Still working on Suited
Hi everyone! Hope you are doing good and gearing up for the holiday.
Becket, in shorts and a gray t-shirt, took the wide flat crepe pan and scooped the cooked crepe onto its plate. His hands worked like he’d been a sous chef on a cook line, adding sliced fruit and other flourishes to the dish. Victoria was too mesmerized to notice a mug of coffee appear at her side. Her gaze was glued to a plate showcasing the most beautiful meal she’d ever seen.
“Fruit crepe with a raspberry compote drizzle, and coconut whipped cream. Oh, and fresh coffee.” He set the plate in front of her.
-
It was at that moment Beckett recalled that cold December morning when the heat in Vivi’s old apartment had gone out, and all she had to eat was bread, peanut butter, and oranges.
While she was toasting the bread in the oven, Danny cut the orange into enough slices for them both.
“Don’t worry about it,” she’d said. “I’m not too keen on fruit. I got them for you. You eat them all.”
-
“Shit, you don’t like fruit,” he mumbled, then quickly removed the plate. “I….remember I left fruit plates for you in the pool house and they were untouched.”
“Oh no, it’s fine. Please, don’t go to any trouble for me -”
“Not to worry, I’ll eat this one myself. Look, I have plenty of crepe batter left. Let me make another…” he rubbed his hands together, “peanut butter and chocolate?”
That was the look he wanted. That sparkle, that awe. She gave away that magic all too easily for those who wanted to see it.
“Perfect,” he clapped. “Five minutes.”
The entire time Beckett was preforming his culinary prowess, Victoria sat as quiet as a mouse. What is happening? Why is a man as beautiful as an old world sculpture making me chocolate crepes on command?
Beckett set another plate in front of her with two crepes spread with chocolate peanut ganache, and sprinkled with instant coffee grounds. He then freshened her coffee and slid over a knife, fork, and napkin. Taking the fruit crepe plate for himself, he came around to have a seat beside her at the kitchen island.
“Welp,” Beckett began, “dig in! I haven’t made crepes in a while so… Victoria?”
She didn’t know when she started it, but she was weeping.
“I don’t know what to do! I have so much work and my ex-husband won’t stop calling me and I just lost my home and I have no money and,” she looked to her palms and sighed, “I’m just so tired of it all…” Victoria’s teeth chattered as she trembled on the stool. She clutched her hands open and closed.
“Someone help me!” Those words were seared into Beckett’s heart.
There was a warmth in front of her, and it wasn’t the coffee. Two large hands carefully clutched her shoulders as soft auburn eyes looked over and into her. It was one of the kindest expressions she’d ever seen from anyone since coming to Los Angeles four years ago.
She embraced him again, like that desperation in the parking lot. She was so…exhausted, and it pained Beckett to know all this time, all his wonder about where she was, what she was doing, the ‘she must be doing well for herself’ line we all tell ourselves when we know nothing, was wrong.
His love was in agony. Stressed, over-worked, and slaving away. It incited him.
Victoria felt his arms tighten around her, almost like his own desperation. Before she could act, he spoke her name.
“Victoria…”
Quickly she pulled back. All her warmth and exposure was bottled back up. It was then that she glanced at the chain he wore around his neck. A small old style key dangled just past his collarbones.
“I’m so sorry,” she sniffed, wiping her face with her fingers. Beckett languished in the absence of her warmth. His senses came back to him, and he plucked a napkin from the counter to give to her.
“No need. Please,” he half smiled. “You have been through a lot. How about you eat a little?”
Suddenly the delicious smell of the plate filled Victoria’s nose. They both smiled to her renewed stomach rumble. She picked up the fork and in just as quick a motion, it flipped from her fingers to clank loudly against the lip of the plate.
“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry,” she gasped. “If I chipped it, I’ll get you a new one. I -”
Beckett pressed his hand on the counter close to hers. She looked at him in that beat, acknowledging their tangle of momentary comfort. She silently picked up her fork again.
As he took his seat beside her, a moan caught his attention when she tasted her first bite of breakfast.
