Page 14 of A Merry Penthouse Christmas
“It’s fine. I don’t need yes men in my employ. You’ve met Skylar. Clearly that’s not what I hired with him. You can dress me down any time you need to if I deserve it.”
“Thanks. Will you, um… get a bottle?” Beau asks, since Bastian is clearly hungry and refusing to be soothed.
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll take him and feed him myself.”
“You washed your hands, right?” Beau hesitates to offer him.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Sorry! I just didn’t expect…”
“Such a lurid display? A blond? Aman?”
“All of the above?” Beau says.
Interesting. Here I’d been debating whether he was straight, and he was doing the same thing. “No harm done. I hope?”
“No.” He hands Bastian over, but when I turn for the door, I get an idea I cannot resist turning back to offer.
“Since I’ll likely barely see either of you tomorrow, would you care to join me in the park on Friday? Let me make this up to the two of you?”
“You don’t want to spend that time with Bastian alone?”
“There is a risk of me still getting called in for work, but while I have the time, I’d like to spend it right. With both of you.”
If Beau flushes further, it’s difficult to tell given how dark his cheeks are already, but he smiles, nods, and says, “Deal.”
ThanksgivingDayitselfgoesby as expected, with me utterly swamped with catching up on menial and significant tasks alike, ensuring that I do not get any turkey or pie until after it is cold and needs to be reheated. Said leftovers are very neatly labeled and include a note. There is one from Gabby with instructions for cooking and reheating, then different handwriting added below hers.
I like pie for breakfast the days following Thanksgiving, so your additional penance for yesterday is you only get one slice. (unless you buy me a PSL tomorrow).
-Beau
How charmed I am by his teasing does not bode well for keeping things platonic on the date I unintentionally—or perhaps very intentionally—set up for us.
It doesn’t help that when tomorrow arrives, Beau bundles Bastian up against the autumn chill in an outfit that matches his own emerald jacket perfectly. I add a green scarf to my ensembleto follow suit, and we look like quite the little family, heading out for a festive stroll.
The color coordinating is mostly for the aesthetic. I know it would be terrible to try something with Beau. But now that the most awkward thing that could have happened between us already occurred, I feel a bit more relaxed around him. It’s not often I am disarmed by someone and still choose to spend time with them. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s that Beau is more pleasant company with his pants on than most of my recent dalliances are with their pants off. What those others used to fulfill for me hasn’t been hitting the same mark lately. The perils of parenthood and finally growing up apparently.
As we head first to a coffee shop near the park, Beau is trying to use nonchalance and humor to diffuse the remaining tension between us, but he can’t fool me. He keeps casting furtive glances my way, proving he is still spooked at how he found me the other day.
Or trying to not picture me with my pants down.
Or tryingtopicture it.
“You’re not having one?” Beau asks, after I pay for his latte. He was the one pushing the stroller, but now that his hands are occupied, I take over, and we continue toward the park.
“A PSL? Pumpkin spice is a little toopreciousfor me, thanks.”
“Hey! It’s not only to follow the masses. I like it!”
“Mm hm.”
“I do! But fine. No more pie for you.”
“I think I can have my pie whenever I want it.”
“Not if I tell Gabby on you.”
