Chapter Text
Thawing Out
They arrived at Vancouver airport in the middle of the night, or so it seemed. The sky outside was so dark it would’ve been mistaken for midnight in Georgia, even though it was only seven o’clock.
As soon as Daryl had stepped out of the airport doors, he wished he hadn’t been stupidly stubborn and refused to let Beth buy him that coat.
It was spring─ Or at least it was in Georgia. It was warm and the air was thick with the threat of rain ─ Or at least it was in Georgia. The heat absorbed from the daytime sun beating down on the Earth, rose up from the cooling ground and warmed his skin ─ Or at least it did in Georgia. Here, in Canada, it was like the dead of winter. The air was icy and bit right through his thin layer of clothing. The frosty ground did nothing but turn his toes into little icicles inside his boots. He could only be thankful that there was no snow to be seen.
The people who cluttered the sidewalk, locals he presumed, only wore perhaps one or two more layers than he did, but he could tell the cold didn’t bother them as it bothered him. They, after all, could still move their limbs, and did not wear thick gloves, beanies and scarves, which was what Daryl was wishing for.
The whiskey he consumed on the plane did little to warm his blood now. He blew on his hands to heat them, watching plumes of steam escaped his mouth and disappear into the night air. It reminded him somewhat of his thirty year old addiction.
He wanted to reach into his pocket for his packet of cigarettes and smoke ten of them to make up for the four hour flight, but his hands were so numb he was sure he wouldn’t even be able to grip his lighter, let alone open it.
His teeth chattered and his hands trembled, and he could barely feel his frozen feet as he dragged them over the pavement, following Beth towards a sleek and shiny black BMW with Four season written in golden script on the side.
The short, dark haired driver exited the vehicle as they approached and walked towards Daryl, his quizzical eyes studying him from beneath bushy eyebrows. Daryl wasn’t certain if the look was because Daryl was the only one in the entire country not wearing a coat, or if it was because he and Beth made such a mismatched pair.
He attempted to take Daryl’s backpack, but Daryl clutched the strap to his shoulder and shook his head in refusal. Not only did he not want to part with his meagre belongings, and last bit of home, but he didn’t want to be rid of the only thing that was keeping his back warm.
Beth appreciatively handed her travel bag to the driver and he tucked it neatly into the trunk of the car before opening a door and holding it for them to enter.
Daryl was quick to slide into the car, grateful to be out of the icy air, and found marginal comfort inside the leather seated shelter. He shifted his backpack between his knees and tucked his hands into his arm pits to keep them warm while his teeth chattered on.
“Could you turn up the heat, please?” Beth requested of the driver, as she stepped into the car. “My stubborn friend here isn’t used to a British Columbia spring.”
Daryl wanted to make a smart ass comment about how he didn’t realise British Columbia was found at the ends of the earth, besides the devil’s ass crack, inside an ice box, but he was too cold to talk.
Beth smirked at Daryl, turning her blue eyes up to his face as she drew herself into him, sharing her body warmth. Beth had thought to bring a long woollen overcoat and gloves to keep herself warm, but the tip of her nose was still tinted with red and her cheeks were flushed.
She put the fingers of her gloves in her mouth and tugged them off with her teeth. The thoughts of the last time she removed her gloves would’ve made Daryl’s cock twitch. If he could feel it.
Her hot as coal hands found Daryl’s and pried them away from his armpits so she could draw them forward into the stream of hot air that blew out the heating vents.
“Is this better?” She asked, glancing back to him with a smug smile.
Daryl scowled at her, annoyed she always had to be so cryptic and couldn’t just tell him what was happening so he could be prepared.
“Yeah.” He replied shortly. Then after a moment he added. “Thank you.”
Little could be seen out the window as they travelled in the car. They had left the bright lights of the city some time ago, and now, everything was shadowed in darkness, apart from a small patch of light around the moving car. As the journey progressed a dull ache developed in his ears, and drifts of white began to attack the windows. He knew this meant they were travelling up the mountains, and they were going to be surrounded in snow.
He had never been a big fan of snow. It was cold and wet and the hunting was never as fruitful. He had seen many harsh winters in the mountains where he grew up, but since he had moved southward he had only seen snow two of three times, and it had only lasted a few days. But from what he could see out the window, the snow here covered the land in a thick blanket, and looked like it would be there for months to come, and would definitely be present for the entirety of their stay.
