“I’m glad you talked to me.”
“Me too,” I agree quietly, feeling warm and safe in his embrace—something that’s odd, considering this is only the fourth time I’ve been in his presence. We don’t talk for a few minutes, and the silence between us feels comfortable. “What time do you have to go to work?”
“I’m the boss, so I can come and go as I please. When you tell me you’re tired, I’ll take you down and then leave for work. Until then, I’m here with you.”
“What time did you get home this morning?” I lean back to catch his eye. His first text came early this morning, even earlier than I got up to get ready for work.
“Close to six.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“I’m good. I slept most of the day, and really, I never need much more than six hours at a time to feel rested.”
“You’re lucky. I think I could sleep for a week and still not feel caught up,” I admit, resting my head back on his shoulder as the wine I’ve drunk and the day I’ve had start to catch up with me.
“When is your day off?”
I snort at his question, and his brows furrow in irritation. “The shop’s open seven days a week. I don’t have a day off. Well, I do have a half day Sundays, since I open at seven and close at noon.”
“Babe, that’s not healthy.”
“You’re probably right, but I also love what I do, so I don’t mind working so much.”
“I get that, but you also need time for yourself. You can’t work all the time. What do you do for fun?”
“Bake.”
He shakes his head. “Besides that.”
I think about it, trying to come up with one single thing I do for fun, and then realize I’ve got nothing. The last time I went out was for Leah’s bachelorette party, and before that it had been months. Prior to opening the Sweet Spot, I used to take pottery classes, go to book club meetings, swim a few days a week, and join my mom for yoga from time to time. Now all I do is work and sleep.
“I really need to hire someone full time to help out at the shop.” I sigh.
“Is your business stable enough to take on someone full time?”
“Yeah, I just get jittery when I think about doing it.”
“You’re smart. Taking a financial risk when you own your own business isn’t something you should do unless you have weighed the pros and cons. Do you have an accountant?”
“No, I’ve always done my own books.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t have a lot of overhead, so there isn’t much to manage.”
“If you want, I can put you in contact with my accountant. I’m sure you’re doing a great job, but Josh might be able to look over your books and tell you if he thinks it would be a good idea to hire someone right now. Sometimes a second opinion will help put your mind at ease and give you the push you need.”
“I’d really appreciate that,” I say, right before I suddenly cover my mouth to yawn. “Sorry, wine always makes me a little sleepy. I should have thought about that.”
“Don’t apologize. You need to go to bed.” He gets up, then pulls me up to stand in front of him, brushing his lips over my forehead before going to an electric box on the wall to turn off the heaters. I pick up his empty beer bottle and grab my glass, taking them to the kitchen. Not wanting to snoop to find the trash, I leave the bottle on the counter but drop my glass in his dishwasher.
When he comes inside, he tells me he’ll be right back before his broad shoulders disappear around a corner just off the kitchen. I pick up LeFou when he appears at my feet and cuddle him against my chest as I take the moment alone to explore Gaston’s living room.
There are only a few photos on the stand below the TV, and I assume the one with him and a beautiful older woman who’s smiling hugely at the camera while he laughs down at her is Gaston and his mom. In another photo a man—most likely his dad, since they look alike—is surrounded by three beautiful women, and the youngest two are kissing his cheeks. The other woman, who’s obviously their mom, has her arms wrapped around his neck from behind and her chin resting on the top of his head, smiling softly. I can tell by the look in his dad’s eyes that he was happy, he was loved, he was living his best life, and there was nowhere he’d rather be than with his family. I’m glad he got to experience that kind of happiness and love before he passed away. The last photo is a shot of an old woman who’s standing at a stove, stirring something in a pot that looks almost as big as her. Her gray hair is up in a tight bun, and her plump body is encased in a formfitting green dress with a white apron tied around her waist.