaches the table and looks to Beau. “What can I get for you, sir?” He asks.
“I’ll have whatever you suggest.” He straight-smiles, looking back to me again. We share short glances.
“And for you, miss?” The man asks.
I adjust my legs again and move the menu closer to myself, “Oh. Uh. I’ll take whatever today’s soup is in the smallest portion and a house salad. Can I get some extra tomatoes on that salad?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” He gives me a big smile. As I hand him the menu, I notice Beau’s attention is no longer on me. He is staring a hole into the waiter. Beau’s eyes darken as he hands the man his menu. The waiter’s eyes widen and he hurries off.
Beau follows the man to the kitchen with his eyes and I try my best to act cool over the fact that he was not a fan of him calling me sweetheart.
He folds his napkin across his lap like he’s been raised in a ballroom, while I try not to fidget with my silverware.
The aching to numbness ratio of my hands is a losing battle with terrible timing.
Then, the conversation turns light. Beau’s smile returns now that it is just the two of us again.
Beau taps his fingers against the table, glancing toward the kitchen, then back at me.
“I feel like the chef's choice was a gamble,” I say. “You’re either about to be impressed or deeply betrayed.”
He laughs. “I’m pretty easy going. I guess, in the end, I just like a little mystery.”
“Mystery? I don’t think I like leaving decisions for myself up to strangers. Guess that’s why I just immediately accepted that ride home, huh?” I smile at him.
“You didn’t question it. You just did as you were told.”
“That’s pretty out there. I’d say that was an exception.” I roll my eyes at him then arch a brow. “Is that your way of flirting?”
“Maybe,” Beau says, eyes steady on mine. “Is it working?”
I consider him for a beat. “Well, I did take the ride home and then when I offered you money, you declined. Now, I’m here in front of you at an Italian restaurant, so.”
His smile spreads, slow and pleased. “I’ll take that as encouragement.
” There’s a pause, the comfortable kind.
He leans back just enough to give me space, which somehow makes the air between us feel tighter.
My thoughts are the usual filler of imagining his hands doing unspeakable things to me.
Yet, here we are. His hands betray me while mine remain fidgeting in my lap, flexing against the dull ache creeping into my fingers.
Beau’s eyes flick down. “You keep moving your hands. Are you okay,” he says quietly, his voice more observation than question.
“It’s nothing,” I reply, “Just…in pain.” I mummer.
“Your pain can never be nothing to me, Elowen Briar.” He leans forward slightly. “May I?” He gestures at my hands.
My brows shoot up. “That’s…oddly endearing.”
He doesn’t flinch. “That works for me. If your hands are the reason for your wandering mind, I can fix that. Let me help you, love.” Love.
He called me love and mi tesoro. Whatever the hell that means.
I hesitate, then slowly hover my hand across the table.
His palms are cool at first, then warm as he carefully presses into the tendons of my hand.
It startles me how steady his touch is, even, and confident.
I’m both hyper aware of the contact and strangely soothed by it.
“You obviously work too hard,” he tells me, eyes fixed on the way his thumbs move over my palm. “Maybe you need a vacation from your nine to five.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out flat. “Vacations require money.”
His gaze flicks up to mine. “If money is the problem, I could help.”
I pull my hands back like I’ve touched fire. “I don’t need your money. This isn’t a pity party, Beau.” Back to him paying for me. Again.
The air between us goes sharp, a taut string ready to snap.
Beau leans back in his chair, his hands folding together as if to keep them in check.
His voice is steady, but softer. “This is not a pity thing, Elowen. I just want you to have the option to breathe if you need it, and money is not part of the equation for me. I would do the same for Kai without a second thought, and no matter what this is between us, I do consider us friends. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping.
I just want to help. I find myself offering anything and everything I can to be of service to you, lately.
” He exhales, steadying himself. “I don’t date really, but I want to do it right. ”
Something in the way he speaks with such sincerity makes my chest twist, though I keep my face carefully neutral. He wants this to work. Like I might be the one to run. I’ve never been the one to run from a relationship in my life. I’m always the one to try to stay to make it work.
“I’m sorry for getting defensive. I just automatically assume having less makes me inferior to others. I’m hoping to take some time off in the new year.” I swallow to avoid the growing lump in the back of my throat.
Beau’s eyes soften and he quirks up the right side of his mouth in a smile. “Would you hate me if I at least pay for the meal? That’s what a gentleman would do in your eyes, right?”
I hold his gaze for a long moment before nodding once. “You can pay for our meal, Mr. Drewitt. I just don’t have any more jokes or riddles up my sleeve to repay you with.”