The hotel resort that appeared upon the mountain path was a collection of tall peaked roof buildings that made shining beacons of light amongst the dark shadows of tall pine trees and jagged mountains. It reminded him of Christmas cards he never got from the other kids at school.
Their car pulled up in front of the foremost building, where a concierge approached them wearing a long dark coat, gloves and a hat, and Daryl was reminded of the cold he was about to face.
When the driver opened the door Daryl was met with a blast of icy air, only made worse due to the contrast of the heat in the car. He didn’t want to leave its warmth, but Beth was pushing against him, urging him out, so he stepped out into the thin, frozen air and let the cold steal his warmth away.
The path from the car to the hotel foyer had been cleared of snow, but the ground was still icy and slippery, and Beth had to save him ─ as if he were some helpless child ─ from slipping onto his back side several times as he tried to race to the doors and get out of the cold.
The inside of the building was toasty warm, heated by a large fire, dancing in a full wall of stone fireplace. The floor was slate tile covered with woven patterned rugs and runners. The high ceiling was vaulted, with rustic looking circular chandeliers hanging from its exposed beams. The centre of the lobby was filled with heavy looking wooden furniture and chocolate brown leather seats. The interior was pleasant and comforting, but Daryl refused to smile.
He followed Beth down the corridor to a reception area tucked into a timber panelled alcove where a female receptionist ─ several years older than Beth, and several years younger than himself ─ was attending. She glanced at Beth and then looked Daryl over from top to toe and Daryl saw she was making a similar assessment to the driver who collected them from the airport.
“Checking in?” She queried with a forced smile under her stony gaze.
“Yes. We have a room booked. It’s under Greene.” Beth said, stepping towards the counter.
The woman searched through the drawers of the desk in front of her and produced a pair of white cards and pressed them onto the counter in front of Daryl.
“Here are your keys, Mr Greene.”
“I ain’t Mr Greene.” Daryl said as he took a step back from the desk and held up his hands defensively.
The receptionist looked back and forth between the two of them with a puzzled expression on her face, before she spoke again Daryl noticed a glint of assumption in her eyes.
“Of course. The room was booked under your name, Miss?” She asked of Beth.
Daryl knew what that assumption was now. Not only did she think he had whisked a girl half his age away to the middle of nowhere, but also that he was sneaking behind his non-existent wife’s back. Little did she know that Beth was only paying because he was a no good, jobless redneck and he could never afford a place like this through any legal means. It made him wonder how Beth could possibly afford such a thing with the insignificant amount the state had allocated her.
“Yes.” Beth confirmed for the receptionist. “It was part of a surprise.” She smiled up at Daryl, but he still had his face set in a scowl from when he had felt the receptionist judge him.
“Well, we have given you the executive suite on the top floor, as requested. And we have put all the items you requested in your room, Miss Greene.”
“Thank you.” Said Beth, “And dinner, have we been reserved?”
“Yes, Miss Greene. Although the kitchen closes in less than an hour, so I suggest you attend the dining room as soon as possible.”
“Thank you.” Beth said again then dug into her bag, pulled out a handful of Canadian dollars and pressed it into the woman’s hand as a tip. Daryl had half a mind to grab it back out, feeling it wasn’t in her job description to judge her customers, but he didn’t want to add “tight-ass” to “adulterer” and “dirty old man”.
The suite was decorated in much the same way as the lobby, with heavy rustic furniture, thick patterned rugs and drapes ─Which he was sure hid a superb view─ and a stone fireplace blazing gas fuelled flames on artificial logs. The suite did have a more homely feel than the lobby with soft looking sofas, a television set surrounded by a carved wooden frame, and fresh cut tulips in a large vase that sat on top of a highly polished piano.
“How much is this all costin’ you?” Daryl asked as he hesitantly dropped his back pack on to the sofa and began peeling off his vest, which was now causing him to sweat.
“Don’t worry about it.” Beth said with a dismissive wave. “This is a business trip; my taxes will pay for it.”
“I don’t think this is what the IRS would consider a business trip.” Daryl replied, unconvinced.
“I said not to worry about it, Daryl.” Beth replied in her commanding voice, which meant he wasn’t to question her. She stepped towards him and put her hands gently to his cheeks so she could cradle his face in her palms.
