Page 116 of A Matter of Fact

He texted Rhys to let him know he was on the way home, then headed toward his apartment. They’d spent the night at his place the night before, and he hadn’t been gone long enough for Rhys to even haul himself out of bed, let alone make it across town to his condo. He was thankful for that, too. The softness of his own bed and the warmth of Rhys’s body waited for him.

Beckett parked and rode the elevator to the third floor. Inside his apartment, he kicked off his sneakers and went back to his bedroom. Rhys was in bed, propped up with the pillows around him, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up when Beckett walked in and pulled the blankets back to make room for him.

“You look like someone has killed your favorite pet.”

Beckett stripped out of his clothes, save for his underwear, and crawled into bed, burrowing against Rhys’s side. He arranged himself with his cheek on Rhys’s chest, closing his eyes when he realized Rhys was checking the stock market on his phone.

“The restaurant sold,” he said. “We’re all fired?”

Rhys patted a hand against the top of Beckett’s head and rested his chin against the place where his hair parted.

“I’m sorry, darling.”

“It’s fine.” Beckett sighed. “It would have been worse before, but…”

“But?” Rhys prompted, the smile evident in his voice.

“But I have you.”

“You know you never have to work again if you don’t want to,” Rhys said.

Beckett slipped his arm over Rhys’s stomach and around his waist, snuggling closer.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

“When does the job hunt begin, then?” Rhys turned off the screen on his phone and dropped it into the sheets. His arms came around Beckett, pulling him even closer.

“Tomorrow. Or the next day. I don’t know.”

Beckett didn’t want to be a server forever. He had big ideas and bigger dreams, but he’d never been able to get far enough ahead to make any of them a reality. He had no idea how he was supposed to save enough money to open a restaurant when he barely had enough money to eat half the time.

“You can take as long as you want,” Rhys said. “You can wait until we move. You can get settled first. We could travel.”

Beckett scoffed.

“What?” Rhys protested. “Wecould. Shouldn’t we be able to enjoy our engagement awhile?”

“And we do that by traveling?”

“I can ask you again all over the world.” Rhys hauled Beckett over so he was straddling Rhys, one knee on either side of his legs. “In Paris. In Italy. Anywhere you want. You can eat your way through the three star restaurants in Europe and the question will always be there for you.”

“My answer will always be the same.” He flattened his hands on Rhys’s chest, flexing his fingers against Rhys’s sleep-warmed skin.

“I know.”

“I have an idea.” Rhys ran a hand through his hair, shoving the messy strands away from his face. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“That’s not a good start.”

“Hear me out.” Rhys took Beckett’s left hand in his, tracing the outline of the ring around his finger.

“I’m hearing.”

“I know you hate not contributing to the financial aspect of our relationship,” Rhys spoke slowly, like he was trying to think of the best way to string the next set of words together so he could get his desired outcome. Beckett’s lip twitched, but he waited quietly. “I’m sure if you owned your own restaurant, you’d have a positive cash flow.”

“But I don’t.”

“But youcould. You just need the capital.”