Love In Slow Motion (Love Beyond Measure #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,47
no when I’m so damn tired of spaghetti and lemon chicken.”
Ilan rolled his eyes and smacked Fredric on the side of the arm. “Next week. Clear your schedule, and we’ll get some flavor in that diet. This’ll be good for you anyway, because eventually you’re going to have to impress a date. Which, by the way, I want to know how it went.”
At that, Fredric went impossibly still, and Ilan felt that previous worry creep up his spine. “It was…fine. We got to the end of the date at least.”
Ilan’s knuckles began to ache with how hard he was gripping the knife. “Was he like that other guy? I will fucking kill…”
“Stop,” Fredric said quietly, and this time, his smile turned a little sad. “It was me, not him.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Ilan began, but Fredric shook his head.
“No, this time it was. He was perfectly kind and perfectly good looking. A divorce attorney,” he added, and Ilan made a small noise, so Fredric raised his hand to stop him. “I haven’t ever done this before. Not just with a man, but with anyone. I was sixteen when I met Jacqueline, seventeen when I became a father. I’ve never had to really court anyone.”
Ilan slapped together the first sandwich, then licked mustard off the side of his finger before adding it to a plate. “First of all,” he said, shoving it toward Fredric, “no one calls it courting. I know you’re old, but you didn’t just fall out of a Jane Austen novel.”
Fredric laughed as he felt out the corners of the bread, then picked it up and took a bite. “Fine. What do the kids call it these days?”
Ilan gave him a flat look. “Dating, Papa. We call it dating.”
Fredric laughed again, and Ilan’s stomach swooped. He pushed aside the feeling, doing everything he could not to think about his moment of weakness in the shower. “So, what do you call it when you’re trying to…you know…?”
“Romance someone?” Ilan offered when Fredric started searching for the word. “I guess it depends. I mean, Archer swept Julian off his feet, and that was the first time I’ve ever seen something like that happen right in front of my eyes. I’m not really sure there’s a word for that. But I’m not sure that’s what you’re looking for.”
Fredric’s chuckle was softer now. “Not really. I think we all saw actual stars with him, but I don’t need to be overwhelmed by love. I just want something comfortable.”
Ilan took a moment to let that settle under his skin—sparking to life a want. A need. “I think for most of us, all that star stuff is overrated. People want to feel wanted—sometimes they want to be needed. They want to know you’re a person capable of appreciating them. And eventually loving them—even when they’re not at their best.”
“Yes.” Fredric set his sandwich down, and the longing in his voice was so profound, it made Ilan ache. “How do I do that?”
Ilan couldn’t help his own, slightly bitter, laugh. “No offense, but I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. I can’t make them stay for longer than a night.”
Fredric made a disagreeable noise, and Ilan turned his attention back to his sandwich because it was impossible to look at him with that expression on his face. The one that said he would burn the world down before he let Ilan think badly of himself.
“I think you just don’t let them stay. I know you, don’t forget that,” Fredric cautioned, and Ilan’s gaze snapped up.
“You do, but—forgive the term—you have a massive blind spot when it comes to me.”
Fredric’s brows dipped, but eventually he sighed. “That doesn’t make it less true, Ilan. Since the day I met you, I knew you’d never give yourself enough credit, and it was such a shame, because you deserve so much more than you’ve ever let yourself have.”
Ilan stood there and let himself feel those words as he ate, the food soothing some of his raw nerves a bit. The silence between them was heavy, but it wasn’t unpleasant or awkward. Ilan could just exist with this man—in quiet, in chaos—and he’d always feel at least a little bit content. The idea of losing that petrified him.
“What do you want me to do?”
Fredric fidgeted a bit, then laid his hands flat on the counter. “Help me practice?”
Ilan nearly choked to death on his swallow, and he took a minute to regain his composure. “With what, exactly?”