Page 149 of Beau and the Beast

“Very carefully and very slowly,” Wolfram admitted.

“And nobody asked why you were suddenly interested in a vegetarian breakfast?”

“It’s still early. No one’s up yet.”

Beau watched as he poured out two cups of coffee, nudging one to Beau before fixing his own. He dumped sugar and cream into his own cup and stirred it vigorously before taking a sip.

“I thought you hated coffee,” Beau said, sipping his own black cup.

“I do,” Wolfram said, smacking his tongue after he swallowed. “But I know you like it. And I thought maybe with enough sugar and cream…”

“What’s the verdict?” Beau said, smiling.

“Still terrible.”

Beau snorted and snagged a piece of toast. “This was really nice of you. Nobody’s ever made breakfast in bed for me.”

“I’ve never made it for anyone, so we’re even.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know this was even something people really did outside of movies.”

Wolfram laughed softly. “Me neither. Maybe they don’t. I was just thinking of what people do for each other in movies, too.”

Wolfram seemed to go pensive as Beau crunched away on his toast, carefully holding it over the tray to keep crumbs out of the bed.

“I wish I could do more for you, Beau. I hope you know that.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” Beau said gently. “I hopeyouknowthat.”

Wolfram shook his head. “I know I don’thaveto. Iwantto. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who—… I wish I couldtreatyou and put some of this money to good use.”

“Your whole staff puts your money to good use every day.”

Wolfram waved him off. “You know what I mean. Put it to frivolous good use for you. Renting out a whole ice skating rink or secreting you off to Paris on a surprise trip or—I don’t know, whatever romantic things billionaires are supposed to do when they care about someone.”

Beau laughed, watching Wolfram’s expression dissolve into frustration.

“I don’t want any of that,” Beau said. “I only want you.”

“I still find that very hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” Beau said quickly, “because it’s true and I’m not going anywhere.”

But even as he said it, Beau didn’t know whether or not it was true. The manuscript was almost done—and then what? If they broke the curse, would Wolfram still want to be with him? And if theydidn’t, would he ever want to see Beau again?

Beau pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He wouldn’t let anxiety about the future rob him of his happiness today—not when Wolfram cared about him and wanted to give him the world in that moment.

* * *

Beau movedhis typewriter into the study that day, and it was fascinating for Wolfram to watch him.

He’d explained that he had everything he needed from Wolfram to finish the first draft of his work—that they didn’t need to continue with the exhaustive interviews every day, even though they both enjoyed them. It was time for him to move on, to finish up the loose ends and put together the main narrative that would become Wolfram’s biography.

But he’d grown too used to spending his days with Wolfram and so instead of resuming his work in the corner of the living room, Beau had brought his notes and typewriter into the study.

When Wolfram penned an email—which made up the majority of what he wrote on any given day—he typed it up and sent it. He didn’t take time to worry about the tone and how it would be received. If someone was going to misinterpret what he said, even when he was being direct and concise, that was on them, not on Wolfram.

But the same simplicity, apparently, didn’t lend itself to Beau’s style of writing.

---