“What color should my dragon be?” Remi asks. He’s sorting through the different options. “Hmm, I think we might need to refresh this stock, Aus. I don’t see a single glitter crayon. How am I supposed to color a sparkly dragon without sparkles?”
I smile at the nickname.
Chapter Seven
“Ispastaokay?”Iask Austin when he slips into the passenger seat of my car. I reach over him and buckle his seat belt before turning the key and starting the car. I look over at Austin and hide the smile fighting to show. He looks absolutely adorable in the hat and scarf I made him put on before we walked out the door. The weather is chilly at best, the wind whipping around making it even colder. He doesn’t look at me and crosses his arms. “ Aus, if you’re going to pout, we’ll just stay right here.”
He spent the entire morning in the playroom. Jumping from coloring to stuffies to cars and then, finally, to the action figures and dolls he kept. It was all fun and games until I mentioned that we were going to need to clean up if we wanted to go outside.
The one thing I didn’t know about Austin Westcott is that he has a bit of a temper. I don’t know if it is something emotional on a deeper level or just how he is in his Little space, but after five minutes of corner time, he calmed down enough to helpwith putting the toys away. I caved and promised that he could order dessert for helping. We would definitely have to talk about it.
I know he’s going through a lot right now and reintroducing his Little side after years, there is going to be an adjustment. His question last night continues to rumble through my head the whole morning, and even now. Could I be a Daddy to Austin? I don't know if that would be overstepping Paul’s wishes for Austin to be cared for. Austin seemed so sure of us moving forward, though.
“Pasta is good,” he finally says and I smile. The first few minutes of the ride are silent. Sunday traffic isn’t the best and we hit a long line at a red light quickly. “I’m sorry. For being rude. I shouldn’t have argued with you.”
Well, that answers that question. The temper must be him working through his feelings. I want to praise him for apologizing on his own. “You’re working through a lot of big emotions, Austin. I understand it. We’ll talk about it more after we eat.”
“Is that something you like? The bratty Littles? I’m not usually like that and I feel really bad.” He mumbles something into his chest and I glance over at him. The line is barely moving.
“What was that?” I ask. I fix him with a quick stare before inching forward in line.
“I said I like being a good boy. I don’t like getting in trouble.”
I smile and reach a hand over and place it on his leg. “I like when you’re a good boy, too, Aus. Let’s get through today, okay? And we’ll talk about more.”
“I like that name.” I pull my hand back and make a left turn. The simple restaurant isn’t too much further. It’s a pasta pit, casual, with inside or outside seating. “Aus.”
“Yeah?” I like the nickname too. “What about Aussie? You know, with the koalas. Koalas are from Australia, right?”
“They are,” Austin says. “And I like that one too. Paul called me Aus all the time, but Aussie is fun.”
“Aussie it is,” I say matter-of-factly. I make another turn and pull into the parking lot. It doesn't look busy today. It’s a bit after lunch so most of the crowds have left. After Aussie's Little time and the short tantrum, he took a shower and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue sweater. He scowled the whole fifteen seconds it took me to fix the hat and scarf on him. I wasn’t going to push him out of Little space just for a lunch date, but he seemed to be coming to his big headspace over the last half hour.
I step out of the car and move to the other side to open it for Austin. He gives me a quiet, “Thank you” before we start toward the building. I hold the door open for him to step through first.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” Austin says. We wait by the hostess stand to be seated.
“I’m here too much,” I say jokingly. “Which is probably not a good thing with my slowing metabolism.”
Being firmly in my forties is something I don’t want to think about. My body is definitely not what it was when I was younger. I still hit the gym semi-regularly and my job gets me out of the office from time-to-time to do some physical labor.
“I think you look great,” Austin mumbles when we follow the hostess through the restaurant. We are sat at a table besidea side window. There’s not much of a view, but it does allow us some sunlight filtering through.
I wait until the young woman leaves with our drink order before responding. “Thank you, Austin.”
I watch Austin look over the menu. There aren’t too many options, but the food here is great. The whole space is homey, a slice of homecooked Italian meals amid a constantly growing city. The whole weekend has felt so natural to me. What was supposed to be just a couple of hours on Friday turned into days together and I know that I’m already in this too deep. Caring for Aussie is natural, fun. I’ve missed having someone around long enough to cook for, wake up with in the morning, spend the day playing. The club is great for a night or two, but most unattached Littles are unattached for a reason.
Right now, though, I am seeing Austin Westcott. The Austin that is a manager at a coffee shop, who has a house, has thirty years of life behind him filled with happy and sad moments. His hair is only a couple of inches long, just starting to curl at the ends and does this cute thing where it flops into his eyes. Blue eyes shine even with the overcast sky outside the window.
Austin looks up and catches me watching him. Instead of averting my gaze, I smile and Austin returns it easily. “Decide what you want?” I ask.
“I already know what I want,” Austin says confidently without breaking eye contact. “But as for food, I’ll probably do the Spaghetti Pomodoro.”
“Good choice,” I say. “At least I don’t have to make you eat your vegetables.”
“I love cooked tomatoes,” Austin says. “Now, other vegetables are a different story. I’m not a big fan of spinach or carrots, unless they’re steamed. Crunchy carrots are a no-go.”
I make a mental note of all of that. Steamed veggies are a go for future meals. The waitress comes by and takes our order. I go with my usual, Mushroom Pasta Carbonara. Austin wrinkles his nose in the most adorable way when our food is brought out.
