She made a stew of meat, vegetables, and spices poured over rice, similar to what we had at the cabin. We eat on the floor, leaning against pillows and watching the fire. When we’re done, we cook s’mores over a propane burner and then fall back into the blankets and watch the stars reflected on the ceiling.
“I’m still shocked you’ve never had a s’more before,” she says, licking chocolate off her fingers. “Although, I am having a hard time picturing August busting out the marshmallows over a campfire.”
“His idea of roughing it is anywhere that doesn’t include butler service.”
“Then who taught you how to fish and build fires and maintain an outhouse?”
“My grandfather, Marlin North. That’s his hunting cabin and his property—or it was until he passed eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” She rubs reassuring circles on my chest. “Sounds like he was a much better father figure than August, um… no offense.”
I squeeze her closer to me. “He was. August started sending me away with Marlin for weeks at a time when he couldn’t handle my atypical behavior. Everyone noticed that when I would come back from these excursions, I was calmer, easier to be around. I’ve been going back every year since.”
“I guess I owe Marlin my gratitude. After all, if you hadn’t been there when I was…”
“Hmm.” She’s right, but I hate to think about a world without her in it.
“It was fate.”
Fate. I don’t believe in it. We make our own destiny, and that includes the consequences of our mistakes. Rather than say all that, I search for a subject change.
“How is the job search going?” I ask, and she turns and puts her chin on my chest to look at me.
“Is this your way of getting around thinking about your work? Thinking about mine?”
“Maybe.” I thumb her lip, then lift my head to kiss her, tasting chocolate from her mouth.
She smiles, then goes back to resting her head on my chest. “Not awesome.”
I hate the defeated sound in her voice. “What’s your dream job?”
“Huh, that’s a good question. No one has ever asked me that before.”
My chest swells, knowing I’m the first.
“Don’t judge me, but… I actually love the restaurant business. People go to a restaurant to relax and unwind. I like the atmosphere. I guess my dream is to manage one someday.”
“Have you been applying for management?”
She laughs. “No. I don’t even have a college degree. The competition is…” She blows out a breath. “Just thinking about it is overwhelming.”
“What kind of restaurant would you want to manage?” I run my finger along her back.
“A classy place with a view of the river. Something in Tribeca or Greenwich Village. Steak and the best oysters in town. And the bar would be long and circular so people could look at each other. I never understood why bars have people facing a wall. A small stage for a jazz band that would play on the weekends.”
“Sounds nice.” From her description, a design comes together in my mind. U-shaped walls that would help direct sound and eco-friendly green walls for acoustics and ambiance. A gear-shaped bar for pockets of face-to-face patronage and a patio designed to utilize the sun for heat and energy. As the structure comes together, I trace it out on her back.
She sighs and burrows deeper into my side. “Can I ask you something?”
My finger stills. I flatten my palm on her back and feel her heartbeat quicken. Whatever she’s about to ask is making her nervous.
“When was your last serious relationship?”
I stare blindly at the ceiling, wondering how I answer this question without lying. I want to be truthful, but there are secrets I’m legally bound to keep. The memory of that night flashes behind my eyes. The screaming. The blood.
“A long time ago.”
“So… years?”
I grunt affirmatively.
“Surely, you haven’t gone without, um… sexual gratification for years.”
“No. All my encounters have been more like business transactions rather than relationships.”
Her muscles tense against me. “You mean you’ve paid for women?” When I don’t answer her fast enough, she continues. “You’ve paid for sex?”
“Yes.”
Her whole body seems to deflate. She’s disappointed. I don’t blame her.
“How long ago?”
“The last time?”
She nods. I notice she hasn’t made an attempt to lift her head to look at me for this conversation.
“A few months before we met.”
Her body tenses. “And before that?”
“Most every woman I’ve been with has been a professional.”
This gets her attention, and she sits up and looks down at me. “You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
Her pretty face twists in disgust. “Why? You’re a hot, successful guy. Women must be crawling all over you. You shouldn’t have to pay.”
“I don’t have to. I want to.”
“Why?” The repulsion on her face makes it look like I just told her I eat puppies.
“It’s not like that. I don’t have sex with them all.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, that makes me feel much better.”
“Why would this make you feel anything? They were before you.”
“You hire hookers—”
“Escorts.”
She closes her eyes. “Escorts.” When her eyes open back up, she looks worried. “When was the last time you had a real relationship with a woman you didn’t have to pay?”
“You.” I hope the answer satisfies her.
“Before me.”
I should’ve known it wouldn’t. My jaw hardens.
“Never mind.” She falls back against me and throws her arm over my waist. “Your silence is answer enough.”
“You’ve lost respect for me.” I know she has. I can hear it in her voice.
She doesn’t deny it.
“My social deficiencies make it impossible for me to have conventional relationships.”
“What do you call what we have?”
“Temporary.”
She pulls away from me to sit up, pulls her knees to her chest, and holds on. Her body language screams I’ve hurt her.
I prop up on an elbow. “That upsets you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m trying. But it’s only a matter of time before I chase you off. It’s not something I can control.”
“So that’s why you pay for women.”
“Paid. And yes. Fewer complications and emotional entanglements. I find business transactions easier to manage than personal ones.”
She sucks her bottom lip and nods. “I guess that makes sense.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I appreciate your honesty.” A sad smile tips the edge of her mouth.
I find this fascinating about her. “Even if it hurts you?”
“Yeah.” She blows out a breath and smiles. “Now, how about that fishing rematch.”
Her words are a pin to the balloon that had inflated behind my ribs. I exhale, grateful for the relief. “You up for a wager?”