“I doubt the farfalle is worth your apartment,” Rhys remarked with an amused breath. “The wine, though…”
Beckett let out a pained groan and scrubbed his hands down the front of his face. Rhys had obviously said the wrong thing, but he didn’t think it was a surprise that the restaurant was expensive, nor that the wine would be either. Honestly, a five hundred dollar bottle of wine wasn’t even a blip on Rhys’s balance sheet. He wouldn’t even notice the money missing from his bank account.
“Why did you tip me a grand?” Beckett blurted, his delicious-looking mouth twisted into something that bordered on a scowl.
“Did I?”
“Oh, my God.” Beckett’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“What?” Rhys wasn’t sure where he’d misstepped.
Beckett leaned close and covered the side of his mouth with his hand to whisper-yell at him across the table. “You tipped me a thousand dollars and you don’t even remember it?”
As quickly as he’d leaned in, Beckett pulled back, giving the restaurant another inscrutable glare before shoving his chair back and standing up quickly. “I need some air.”
Rhys watched Beckett stalk out of the restaurant, leaving him alone at the table in the corner. He wasn’t quite sure what just happened, and he sipped his wine while he replayed the conversation in his head. Beckett knew he had money. He’d picked up on it at brunch and he’d still agreed to come to lunch, so it couldn’t be his money that caused Beckett to storm off the way he had. They’d rode to the restaurant in a contracted town car so, again, it couldn’t be the money.
Rhys rubbed his sternum as the waiter came to refill both of their wine glasses. If it wasn’t the money, could it…could it have been Rhys himself? No. That…no.
After Rhys ran through the possible options and continued to come up empty, he realized Beckett still hadn’t returned. He took a quick swallow of his wine and followed the path out of the restaurant that Beckett had taken. The town car was still in the lot, which was a good sign. Beckett couldn’t have gone far, though he did apparently favor walking.
Rhys stepped off the curb and found Beckett leaning against a light pole, staring out at the horizon with his arms folded across this chest. Rhys came to stand beside him, tucking his own hands into his pockets. He followed Beckett’s line of sight and waited for him to speak first.
“This was a bad idea,” Beckett said.
“Why?”
“You and me. We’re not the same.”
“I know,” he agreed. “I’m glad for it.”
Beckett laughed softly under his breath and crossed his legs at the ankle, resting more of his weight against the pole.
“You know,” Rhys went on before Beckett could have another chance to shoot him down. “Nothing that you’ve learned about me should come as a surprise. You made your assumptions on Sunday and you still got into the car with me today.”
“It’s different in theory versus practice.”
“Everything is.”
“I have celery and radishes in my fridge at home,” Beckett said, still looking anywhere but at Rhys. “And you’re buying bottles of wine that cost more than my rent. Which I’m behind on by the way.”
“Bottle,” he corrected. “But we can get another if you like it.”
“This!” Beckett threw his hands in the air. “Exactly this. We’re not cut from the same cloth, Rhys. We’re not even from the same fabric store.”
Rhys knew that. He’d known that the first time he touched himself thinking about Beckett, and he’d known it all the subsequent times he’d come with Beckett’s name on his lips. He knew that when he decided to go back to the restaurant to find Beckett and ask him for a date. In fact, Rhys relied on it.
“I was engaged before,” Rhys admitted. “To a woman. Ashley. I called it off, though. Not a hardship to either of us. She didn’t want to be with me; she just wanted to be part of my family. She wanted my money.”
“Iwant your money,” Beckett muttered. “Even though I wouldn’t take it and I surely wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“You really don’t. And you’re not anything like her. If anything, you’re more like…” Rhys bit the tip of his tongue and stopped himself from making the comparison. He did not move to Myers Bluff to chase after Callahan’s ghost. Beckett, even though Rhys didn’t know anything about him, deserved more than being relegated to the role of stand-in or second best.
“More like what?”
“You’re a better person than her,” he said.
“Is there a point to this story?”
