Page 60 of Beau Pair
“I know. But I wanted to spoil you,” I tell him, and he seems to ponder over my words. “What?”
He takes a sip of the wine and closes his eyes with a moan. When he opens them again, he purses his lips into a smile.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m with you for your money,” he says.
“I don’t think that.”
“Like, I know I call you daddy sometimes, but it’s just play. I don’t think of you as my sugar daddy.”
He’s serious about this, and it melts my heart that he wants me to know he loves me for me and not for my belongings.
I put my hand on top of his and give it a squeeze.
“I know, Baby Beau, don’t worry about this stuff. I just wanted to spoil you tonight. And myself. You think this is where I spend my evenings?” I tell him about the special times I’ve dined here, and his face softens again.
“So, this is not where you bring all your dates?” he asks.
“You’re the first,” I reassure him, and his smile widens.
“Just for that, I’m gonna make you another suit,” he says.
“Only if I can watch you work. And I promise,” I tell him and put my hands up, “I won’t interrupt you. Much. I just want to see how you create these beauties. I want to see you in your element.”
“Yeah?”
He lowers his head and looks up at me with cute puppy eyes that I can’t stop staring into.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I answer just as the waiter comes with our plates.
“Well, that I can do,” he says, and his face sinks again.
“What does that mean?”
He waves me off and shrugs, but I insist.
“I just haven’t been able to design anything new and original in ages. Since I moved to New Harlow, actually. Which is ironic because I’ve been dreaming about moving here for years. But it seems I left my inspiration back in North Carolina. Anyway. Enough of my self-pity. Tell me more about your businesses? What made you become an investor? How do you choose who to invest in?”
“Oh, that’s boring stuff. Why do you think you’re blocked?” I ask him, and take a bite of myrillettes de saumon.
He shrugs.
“I wish I knew. I guess I’ve been busy learning the city and trying to live in it, then there was the whole finding a job thing. But every time I sit down to draw, I come up empty.”
“That’s normal,” I tell him warmly.
“Is it?”
“Of course. Your life just changed in a massive way. You moved from a small town to a big city. You transitioned from community college to Harlow U and to your major. You’re just going through a transition. I promise you, you’ll be back to your beautiful creative self in no time.”
“I don’t know,” he says, stabbing his fork absent-mindedly on his empty plate.
“Trust me. I’ve hung around with Dolly and other creatives long enough to know how this works.” I lift his hand and lean forward to kiss it, which seems to have the desired effect of bringing his genuine smile back on the table.
“How did you two meet anyway?”
I laugh out loud.
“What?” he asks.