“Spoiling you with my money might be my new favorite thing. Besides your smile, of course. For that, there is no debt. You can pay me by continuing to look at me like that.” He gestures up at me as he cocks his brow.
His words stop me dead in my tracks. He’s on to me.
Is it that obvious? Our food arrives at just the right time.
The food arrives and the table suddenly feels smaller. Plates are set down between us, the smell rich and inviting. Beau looks at his dish like it might do something unexpected. “Well,” he says after a beat, polite and almost too careful, “this looks incredible.”
I smile, lifting my spoon. “You both look and sound surprised? You wanted a mystery dish. You received a mystery dish!”
“I am. In a good way,” he replies. “The chefs really outdid themselves.” He picks up his fork, hesitates, then takes a bite. His reaction is subtle with a nod that comes a second late, and a smile that feels practiced.
“Good?” I ask because his face is most definitely not giving “good”.
“Very,” he says quickly. “It’s great. I’m grateful. Truly.” He looks like he’s really trying to choke it down. Poor thing does not like his meal.
I laugh. “You say that like you’re unwrapping a gift you never asked for.” I dip one of my breadsticks into the alfredo sauce dish on the table between us, careful not to double-dip.
“Food is a gift,” Beau replies smoothly. “One I will not take lightly.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Okay. You’re being weird.”
He chuckles, setting his fork down for a moment. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re treating your plate like the kitchen staff may come out and curse you if you’re not respectful enough.”
He meets my gaze, warm and earnest. “I just appreciate the effort, is all, Elowen.”
I take a bite of the breadstick and set it back down. I dip my spoon into my soup, the familiar comfort of my Grandma Lise settling in. “Mine is exactly what I needed.”
“I’m glad. I’d wish for nothing less,” Beau says, and this time the pleasure in his voice is real. He watches me eat like that’s the part he is enjoying most.
I pick up the breadstick bowl and gesture it toward him. “Do you want to try one? You said you’d never been to this place before. The breadsticks are seriously top notch here.”
He pauses, then shakes his head. “No, but thank you.”
“Well, that’s suspicious. We could’ve gone somewhere else, you know? This is just close to work so, I get it pretty often,” I say lightly.
He smiles, softer now. “I wanted to take you out where you wanted to go. I have no problem with this restaurant and I promise I’m happy just watching you enjoy it.
” I feel heat creep into my cheeks and look back down at my bowl, suddenly very aware of every movement.
Whatever is off about him, it doesn’t feel wrong, but I can tell he’s hiding something.
He settles the bill with an efficiency that suggests he was used to being obeyed more than thanked, but he offers no smugness about it.
Other than the way he gestures to the waiter as he stands to pull out my chair.
Marking his territory. Beyond hot. He seems to be fond of control.
Just a quiet, purposeful gesture. When I stand, he walks ahead of me to grab the door on our way out.
As though chivalry had refused to die on his watch, or he just likes the view.
I’m fine with either. With him in front of me, I pull out my mint mouth spray and quickly use it.
Quickly double checking that my Uber is in fact outside, Beau stands with his hands in his jean pockets. The regular Uber, much less fancy than the ride that Beau would’ve chosen, arrives on the curb.
“Paige?” I ask quickly before double-checking the license plate number again.
“Yes, ma’am,” she replies as I tuck my phone into my tote bag.
I slip inside the small sedan before Beau can even consider opening the door.
He’s done plenty already and the last thing I need to do is assume he’s going to kiss me now before departing.
The leather seat is cool beneath my legs.
Just as I am about to shut the door, he moves faster than I expect.
He grabs it and places himself in between me and the door.
He leans down, “Very funny, Elowen.” His expression enamored with discontent.
Most likely from my stunt of trying to out-wit him.
“I’ll be waiting for you when you get off work,” he says, his voice low, steady.
“I have something I want to give you.” Beau leans in closer and holds my chin lightly.
Just as I think he’s going to plant a kiss on my lips, he places his lips on my forehead. “Have a good rest of your day.”
HE KISSED ME ON THE TOP OF MY HEAD.
“When I–” I’m cut off by the fell swoop of what seems like too many things occurring at once.
Before I can form a single response, he pushes the door shut with a firm but careful hand.
The driver shifts into gear. And I sit here, stunned, staring out the window as the restaurant disappears behind me and the clock on my phone reminds me I still have a client waiting in an hour. Talk about keeping me on my toes.
I don’t think I ever gave him the address.
How does he know where the clinic is?