in town.”
“I will.” He speared a crouton and popped it into his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about doing it anyway.”
I debated offering him money to expedite that, but it was truly none of my business. If he asked, I’d help out, but offering seemed like I was trying to line up future fucks when I absolutely positively wasn’t. Even though watching him chew still made my dick tighten.
For the first time in my life, I wished I had someone to talk to about sex. I mean, could you really reach my advanced age without realizing that feeding someone by hand was your bulletproof turn-on?
No rationalization I could come up with made me want to feed Beck any less. No personal shame over perving on someone his age made me want him any less.
Comparing him to Dylan was so unfair, but Beck came out the winner every time. I enjoyed his company. I loved his body. And I didn’t feel required to prove myself to him.
Was that it? Was our obvious inequality driving this bus?
Did that make me a total douche canoe?
“What?” He glanced at me, and God, his eyes made my heart squeeze.
“Did I say—”
“Yes.” He studied me. “Why are you a douche canoe?”
“I should”—the microwave timer beeped—“just get that cottage pie.”
I picked up oven mitts and pulled the steaming container from the microwave while I got my head in the game. The other game.
“So you picked up some dog walking clients? Any one I know?”
“Do you know Mrs. Roberts’s boxer, Claudius?”
“I do. He’s a little skittish, but a total bro once you get to know him.”
“Yeah. I like him. I also walk James Callum’s standard poodle.”
“Doctor Watson.”
“Yeah. Callie really loves him.”
“He’s a smart boy. Poodles are typically intelligent, but he’s really something.”
“I’m going to go see some guy about a pair of bichon frises too. Their owners might need someone to house sit while they’re on vacation.”
“Do you mean Ajax’s dogs?” He nodded. “Oh. They’re new around here. You’ll love their house. He and Dmytro live on the bluff. They have one of the best views in all of St. Nacho’s.”
“Awesome.”
Don’t ask, don’t ask…“Does this mean you might stay around here for a while?”
He bit his lip. “I might.”
“Oh.” Don’t say it, don’t say it…“Then maybe getting a checkup might be a good idea. The clinic’s nice. And if you stay around, you’ll be here long enough to…collect the results and all.”
“Boop,” Rico said.
“Boop,” I echoed automatically.
“Boop.” Beck glanced at his cottage pie. “There’s plenty for two here.”
“I had a late lunch,” I lied.
“Come on. Get a fork. I’ll feel weird eating this with you just standing there.”
“All right.” I thought maybe I should taste it anyway. Make sure it was still good. That it was warm enough. I got a fork and sat beside him at the counter.
He waited until I took a bite, blew on it, and then ate it before he gathered his own bite.
It was even better than the night before—chopped beef in a thick gravy of garlic and onions and Worcestershire sauce topped with creamy garlicky mashed potatoes and parmesan cheese.
“Oh. Mm. That’s amazing. Is it a special thing, or do they have it all the time?”
“They always have a variety of sweet and savory pies. Yasha uses locally sourced seasonal ingredients so they change from time to time.” There was a reason Friday was pie night, and it sat right there between me and Beck.
It was good to share Bêtise with him. I was glad I wasn’t able to share it with Dylan the night before.
He licked his lips. “I could eat this every night. It’s so good.”
“But then you’d never be able to eat their chicken pot pie or their empanadas.”
“Oh God. That sounds good too. How do you even choose?”
“Sometimes I don’t,” I admitted. “Sometimes I order all of them.”
“Really? How do you stay fit?”
“I freeze leftovers. And I inherited good genes.”
He sat back, and Rico took the opportunity to hop from his shoulder to my arm. He scooted up and nipped at my ear.
“Boop.”
“Rico is so great.” Beck reached down to pet Callie, whose snout rested on his knee. “I never really considered what it’d be like to have a bird for a pet.”
“I always wanted a bird companion, so when I got the chance to foster Rico, I took it.”
“You fostered him?”
“Yeah, but after his owner went to prison, he became mine.”
“Lucky you. How long do cockatiels live?”
“Some live upwards of twenty years. I hope Rico’s one of those.”
“Callie