Page 22 of Until Bax

He nods, then studies me. “Tell me about your job. What exactly do you do?”

“I’m an aesthetic nurse practitioner.” He raises a brow, and I smile. “I basically help women look the best version of themselves without having to have surgery.” I shake my head. “I guess that was kind of sexist. I also have clients who are men—or I did before I moved.”

“So, like Botox and shit?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. There is an art to it. Like when you renovate a house, you don’t just rip the old house down. You take the house that’s already there and make it more appealing to anyone driving by. There are people who do what I do and just…” I pause, looking for the right words. “And I guess they kind of overdo it when they get someone in their chair because they are looking at the money they can make off that client rather than trulylookingat that client.

“Like, not every house needs a complete remodel. Maybe it just needs a couple of coats of paint and new windows. I find that most women look more beautiful when they don’t get rid of every single wrinkle or when they have more natural lips than the fuller ones just because they are the trend right now. I want women to look like themselves, not some plumped-up version of who they are. Unless that is what they actually want, because there are some who do feel better with a full face of ’tox and filler, and who am I to tell them they shouldn’t?” I snap my mouth shut, realizing I’ve been rambling. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re passionate about what you do. I can appreciate that, and I now actually get why women, like my mom and aunts, go to the spa and have needles shoved into their faces.”

“It’s a little more than just having needles shoved into your face.” I laugh, and he smiles.

“You know what I mean. I guess I just didn’t understand it before.”

“A lot of people don’t, and even though things have changed over the years, there is still a stigma around women getting Botox and filler. It’s something that, outside of a group of girlfriends who also get injectables, you don’t talk about.”

“Did you always want to go into that area of nursing?”

“No. When I graduated and became an RN, I got a job at a hospital, working in the pediatric ICU, which had been my goal all along. I did that job for about a year before I had to leave. I couldn’t handle the sadness I took home with me every night.” I shake my head. “There is nothing worse than seeing parents living out their worst nightmare and feeling heartsick because you can’t guarantee them that things will be okay.”

“I imagine that’s hard.”

“It is, and I have nothing but respect for the people who do that job. I just couldn’t, so I started looking into different areas of nursing. I had a friend who worked as an aesthetician, and I would get facials and things from her. Her boss came in one day and started asking me about work and told me that I should go back and get my PRN but specialize in aesthetics. I went home that night, started doing some research, and three months later, I was signed back up for school. I’ve been doing it ever since, and now I can’t imagine having another job.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Thanks.”

He smiles, then looks behind me at the couch. “Do you want to eat out here or inside?”

“I’m good out here if you are.”

The smile he gives me is filled with approval. “You wanna come help me get plates together while I let the steaks rest a minute?”

“Sure.” I leave my wine behind, and the two of us go inside. On the counter is a glass dish covered with foil, and he pulls a bowl of salad out of the fridge. When he said he made potatoes, I assumed that he just put some potatoes in the oven to bake, but what I find is that he made potato au gratin, and it looks delicious and smells even better when he removes the foil.

I wash my hands, then both of us load up our plates and take them back outside, where he puts a steak on my plate and then the other on his. Once we are both sitting on the couch, I dig in. The salad, a classic Caesar, is amazing. The steak is tender and perfectly seasoned, and the potatoes are so good I want to take what’s left home with me.

As we eat, we talk about his family and all his nieces and nephews, and when we finish, we take our plates inside and clean up a little before getting comfortable on the couch outside once more—me with another glass of wine, him with another beer. The dessert I brought is still in the fridge because we are both too stuffed to eat any more.

As the evening continues, the quiet hum of music plays through the speakers overhead, golden light sparkles from the fireplace, and we talk like we haven’t known each other for years. It isn’t until I happen to glance at the clock on the wall outside much later that I realize he and I have been together for hours, and it’s almost eleven at night.

“You gotta go?” he prompts, obviously seeing the time himself and registering how late it is.

“Yeah.” I don’t even attempt to disguise the disappointment in my voice. “My dad is going to be over in the morning around eleven, and I still have to clean up.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was so late.” He gets up with me and takes my wineglass, tossing his beer bottles into a recycle bin outside before opening the door for me to enter the house before him.

When we step into the kitchen, I look around. We cleaned up most of the stuff from dinner earlier. Or I supervised him putting our plates and things into the dishwasher, leaving only a pan in the sink and the container he used to marinate the steaks in on the counter.

“Do you need help with anything before I go?”

“I’ve got it.” He walks back to me. “Do you have all your stuff?”

“Yeah.” I pick up my keys and my phone from the counter and follow him to the living room, where Ira is sleeping on the back of the couch. “Thanks for having me over. It was fun.” I smile up at him when he opens the door, but he shakes his head.

“I’m walking you home, Oli.”

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