DANIEL'S POV
The most magnificent thing then happened—he smiled. And who knew a simple smile from a man whose name I didn't even know was capable of bringing me such joy?
"Yes! Brooklyn. That's where I need to get to." He dropped my hands, and I felt sorry for the loss of connection.
"I'm afraid to say you're nowhere near Brooklyn." I gave him an apologetic smile. "It's on the other side of the bridge."
His brows pulled tight, forming a sharp crease above his straight nose.
"Bridge? What bridge?"
Oh, dear heavens.
I was about to ask him if he knew we were currently in the center of Manhattan when the cashier cleared his throat, grabbing my attention.
"If you're not going to order anything, can you move aside?" he grunted with the impatience typical of this city.
"Yes, of course," I told the cashier in English before turning back to my fascinating stranger.
"Could I buy you a cup of coffee?" I switched back to French.
He quickly shook his head. "No, I don't drink coffee."
"Tea, then?"
His blue eyes seemed hesitant at first before he nodded. "Okay. Thank you."
I moved closer to the counter, my eyes going over the pastries sitting on top.
"Would you like one of those croissants?"
His nose scrunched up before he snorted. "Those are not croissants."
Confused, I looked back at the pastry—they sure looked like croissants to me. Then it hit me.
"You French and your obsession with that pastry," I said when he huffed.
"That pastry? I beg your pardon, but nothing comes close to a fresh croissant that has just come out of the oven. Also, it's a viennoiserie and not a pâtisserie." He stopped for a moment, almost like he was remembering something important. "I'm being so rude… just tea is more than enough," he chuckled.
Once again, his sweet smile put me under a spell that was almost impossible to break free from. Yet, with much effort, I collected myself, and after placing both our orders, he and I moved to wait aside. Thinking it was time to properly introduce myself, and only because I was curious to learn
his name, I took off my glove and held out my right hand.
"Daniel Williams," I said as he took my hand. While his skin was soft, his grip was strong, indicating his youthful strength. He was at least several years younger than me, which made me feel incredibly old despite only being thirty-three.
"Daniel Williams." He repeated my name in a way that sounded almost criminal. "So American," he said in broken English and with a heavy accent, which was delightful to my ears. But then, he switched back to French, which came out of his mouth like poetry.
"My name is Elliot. Elliot Dufort."
Elliot.
What a melody.
"That's a beautiful name."
When Elliot's eyes dropped to our joined hands, I realized I was still shaking his. "I'm sorry about that," I said, clearing my throat and finally releasing my grip. "I was just wondering what a Frenchman's doing here in such bad weather."
His lips curled up before he pushed back the hair that had fallen over his brows. "I had a casting this morning and got lost on my way back."
"Casting?"
He nodded. "Yes. For modeling."
That makes sense. With a face like his, he should be on billboards all over Times Square.
"So you're a model?"
He shook his head. "So far, I haven't had much luck." He rubbed the back of his head. "Would you believe me if I said I've missed every audition I've had since coming here?" An awkward laugh escaped him. "I just can't seem to understand how the metro works. Everything is in English, and I… well, I keep getting lost."
With each new detail he shared about his life, I had a dozen more questions to ask him. This sudden interest in getting to know him was unlike me. While I did find him attractive something everyone would agree on—my curiosity went deeper than that. It brought me back to when I was a kid and my parents first took me to church. Learning about some God lurking in the heavens, one I could neither see nor hear, filled me with a vibrant curiosity to find proof of his existence. Over the years, I'd abandoned my search and faith, but perhaps Elliot was a sign of such a divine being, as I doubted such beauty could exist on its own.
"That's quite the tragedy," I said.
"Oh, it really is, isn't it?" He chuckled, and my heart missed a beat.
Calm down, Daniel.
"So, what are you doing in between getting lost in the city and missing auditions?" I asked as I attempted to distract myself from how my body reacted to him. It was highly inappropriate in more ways than one. Still, I couldn't help but want to know more about this Elliot Dufort.
I guess the urge to stay close to beautiful things was part of a man's greed.
"I'm a cook."
"A cook?"
He nodded, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Yes. A cook."
"Who works in Brooklyn?"
He bit down on his full bottom lip and shrugged. "Pitiful, isn't it?"
"Not at all. I'm sure you're a great cook."
Before he could answer, my name was called, and I glanced back at the counter. "It looks like our drinks are ready."
"How do you know French?" Elliot asked as we took our cups and moved toward the condiment station. Once there, I noticed that—unlike me—he didn't add sugar to his drink.
