DANIEL'S POV
I was lost tracking the raindrops sliding down the window when Elliot finally returned to the table, carrying plates in each hand.
"Et voilà, foie gras."
He spoke as if reading a poem while placing the food before me. The plate looked like something that should be in a museum, with the foie gras being the main theme, laid on a rich sauce next to a half pear cooked in wine and square brioche, slightly toasted.
"This looks delicious," I told Elliot, who sat down in the chair before me.
"Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."
"Oh, I have no doubt it will," I said, and I was right. Only it didn't just taste good. It tasted amazing. Probably the best bite I'd ever had.
"This is divine," I groaned, mouth full, already taking more on my fork.
"You need to taste it all together. Here." He grabbed a piece of toast and put a bit of the sauce and foie gras on top with a slice of pear. "Taste."
He commanded, and like a fool, I opened my mouth and allowed him to feed me. At that moment, I didn't care about the couple sitting behind us or the owner of the place cleaning glasses by the bar, as my eyes were locked with his, and he was all that I saw.
"How is it?" he asked, his lips holding back an impatient smile.
My throat tightened as a shiver ran down my spine. At the same time, a pleasant feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, which I associated with the way he just licked his lips. My attraction to him was so palpable it could almost be an extra guest around the table.
I took a deep breath and cleaned my lips with a napkin before holding his stare again. "It's amazing. I can't wait for the next course."
Or seven more courses, as Elliot seemed to go overboard with this dinner. And while it was a lot of food, way more than what I was used to eating, I finished every plate he placed before me. The joy on his face at seeing the clean plate was worthy of being too full, and by the time we shared the best crème brûlée I'd ever had, we were deep into conversation.
"So you're from Provence?" Somehow, we still hadn't discussed where he was from.
"Yes, I was born and raised in a small village there," he said before taking another bite from the dessert.
As he did, I found it incredibly hard not to glance down at his mouth and his tongue, which poked out to clean his bottom lip.
"It's a beautiful place."
I put down my spoon and leaned on my arm. "Is it?"
He nodded, a soft look in his eyes. "Absolutely. Especially when the lavender is in full bloom. Just imagine it, fields covered with the most beautiful purple."
I then remembered something. "I think I once read about it in a book."
Elliot's brows rose. "Oh, did you?"
I nodded. "Yes. The author wrote about how Provence was known for its lavender. If I remember correctly, they even referred to it as 'Blue Gold.'"
Elliot's face scrunched up before he chuckled. "Blue Gold?"
"Indeed."
"Why blue if it's purple?"
Lost in the deepness of his blue eyes, I shrugged. "I absolutely have no idea."
His chuckle turned into laughter, a warm and smooth sound that made me so happy.
"Well, that's odd," he said, taking another bite as I straightened in my chair.
"I find it poetic," I admitted when he hummed.
"Everything about France is poetic."
"That's because it's all in French," I said, and he laughed.
"True. We truly have the best language… and food."
"So what made you come here?" I cut in. "I mean, why leave fields of purple in exchange for skyscrapers and gray clouds?"
He studied me with a raised brow. "I thought all New Yorkers loved their city."
That just made me huff. "Not me. I hate it. Hate it to the core."
"So why not leave?" he asked with such innocence that reminded me of his youth.
"Where would I go?" I snorted because despite hating it, it was still New York. I just liked complaining. "Not to mention, my whole life is here.
My parents, my job—"
My cell phone suddenly rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket to see the name written on the little screen. Sitting with Elliot in a small bistro in Brooklyn, I nearly forgot about my real life. The realization that this evening was nothing but a fleeting dream filled me with brief sorrow, as I didn't want it to be over. But obligated to my life, I had no choice but to end
it.
I sent the call to voicemail before I met Elliot's stare.
"I'm afraid I must go now."
Elliot's brows pulled close as brief sadness crossed his eyes.
A man like him should never be sad.
"Tonight was absolutely exceptional, Elliot. Thank you so much for this meal." I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out my wallet when he stopped me.
"No. This was a treat."
I looked around the restaurant, which was now completely empty.
"I feel bad—"
"I insist," he declared, and the look in his eyes was so serious I knew better than to argue.
"Okay then." I got up when he did the same.
"I'll go get your coat."
He quickly left, and I swore he sounded disappointed. While I was flattered, knowing he enjoyed my presence, it also formed an unpleasant knot in my stomach.
"Thank you," I said once he returned and handed me my coat.
Before I could put it on, Elliot placed his hand on my arm.
"Will you come back again so I can tell you why I moved here?" he asked with a smile, but the glint of fear that flickered in his clear eyes told me this smile was nothing if not a mask to conceal something underneath.
"Yes," I said before I could dive deeper into the consequences of my weakness. Weakness to him and how I felt whenever he looked at me with those blue eyes.
Sitting in the back seat of a cab, I couldn't stop thinking about Elliot and the last three hours we'd shared together. There was nothing inappropriate about that dinner, as we didn't do anything but talk and eat. He told me about himself while I did the same, and the whole thing was purely platonic. Of course, I also enjoyed his beauty, but it was impossible not to.
Elliot was a marvelous young man with a youthful innocence that a thirty-three-year-old like me had no right to ruin. Besides, it wasn't just our age difference but other matters in my life that simply didn't allow me to even fantasize about sharing a bed with such a man.
A horrible feeling gripped my stomach at the thought and the cruelty of wanting something I could never have. But that was a part of life, and being an adult meant accepting it. I had far too many responsibilities and duties to ignore them. Yet, when Elliot asked me if I would come to see him again,
instead of saying a clear no, I caved to my deepest desires and made a foolish promise I could never fulfill. The reason I couldn't see him was far worse than simply being a closeted gay man, obligated to meet his parents' demanding standards.
And while my real life had been pushed aside for a few hours, now I had to get back to it.
After paying the driver, I got out of the cab and stared ahead at my town house, which I'd bought several years ago. Structured, boring, and beige, it resembled everything I was forced to be, and I hated it.
With a heavy sigh, I loosened my tie and began climbing the stairs to the front door, cursing the cold as I did. My keys jingled as I pulled them out, and I took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside.
The house was comfortably warm, yet somehow, I wished to step back into the cold.
"Oh, thank God, you're finally home," Claudia, my wife, said as she greeted me at the door. "What kept you out so late?" she asked after taking my coat from me.
"Work."
It was at this moment that I understood my dinner with Elliot was anything but platonic. Because if it was, why did I just lie?
Claudia sighed and ran a hand through her mess of blonde curls. "Well, you missed Maya. She asked about you before I put her to sleep."
A faint smile reached my lips at the thought of my four-year-old daughter.
"I'll go give her a kiss," I said.
Claudia smiled at me. "Good. I'll go heat up your dinner in the meantime—"
"Actually, I already ate."
"Oh, really?"
I nodded, a pang of guilt nipping at my stomach. "I ordered some takeout."
"I see. So how about tea, then?"
Elliot likes tea.
"That would be lovely."
"By the way, the jewelers sent back your wedding ring. I left it in our bathroom."
I completely forgot that I'd sent it for polishing.
"Thank you," I said, then went upstairs to kiss my daughter good night and head to the shower. But the whole time, my mind was someplace else, busy thinking about Elliot. Even when Claudia joined me in bed, dressed in a little nightgown that showed her slim figure and beautiful breasts, all my
thoughts were of him. And when she climbed on top of me, like a wife would do to her husband, and pulled down my pants, it was him I imagined touching me. And when I made love to her that night and her moans filled the room, it was his voice I heard and his body I dreamed of being beneath
me.
And after I climaxed, with his face on my mind, I realized something.
I could never see him again.