Page 18 of The Boss Upstairs
He smiles. “No worries. I’m thankful for the company.”
We stand awkwardly for a beat.
“Well, shall we head to the kitchen?” he says
“Yes.”
I follow him eagerly to the beautiful state-of-the-art kitchen. It’s all sleek granite, stainless appliances and glass. And unlike my own kitchen, it’s spotless. I wonder who cleans it.
He reaches into the refrigerator, and pulls a myriad of food containers. I assist him in opening them, and he fetches plates from the cupboard. We brush past each other as we fill our plates. I revel in his wonderful scent, earthy and just… delicious.
I ask him about his kids. As he busies himself at the microwave, I steal a few looks. He’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted blue long sleeve shirt, and I want to reach out and touch the soft fabric. He heats up my plate first, ever the gentleman, and asks me how Ethan likes his daycare. I tell him all about it, and I wonder if he’s really interested, or just making polite conversation.
I ask about his kids’ school as he washes his hands meticulously. We finally settle down at the kitchen table. I marvel at the view as we dig into our plates. The food is delicious and my stomach does a little happy dance.
“So where did you study?” he asks me between bites.
“The Art Institute of Chicago.”
He nods. “That’s a good school, I hear.”
I smile bashfully. “I guess.”
We stare down at our plates again. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore, I’m nervous. “How about you, Mr. Hanson—”
“Call me Weston, please.”
“Uh… okay. Where did you study, Weston?”
“Harvard and MIT,” he tells me casually, like this isn’t impressive at all. “I studied architecture and business.”
“Funny how we find ourselves eating together,” I say, “the artist and the entrepreneur.”
“Yes, a delightful twist of fate.”
I smile at his use of the word ‘delightful’. He’s like a character from a Jane Austen novel.
“Have you always been interested in art?” he asks.
I think back, remembering my mother’s refrigerator, covered with my drawings. “Yep… pretty much.”
“How about you, Mr. Hanson? Were you building cities with Legos when you were a kid?”
He glares at me for a second, and I wonder what I’ve said wrong.
He smiles. “I asked you to call me Weston.”
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry… it’s just… I’m sorry, Weston.”
He smiles. “Now that’s more like it. Good girl.”
I freeze for a second, blushing crimson.
Good girl. Damn, say that again. I like it. A lot.
An impish smile traces his lips. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he knew exactly what he was doing to me. But just as quick as it came, his smiles fades, and he’s all business again. “Yes, to answer your question,” he says. “I was always building things. I was quite obsessive about it actually, or so my mother tells me.”
I smile, picturing him as a kid, surrounded by building blocks. “Ethan loves his blocks. He just plays with the big ones now, but he’s kind of obsessed too.”