“This is a mini vacation. Just for you. So you can try new things. I want you to enjoy yourself and not worry about silly things like money.”
Daryl thought that money was only silly to those who could afford to waste it on places like this, and people like him.
Beth released his face, and took hold of his arm, pulling him along beside her as she walked through the living area of the suite and towards an open doorway that led into a bedroom with a large comfortable looking bed, framed by high-lit artwork, and directed him towards a large tiled bathroom, separated only by a screen of false climbing vines.
“Now you can have a shower and get ready for dinner.” She commanded, before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
The bed, with its oversized pillows and soft looking crisp white sheets, looked more enticing to Daryl than the shower. His limbs were heavy and stiff from the long flight and drive. The whisky he had consumed on the plane still lingered in his blood, making him feel slow and groggy. He could have easily curled up fully clothed and slept the rest of the night away, but he had little to eat on the flight over and his stomach was growling at the thought of food. So he dropped himself down onto the bed, tugged off his boots, stumbled into the bathroom, dropping his clothing on the way, and took the shower Beth demanded he have.
He probably spent more time in there than he should have. The soothing streams of hot water had nearly sent him to sleep, and more time had been spent leaning his forehead against the tiles and letting the heat massage his neck and shoulders, than actually washing himself. He did however managed to emerge with washed hair and skin smelling of hotel soap lavender.
He went searching for his clothing first, sure that he had left them on the bathroom floor, but there was nothing there. He stepped into the bedroom, heading towards the living room to retrieve his backpack, but something on the bed caught his eye before he made it to the door.
Someone, and he was sure it was Beth, had laid finely made designer men’s clothing out neatly on the bed.
Daryl picked the items up to inspect them. A pair of dark denim jeans, grease and tear free, with strong stitching and false whiskering. A shale grey button up, collared shirt made from a silken fine cotton blend. A tan coloured, unlined leather jacket, that was designed more for looks than for warmth, and on the floor by his feet were a pair of neat un-scuffed lace up boots.
The articles certainly were not his own clothing, and they weren’t something he would normally wear, but she had chosen well, in a style he wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear, and he was grateful there was no tie to be seen.
Daryl glanced towards the bedroom door, where soft music was drifting from, and wondered what she had planned for him now. He decided he would play at her game of dress up, considering the last time he had refused to let her dress him, he had suffered for it.
He tugged the jeans on, wriggling them over his hips as he tried to adjust to the slim fit, then pulled the shirt on and deliberated on whether it was the type to be tucked in or out. He pulled the jacket on and swung his arms in circles trying to break in the fabric over the thick bulk of his shoulders, and lastly put on his new boots.
When he approached the door and pushed it open a crack he recognised that the slow resonant tune was coming from the piano and it was Beth’s voice singing in harmony with it.
I saw who you were holding, I saw her in the night
I saw her when you smiled at me and said you’d do me right
I know that you have others, I know I’m not alone
Oh how I wish you took me home
Daryl recognised the lyrics from the first song he had heard her sing while standing outside her apartment; the one he was sure was about a past love.
Beth had continued singing further verses but as he had stepped through the door and got a full view of Beth, an involuntary choking sound had escaped his throat and alerted her to his presence.
Beth was cute when she was dressed in her torn jeans and oversized sweaters, she was sexy when she was dressed in her black vinyls and leathers. Now, wearing a mini dress made of shimmering black fabric that clung to her slight figure, her hair neatly curled, cascading down her back and pinned away from her face, and her dazzling blue eyes highlighted with dark lashes, she was so mesmerizingly beautiful that he was literally choking on his words.
Beth abruptly stood before the piano, looking flustered as if she had been caught doing something wrong. She took a step towards him and then stopped suddenly, reflecting the look he must have had on his face; eyes wide and mouth agape.
“You look amazing.” She exclaimed as she purposefully crossed the room to meet him.
“I uh…” Daryl faltered. “You too.”
“I wasn’t sure if this would fit over your shoulders. They’re so broad.” She said as she adjusted the jacket, then untucked his shirt, straightened his collar and ran her fingers through his hair. “But you look perfect.”
