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“Yep, that's what I’m getting.” Will closed his menu and folded his arms. Jillian, who was still looking at hers, gave a small smirk and shook her head at her husband.
Will was the stay-at-home dad. He stayed with the boys while Jillian worked as one of the best social workers in the United States. Her job was hard—I knew she had seen some tough things—but she had Will to comfort her when she needed it. They were the perfect balance.
“I’ll get the pancake combo and when you decide you are done being a cowboy, you can have some of my pancakes.” She smiled, closing her menu.
Elliot laughed and leaned back in his chair, his arm wrapping around the back of mine just like last night at dinner. “The omelets come with pancakes.”
Jillian looked over at him, her lips pursed. She was ready to strike back with a tease. Just with that little look from Jillian, I had it figured out that at least half of my family had accepted Elliot so far. My mom had welcomed him with open arms, but my dad still seemed to watch his every move. Holden had yet to really talk to him and Harrison seemed to love him so far.
Elliot was relaxed with my siblings, but the moment he noticed my father he took a sharp inhale and sat up straight in his chair. I could feel his arm slip from my shoulders and, as much as I knew it was for show, I also knew it could have been a bit much. I had to get my dad to talk to Elliot.
I racked my brain trying to find a topic of conversation that could get the two of them going, but alas, I was coming up short. The waitress came back, placing all the drinks on the table before taking our orders. Elliot reached for the coffee creamer that sat in the middle of the table and I watched him, intently. It wasn’t everyday you met a man who enjoyed sweeter coffee. I raised my orange juice glass and leaned into him to whisper in his ear.
“So, Daxton.” My dad’s voice stopped me before I even had a chance to talk. “Jamie has told us very little about you, what is it you do for a living?”
I widened my eyes. There it was. The connection. I internally slapped myself for not thinking of this sooner.
“Daxton actually owns his own business, Dad. An architecture firm,” I answered for Elliot.
Elliot took a deep breath and looked over at me, his eyes wide.
“You’re an architect?” My dad asked, more invested now.
“My dad was an architect, he retired about a year ago,” I replied, not even giving Elliot a chance to say anything. I was hoping Elliot would catch my drift. Elliot may not be an architect, but that didn’t mean Daxton couldn't be.
Elliot cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, I am.”
Mental high five! Thank you, Elliot!
My dad smiled.Let the bond begin.
“And you own your own firm? At such a young age?” My dad laced his fingers together, his class ring on his right hand, and his wedding ring on his left, glistening in the lighting of the restaurant.
Elliot nodded. “My dad started it, sir, and when he retired I took over. I actually have work and meetings to do while I’m here.”
My dad chuckled and shook his head. “The work is never done, is it? I used to love the design room. The light hitting that desk just right, nothing beats it, right, Daxton?”
Elliot let out a small laugh, shaking his head down towards the table. He reached for his coffee mug, giving me a side eye, a soft plea for help, perhaps? I licked my lips and emptied the silverware roll, placing the cloth napkin on my lap. Maybe this was the wrong idea. Maybe I should have made up a profession—Elliot would have rolled with it. Why wasn’t my dad a recording producer or something to that effect? Elliot would be more comfortable, he could be more himself. I let out a small sigh and filtered the nerves that coursed through my body.
Elliot, though, didn’t skip a beat. “Designing isn't even the best part, Mr. Gaines. Don’t get me wrong, sir, but I love it when I get to show the client the model. The look in their eyes as they see their vision come to life. Nothing beatsthat.”
My dad raised his chin, narrowing his eyes as he kept his focus on Elliot. The corners of his mouth raised as he concentrated.
“My building has three levels and the top level is the showroom, and I really enjoy giving the clients the full tour before they see the finished project. Whether I worked on it, or another team member, I absolutely love seeing their reaction. I have yet to see an unhappy client,” Elliot continued, passion in his words.
I looked over at him, amazed that he was so smooth—so calm—when it came to talking about something he knew nothing about. He was a better actor than I gave him credit for.
“That is an amazing feeling, Daxton.” My dad settled back into his chair, placing his hand on my mom’s forearm. “I’m happy to hear you’re still using 3D models, so many companies are switching to digital.”
The conversation kept rolling—my dad and Elliot talking about elements in architecture that I couldn’t even wrap my head around. The two really hit it off, talking about stories with their clients, and watching the drawing come to life on land. If only someone had asked me these kinds of questions about teeth, or paint . . . I could talk all day. Instead, I ate my pancakes, listening, and truly enjoying the time with my family and boyfriend.Fake boyfriend.
The table had gotten quieter as the food disappeared, even the kids were entering their food comma, and once his omelet was gone, Elliot reached under the table and grabbed my hand. He pulled it up to his lips, placing a small kiss on the back as shivers ran up my arm.
We arrived back at the cabins shortly after one in the afternoon. My siblings, with their half asleep children, retreated back into the large cabin, even Harrison followed them with Killian on hisshoulders. Elliot grabbed my hand and waved to my parents as he pulled me towards our cabin. As soon as we were in the door, he pulled me close, wrapping his arm around my waist.
“You know,” he whispered, “it would have been nice to know your dad was an architect. I could have talked about a lot more thanjustshowing clients the building and animations.”
At first, I was confused as to why I was in his arms for him to tell me that. Our bodies were pressed together, I could almost feel his heartbeat. He felt good—solid—as his hands roamed against my back, before finally resting on my waist. I slid my hands up his arms, resting them on his shoulders. He was close enough to kiss.