“This is amazing,” she hummed. She took another bite, and another. “Oh my god!” Each time a piece of crepe disappeared into her mouth, Beckett’s chest swelled with pride.
He was feeding his woman, taking care of her. This is what he’d always wanted to do.
Before her meal was even finished, Beckett was at the stove again, pouring another crepe before she had time to object. This one was tomato and pesto and olive oil.
It too was devoured in moments.
Victoria sighed, carefully setting down her fork down beside the second empty plate. Beckett smiled from his own meal, only half gone. He’d been too nervous to really eat.
“I’m very pleased you liked it,” he smiled.
She sighed, near food coma. “If I lived here, I’d orgasm from eating too many crepes alone!”
Quickly in her gasp, Victoria covered her mouth. Beckett’s gaze was wide, and he nearly dropped his own fork. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to say that I- ”
Beckett collected himself with a chuckle and set his fork on his plate.
“Can I show you something, Victoria?”
******************
Beckett lead Victoria further into the house, through its beautiful mid-century deliciousness to ceiling high double navy doors at the end of the hall. He stood in front and pulled them open.
“Woah,” Victoria rumbled.
Rows and rows of suits and dress shirts and pants and all sorts of fashionable men’s clothing laid out in a navy custom closet. It wasn’t just a closet. It was a room, almost a wing filled with clothing. She stepped forward as Beckett adjusted the lighting to bring the full glory of the collection into view.
The room was ceiling to floor navy with an opulent light atomic patterned rug in its center. Two chunky masculine chairs flanked a wall length mirror with illuminated glass display cases showcasing some of Beckett’s more artistic accessories.
One side was drawers from floor to ceiling. The other had a long rack of suits; two and three piece styles, all cuts from modern to vintage. So many colors, from classic deep midnight to an avant-guard teal suit with gold trim.
It took a good five minutes of her thumbing through the massive collection naming as many designers as she could spot before she heard Beckett calling to her with a cheerful chuckle.
“This is the most amazing collection of contemporary men’s clothing I’ve ever seen!” She stepped from behind the wall of cabinets. He stood by the door, arms folded, leaning on the doorjamb.
“None of the suits are wool, silk, or have leather components, so I’ve had to let a few of the designers get creative with fabrics.
“That’s right, you’re vegan.”
Beckett nodded. Victoria bumped against a pair of displayed oxfords, black and polished to a high shine. She pointed at them.
“Cactus leather.” Her brows raised. “The boots next to them are mushroom.”
Victoria gasped. “Get out!” She pulled the gray boots from the shelf and nearly had her face inside to check construction.
Beckett could barely contain himself with how her delight delighted him. To think she was sobbing twenty minutes ago, and now she was skimming her hands along rows of carefully arranged couture without a care in the world. Truth be told, this entire collection could go up in flames right now and he’d be fine with it as long as she were safe. Wow, that was a first for him.
Suddenly he knew everything in his world would revolve around the contentment of woman.
“Well, I have one wool suit,” he amended, stepping to the alcove nearest the door. Victoria watched him take a long navy clothing box from the top of a shelf and bring it into the room. Across from the two chairs was a small coffee table. He set the box atop and pulled off its lid.
Beneath the acid free paper was an old suit. Like, a hundred years old. It was a plain style, dark colored, torn and ragged, but if mended could still be wearable.
“My great grandfather on my mother’s side was wearing this when he came through Ellis Island in 1929 from Italy. I’d like to have it recreated.”
Victoria pressed her hands to the fabric as if breathing in the garment’s history. Of course she understood. Her eyes looked up to him, soulful and so warm. “I’d be honored to do this for you, Beckett.”
The biggest sappiest smile coasted Beckett’s face. He reached down, feeling brave enough to touch her hand, but at the last moment chickened out and stroked the lapel of the jacket instead.
“You know, Victoria- ”
“Here you are! Found the catacombs, I see?” Beckett and Victoria looked to the open double doors to see Brian standing there, holding a little blue suitcase. He waved. “I have some things for you, miss lady.”
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