“What’re we gettin’ dressed up for? This place we’re eatin’ at, it ain’t real fancy is it?” Daryl allowed Beth to continue grooming him while he flicked his eyes between the lamps and paintings that were placed on the walls, trying to take his focus off how stunning she looked, how delicious she smelt, how soft her touch was, and how the only thing he hungered for now was her.
“It’s not fancy. I just wanted our first night on vacation to be special.”
Her fingers moved from his hair to his jaw and then pinched his chin.
“And I may have just wanted to dress you up, and make you look pretty.” She said with a smirk and a gentle tug on his whiskers.
…
The restaurant was fancy, at least it was fancy compared to all the run down, dank and dirty, fowl smelling, biker filled diners that Daryl had ever eaten a meal at.
Grand wooden chandeliers filled every inch of ceiling with false candlelight. Every section of stoned wall carried a carving, landscape painting, or antlers from a beast two times as large as Daryl had ever bagged. A pianist was playing ambient music in the background, but Daryl didn’t think he played anywhere near as well as Beth. That sound mingled with the chorus of clattering cutlery and idle chatter. The chairs were lined with plump cushions and were so solid and heavy the waiter looked strained when he lifted them out for Beth and then for Daryl.
The waiter carefully slipped Beth’s jacket over her shoulders, allowing the smooth curve of her skin to be highlighted by the glowing overhead light, and folded it neatly over his arm before disapearfing behind Daryl’s back
The sensation of the waiter’s hands at Daryl’s shoulders made him jump with surprise and he took a defensive step away, with arms raised ready to fight off his attacker.
“Your jacket, sir?” The waiter placated.
“Nah.” Daryl said, dropping his hands but continuing to give the waiter an intimidating glare. “I can take care of my own jacket.”
He sat down in the chair, without removing his jacket, and dragged it forward, brushing away the waiter’s hand when he tried to assist, and then examined the table before him.
The table was topped with a several glass dishes, each containing a lit, floating candle, a satin steel pitcher covered with droplets of condensation, and a collection of cutlery that caused Daryl to crease his brow in confusion.
Laid before him were not one but two glasses ─one of which the waiter filled with chilled water from the pitcher ─ two fine china plates, two knives, two glasses, three forks, three spoons, and a square of white folded and freshly ironed linen.
“Why do we need so much shit?” Daryl asked as he poked at the shining cutlery that needlessly cluttered his dining space.
“It’s for each course. Entrée, Main and Dessert.” Beth advised him seemingly unfussed by the clutter.
Daryl picked up the smallest fork, unusually shaped and something he had never seen before. “This is an entrée fork?”
Beth giggled. “No that is a dessert fork. This medium sized one here is a…well… it’s a salad fork, but you might use it for your entrée.”
Daryl examined the outlay before him; he thought it wouldn’t be that hard to figure out. The last course uses the smallest cutlery, the main course the largest, simple enough.
“This spoon… is a dessert spoon?” Daryl attempted to confirm, lifting up the smallest spoon. He had always used them for his coffee, but perhaps he had it all wrong and they were meant for desserts, there was no mug about after all.
“No.” Beth stifled a laugh with a delicate movement of her hand across her lips. “That’s a teaspoon. It’s for stirring your....”
“I know.” Daryl cut her off. “I may be a dumbass but I ain’t an idiot.”
Daryl then picked up the square of fabric, and shook it out to examine it.
“It’s a napkin.” Beth advised him, as she tucked her own napkin neatly over her thighs.
“I know what it is.” Daryl snapped, even though he hadn’t been entirely sure. The only napkins he had ever used had been made of paper and a quarter the size. He originally thought maybe it was a tablecloth the waiter had forgotten to put on the table. He was starting to realise why the Dixons didn’t go to restaurants.
The waiter returned to their table with menus, neatly bound in leather, and Daryl opened his to reveal that half of it was written in a foreign language.
“I thought they spoke English here.” Daryl said as he turned the menu this way and that trying to decipher the words.
“They do, but many people also speak French. It’s a courtesy that most hotels here have.”
“You come here often?” Daryl enquired as he flicked through the pages, skipping all the French meals and looking for something that seemed American.
“I’ve been a few times with my daddy, although we didn’t stay here.”
Daryl figured her rich daddy probably owned himself a private ski lodge out in the mountains, and another wave of disentitlement hit him as he was reminded that he and Beth were in completely different leagues, and shouldn’t be seen together.