"My mother insisted I learn it, saying it would come in handy. I guess she was right."
"Mothers always are."
I frowned at his comment because my mother rarely was, then put a lid on my large cappuccino. Typically, I'd order a double espresso, but today, I wanted the barista to take longer.
Elliot probably caught my reaction as he studied me with narrowed eyes. "You disagree?"
"I'd rather not say."
Pressing his lips together, he shook his head before taking a small sip of his tea. My whole body tensed as I watched how his upper lip touched the paper cup right before he drank, my throat going dry at the sight. Dear Lord, what was wrong with me?
"So, could you tell me how I get to Brooklyn from here? I think I got on the wrong subway and ended up in this place."
His question struck me cold as I didn't want to part ways with him. At least, not so soon.
"It's a rather long ride, but how about I give you a lift?" I offered while examining his clothes. "You're definitely not dressed for the weather." Yes, that sounded like a reasonable excuse, right?
Elliot quickly declined my offer, saying I'd already done enough to help him.
"It really isn't any trouble. My driver is right outside the door." I cocked my head in the direction of the street and watched how Elliot's eyes widened before he turned his head to search outside.
"Your driver?"
"Yes."
He looked back at me, hesitation in his eyes.
"I… I feel bad troubling you."
"As I said, it's no trouble. Besides, I'm going to Brooklyn, anyway."
His whole face lit up. "You are?"
Absolutely not.
"Yes."
His expression relaxed as a big smile coated his lips. "That's amazing.
Thank you."
My chest tightened with pride, and pleased about making him smile, I grabbed my umbrella from the bucket and opened the door for him.
Elliot glanced at me before he stepped outside, only to be hit with strong winds that made him take a step back and bump against me.
"Are you okay?" I asked, leaning a bit closer.
Our faces were suddenly an inch apart, and I noticed his eyes held a bit of purple in them.
"Y-yes." His breath shuddered before a faint blush painted his cheeks red.
I didn't know what caused his reaction, the cold or me, but before I could find out, Elliot had already straightened up. He wasn't a small man.
In fact, he was rather tall. But being six foot four, everyone seemed shorter next to me.
I opened the umbrella and smiled at him. "Let's go."
We began walking toward the car when Elliot pressed closer to me. I knew it was to hide from the rain, but I didn't care and instead moved closer to him. There was something oddly romantic about sharing an umbrella, and for a brief second, I allowed myself to think that. But my fantasy ended
the second we reached my car, and John opened the door for us.
"Sir?"
"We're going to Brooklyn," I told him while watching Elliot climb in.
"Brooklyn?" I could hear the confusion in his voice.
"Yes."
"What about your father?"
"He can wait," I said before getting inside the car myself.
"What do you do that you have such a nice car and a driver?" Elliot
asked after the car started moving.
"I'm a lawyer." I should be scolded for how self-satisfied I sounded.
"That's impressive."
"Hardly so. If there's one thing this city doesn't lack, it's lawyers and brokers." My lips curled up. "And too many Nets fans."
"Nets?" he asked, confused.
I chuckled. "It's a basketball team."
"Oh." He pressed his lips together. "Basketball is not as popular in France."
I placed my hand on the seat between us as I studied his profile.
"Really?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"So what's popular in France?"
He turned to look at me, his eyes filled with excitement. "Football, of course." He then tapped his lips. "Although you Americans call it by a different name."
"Soccer," I said in English, a hint of a smile on my lips.
He snapped his fingers. "Yes! That's it." He laughed. "What an odd name. I mean, why not call it for what it is: a foot ball? The whole point of the game is to kick the ball."
Once again, I got lost in the sound of his voice as he continued to tell me about his favorite team and players. The enthusiasm with which he spoke drew me into the conversation. With hand gestures accompanying his melodic words and giggles here and there, it was impossible to take my eyes off him, and I continued listening with a simple smile on my face. But in the brief second I took my eyes away from Elliot and caught John's stare in the rearview mirror, I realized my mistake. With how I'd been staring at Elliot thus far, like a man who'd found his purpose, there was no mistaking my desire. Therefore, I dropped my smile and tore my eyes away from Elliot, no matter how much I wanted to do otherwise. After all, I couldn't afford to expose myself so blatantly. Yes, I trusted John, but not enough for him to know my secret. A secret that no one but me could ever discover, because if a mere tattoo nearly gave my parents a heart attack, how would they react if they knew their eldest son was gay?