Especially not in a place like this.
“I’ll just get a steak.” Daryl said, aggressively tossing the menu across the table and almost knocking over Beth’s glass of water.
“What about an entrée?” Beth enquired calmly as she stilled her wobbling glass with her hand.
“I don’t want no fuckin’ entrée.” He took a breath, trying to control his in-built need for foul language when he something was bothering him, “I just wanna eat and get the hell out o’ here.”
He tugged at the collar of his shirt and undid the top button, suddenly feeling constricted. He didn’t want to get snappy at her, but he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the game of dress ups and tea parties with the fair princess.
“You need to relax, Daryl.” Beth said, her eyes analysing the movement of his fidgeting hands. “ I’ll order us some champagne.”
Daryl began to protest, his blood was still filled with whiskey, but he was certain a little more alcohol couldn’t make things worse. Or at least it couldn’t make him any more uncomfortable. So he waited anxiously for the bottle to arrive listening to Beth’s rundown of the French menu, trying to avoid the gaze of nosy onlookers who continued to stare at the beauty and the beast.
After a short moment, two waiters attended the table with an ice bucket in a stand, and a bottle of champagne, which one of them presented to Daryl as if they needed his approval. Daryl just waved it off, not understanding the gesture, and the waiter filled both his and Beth’s glass; A third glass, this one long and thin and a tapered at the bottom.
Daryl was relieved when they removed the rounder looking glass on a stem to help ease some of his confusion.
With the champagne poured and the excess glass cleared away, the waiter turned to Daryl to collect the order. Daryl merely looked to Beth for assistance, unsure of what he was supposed to say, until Beth got the hint and took over.
“We’ll just have the house soup for an entrée. Something light.” Beth said smiling up at Daryl, imploring him to accept her choice. “I will have the Terrine for the main and he will have the steak.”
“And how would you like your steak, sir?” enquired the waiter, turning his attention back to Daryl.
Daryl rubbed his chin and glanced towards Beth, hoping she would give him some clue as to what he meant.
“I dunno.” He said with a shrug. “At the table I guess.”
Both Beth and the waiter laughed and Daryl glared at them angrily, realising he was the centre of some joke he didn’t understand.
“He means how would you like it cooked. Rare? Medium rare? well done?” Beth clarified.
“What is it with you rich folk and bein’ so complicated? You only need one fork. And there’s only one way to cook a fuckin’ steak. Until it’s hot and won’t make me puke the next day. So just cook the damn thing!” Daryl snatched up his champagne glass and drained it in one long gulp. “And get us another bottle of this bubbly shit, ‘cause this ain’t gonna be enough to get me through.”
“He’ll have it medium.” Beth said to the waiter with a forced smile after he had finished his tirade. The waiter bowed, looking anxiously towards Daryl and then disappeared with the menus under his arm.
“Are you okay?” Beth enquired, turning concerned eyes in his direction. “You seem kinda stressed.”
“I’m fine.” Daryl paused and looked around the room at the eyes that were still fixated on him. An older woman with flame read hair, dripping in jewellery. A middled aged woman with short brown hair dressed in a sophisticated looking pant suit, a girl a little younger than Beth, staring at him with her mouth agape, whilst being gently nudged by her father, Daryl assumed to tell her to mind her manners and stop looking at him like he was a zoo animal.
“It’s just. I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.” He mumbled. “Everyone keeps lookin’ at me. I don’t belong.”
Beth turned in her seat and made a quick sweep of the room.
“Maybe they’re looking at you because you’re nice to look at.”
“No. There are guys lookin’ too.” He said as he glared at a man with golden hair who had twisted in his seat in order to see him. “They think I shouldn’t be ‘ere. I shouldn’t be with you.”
Beth made another quick sweep, stopping when she caught sight of the blonde man who quickly turned back around to face his wife, and then she turned back to Daryl, grinning widely.
“Like I said, they could just be lookin’ at you because you’re nice to look at.”
Daryl opened his mouth, and let it hang open for a moment, wordless. The man didn’t seem gay, although he wasn’t entirely sure what gay looked like, but he was sure they didn’t look like men who were dining with their wives, so surely Beth was just trying to make him feel better. He closed his mouth and picked up the champagne for another drink, and then sat in silence, sulking and feeling awkward, tapping his foot nervously against the table.
“I think they can see the redneck through the pretty jacket.” Daryl grunted. “You rich people have a deadbeat radar or some shit.”
Beth chuckled and tossed her head. “Daryl, most of these people aren’t rich, this is just a family restaurant, no-one thinks you’re out of place.”
Daryl shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes fixed on his hand clasped before him, one thumb picking at the skin of another.
“You’ve never eaten in a restaurant before? A diner maybe?” Beth enquired, sipping slowly on her champagne.
“Nah. Not a fancy three course meal, and don’t see the point of wastin’ money on a steak that needs to be cooked a certain way when I can cook my own steak just fine on the grill in my back yard.”
“It’s not a waste. It’s a treat.”
“I don’t have money for treats.” He pouted.
Beth leaned back in her chair, the rim of the champagne glass pressed to her lips “Where do you get your money?” She enquired. “I mean…where does your brother get his money. What is it you do with him?”
Daryl glared up at her wondering how much of the truth he was willing to tell.
“He sells merchandise.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
“Oh. So you’re like a sales man?”
Daryl shook his head as he reached for his glass and sucked down another mouthful.
“I work in debt collection.”
Beth scrutinised him from the other side of the table, an eyebrow raised sceptically, lips pursed in disbelief.
“Oh.” She finally replied, dropping her eyes and replacing her glass on the table.
Daryl knew she was no fool, she could put two and two together. Ex- outlaw bike club member, frequent assault charges, collects debts for his ex-con brother. If she hadn’t put together the clues, she had probably read his record. She knew exactly what he did for money.
They sat in silence for a moment Beth watching his ever movement, Daryl twitching so hard the cutlery rattled the table and ripples waved through the liquid in the glassware.
“It’s Chopin.” Beth finally said out of the blue and seemingly to no one in particular.
“What?”
“The tune. On the piano. It’s Chopin’s Meine Frieden.”
Daryl replied with a simple shrug, not entirely sure why she decided to bring up such a topic, but figuring it might be some kind of distraction from her coming to realisation that she was dining with a drug dealer.
“It’s kind of romantic don’t you think?” She said.
Daryl choked on his champagne at the mention of the word romantic. It was not a topic he thought would be brought up at that particular moment.
“Is that what this is meant to be? Romantic.” He said when he had finally swallowed down his mouthful.
Beth laughed and shook her head gently from side to side. “No. It’s just a romantic piece. It’s nice.”
Daryl nodded his head as he pressed his thumbs together and chewed his lip thoughtfully.
“Cause this.” He waved his finger between the two of them. “It’s just business, right?”
Beth nodded. “Just business.”
Just business.
The words echoed through his head. He was stupid to think it could ever be anything else. Her sweet and caring nature was just business. Her gentle caresses were just business. Her mouth on his cock was just business.
He pouted sullenly and replied to her initial question. “I dunno. You know more about this shit than me.”
He drained his glass of champagne.
“About romance or about music?” Beth queried.
“Both.” Daryl said putting his glass down a little too hard on the table.
Beth dropped her eyes to the glass and studied it intensely for a long moment. “I don’t know about that.” She finally said.
“Oh yeah, that song you were singin’ earlier. That a romantic song?”
Beth shook her head, “No. not really.”
“It was about a guy though right?”
“Yes.”
“About heartbreak?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
“Well heartbreak and romance go hand in hand don’t they?”
Beth shook her head, slower and more deliberate now, “No. Not always.”
Daryl considered probing her for more information, before being interrupted by the two waiters who had attended their table previously. One carried a platter which held two steaming bowls of soup, and the other held the second bottle of champagne.
The waiter with the platter placed it on the table and put the bowls in front of each of them, smiled and then retreated. The second waiter emptied the last of the champagne into their glasses and then removed the empty bottle, loosened the stopper on the new one and then they were left alone once more.
Daryl picked up the nearest spoon ─not the teaspoon─ and poked at the soup with the tip, stirring it slowly around as he tried to determine what it consisted of.
“Try it.” Beth urged, licking the remnants of her own soup from her lips.
Daryl scooped up the soup as carefully as he could, but lost most of it over the sides of the spoon, and then attempted to spoon it into his mouth, but found most of it dripped out onto his chin.
He picked up his napkin and wiped at his whiskers as he watched Beth’s face turn pink. Her mouth was in a firm line lips going white as if she were ready to burst.
“What is it now?” Daryl asked, throwing his napkin forcefully on top of his soup bowl.
“It’s just.” Beth cleared her throat and attempted to regain her composure “That’s a dessert spoon. This one here is for soup.” She lifted up her spoon with a round and deep bowl on the end.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Daryl growled, his fists clenching, face growing hot, breathing becoming sharp.
“Are you okay?” Beth asked for the second time that night.
“I’m fine.” Daryl grunted, before chugging back another glass of champagne. He had drunk most of the first bottle, while Beth was still on her first glass. He didn’t like it; It had far too many bubbles, but his aim was to get shit-faced drunk and hopefully forget how much of a fuck up he was.
“How do you like it?” Beth asked cautiously, clearly trying to distract him from his incompetence.
“It’s fine.” Daryl grunted. It wasn’t fine though. It was thin and lacked meat, and had some other unusual tangy taste he couldn’t quite figure out.
“And the restaurant?”
“It’s fine.” He grunted again. Even though it wasn’t. it was filled with far too many well-dressed people who kept looking at him like he didn’t belong, and the music of piano pieces that he couldn’t pronounce the name of.
“And the suite?”
“It’s all fine Beth.” He snapped. “It’s all fuckin’ fine. Your first class flight was fine. Your personal chauffer was fine. Your executive suite is fine. Your pretty boy clothes are fine. That insanely hot dress is fine. All. Fucking. Fine.”
“Daryl.” Beth began in a voice of caution. “No need to act like a…”
“Like a what? Like a backwoods redneck with an IQ of 60? Like a no good, dumbass, waste of space nothin’? Like a…”
“Like a kid!” Beth declared abruptly, slamming an open palm against the table. “Why can’t you just enjoy yourself? Enjoy everythin’ I’m tryin’ to do for you.”
“I ain’t Julia Roberts.” Daryl snarled as he jumped to his feet, knocking over the large wooden chair and causing it to crash loudly to the floor behind him. “You can’t take me off the street, throw money at me, dress me all pretty like, and think it’ll make me a better person.”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to, Daryl. I just wanted to treat you…”
“I’m goin’ back to our fancy-ass suite, to lie on my fancy-ass bed, and drink this fancy-ass bottle of champagne.” He grabbed the bottle from the ice bucket, then pulled the stopper with his teeth, spat it across the room so it landed before a shocked looking middle aged man, and began sculling the bottle’s contents back messily.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to clear away the champagne that clung to the hair on his chin and then turned to the restaurant wait staff and patrons who were all watching his performance with keen interest.
“And we ain’t havin’ an affair!” He called to everyone as he turned and briskly stomped towards the exit. “This is just business.” He added in a hiss before he made his departure.
Daryl tried to extract the last dregs of champagne by sticking his tongue into the neck of the bottle, but he was unsuccessful. He had drained it completely.
He had also smoked his last cigarette, which he had avoided being detected by the smoke detectors overhead by blowing it into his brand new fancy-ass jacket, and skilfully waving away the escaping plumes.
He had probably been sitting outside the suite for around thirty minutes before Beth strolled down the hall from the elevators, her jacket draped loosely over her shoulders, carrying a paper bag under her arm, and a less than impressed expression on her face.
Even the copious amounts of liquor he had consumed couldn’t block out the horrible sinking, twisting, churning feeling that look caused in his guts. Her eyes were always bright and happy like the mid-spring sun, but now they were dark and clouded over. He had made a complete ass of himself and hurt her in the process. Hurting someone like Beth was the worst thing he could ever imagine doing.
She only glanced at Daryl before swiping her card across the reader and opening the door to the suite.
Daryl wouldn’t blame her if she slammed it in his face, but she propped it open with her high heeled shoe and waited for him to enter.
Daryl staggered to his feet; under the influence of whiskey, champagne, exhaustion, starvation and shame, and then slunk past her with his eyes fixed to his shiny new boots. The ones she had brought for him; a perfect fit.
“I brought you your steak.” Beth said as she forced the warm paper bag into his arms, and stepped militantly past him.
She pulled off her heels and tossed them into the living area, and then began winding her hair up into a neat roll up the centre of her head, strutting purposefully as she crossed the room; Clearly annoyed with him.
“Sorry.” Daryl blurted and then drew in a quick breath, surprised the word had escaped his lips. He never apologised for anything. Not since he was a kid being man handled by his father.
“Huh?” Beth said turning to him, looking equally surprised; her eyes even wider than usual.
“I’m sorry for blowin’ up at you like that. Had too much to drink. Real tired. Felt out of place. Don’t have a good enough reason for makin’ you feel bad though.”
Beth looked at him for a moment; the thoughts that flitted through her mind glinted in her eyes.
“I get it.” She eventually said with a nonchalant shrug. She moved across the room towards the piano. “Some people can be real jerks when they drink.” She added with a smirk.
“Yeah. I’m a dick” Daryl agreed as he slid down on to the sofa. “When I’m drunk.” He added with his own smirk. He was somewhat relived she didn’t blow up at him in return as he was sure most woman would have done.
“But ownin’ your actions; that’s a big step. And it kinda makes you less of a… jerk.” Beth flashed him a grin that made his stomach flutter and cheeks grow hot, removing any sense of anguish he had felt earlier. She dropped herself onto the bench in front of the piano, adjusting her dress so she didn’t reveal any more of her enticing flesh.
Daryl shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Maybe.”
“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” She said distractedly as she ran the fingers of one hand over the piano keys. “I was just tryin’ to show you somethin’ new.”
“I know what you’re tryin’ to do.” Daryl said as he lay his head down amongst the soft sofa cushions, and kicked his boots over the arm rest. “And I ‘preciate it. No one’s ever done this kind o’ shit for me before. And I know you gotta be usin’ your own money.”
He turned his head to the side so he could see Beth. She had stopped running her fingers across the keys, but had turned her slender back to him; her pretty face hidden from view.
“It’s just strange.” Daryl continued, slowly tugging at the hair on his chin as he vocalised his feelings; Something he never did. Not even when he was as drunk as what he was now. “I ain’t used to things bein’ nice. I’m used to things bein’ messed up. I ain’t used to kindness. I’m used to people fuckin’ me over. And I kinda feel more comfortable in your green room, getting’ the shit slapped outta me, than I do out ‘ere bein’ treated like a respectable human bein’.”
“It’s hard to adapt to new things.” Beth said, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “And sometimes it’s hard to let go of what you were. Or to become something new.”
“Yeah.” Daryl agreed. He smiled towards Beth and waited for her to make eye contact. “But I think you got me headin’ in the right direction.”
The warmth from Beth’s respondent smile spread through every inch of his buzzing body, melting him into a soppy, wet pool of emotions. He chewed on the side of his finger nervously. He was in way too deep with this girl. Doing things he never would have dreamed of doing. Feeling things he never would have dreamed of feeling. Apologising for things he never would have apologised for before, and having a genuine fear of hurting someone. He knew part of that was what Beth was teaching him, and it was in her job description, but he didn’t know if he was supposed be feeling such a strong emotional connection to her.
But he liked it. He liked all of it.
He knew that if anyone could help him change and become a better person, it would have to be someone who was worth being a better person for.
He was nervously looking forward to whatever she had planned for him during the rest of their vacation, no matter how uncomfortable and out of place it made him feel. And he was nervously dreaded what would happen when they went back to Georgia, and the vacation ─ and eventually the therapy ─ was all over.
“Hey Beth.” He mumbled, through his fiddling fingers.
“Yeah?” She replied
He wanted to talk to her about his concerns; about what he was feeling towards her. How he wasn’t sure he could look at what they did together as just business. Curious if she had the same concerns he did. But he came to the conclusion he was just too drunk to think clearly, and decided to ask something less confronting.
“Why don’t you play some more?” He said, nodding towards the piano. “Sing a lil’ bit.”
Beth smiled warmly, turned back to the piano and sung to him in her sweet soulful voice. Not the song she was singing earlier, but still something slow and dreamy. He was enveloped in the trance of her voice and the warmth of her presence and in only a few seconds he had fallen into a deep and peaceful sleep.
And I hear the slow in your speech
Yeah, you're half asleep
Say goodnight