Page 38 of Falling Slowly
“But…”
Could I tell him? He’d never understand. I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “It sounded preachy and annoying.”
“Preachy and annoying?” He jerked back, hit by my words.
“Yeah, sort of.” I already regretted these words. “It’s peddling the idea that you can fix any financial issues by getting better at budgeting. That if you just plug the holes, the coffers will fill up again and everything will be fine.”
“And… it’s not true?” His question hung in the air, challenging me.
I bit my lip, wondering if I’d gone too far. It was because of Jack that I knew anything about economic theories on poverty and everything I knew about rich guys told me this was a bad idea. I took a deep breath. Jack deserved to be understood, even if it was posthumously. “Did you ever see that Ted Talk about guaranteed basic income?”
He shook his head, staring at me, riveted. The quote popped into my head like a dusty old memory I’d accidentally dug up from the back of the storage. “Poverty is not a lack of character. It’s a lack of cash.”
I expected him to disagree, to challenge me, or call me a communist. But his face split into a grin. “Well, you tell me you’re broke and you definitely don’t lack character.”
Buoyed by his encouragement, I continued, keeping my eyes on the wineglass. “It was a fascinating talk. There was an example of farmers who made all their money during harvest, so they were rich around that time and then poor for the rest of the year. And their IQ went up 14 points when they got money.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Poverty can make you stupid.”
I felt his gaze on my skin. “You’re not stupid.”
“I could be smarter. And more creative.” The corner of my mouth twitched. My belly felt warm and fuzzy. “Actually, I feel like my brain’s been slowly turning on this week. It’s so different to my real life. All the amazing food and freedom to think. No running around. I feel so guilty to sit here and relax, but I also feel like I’m getting back something I lost. Maybe it’s IQ points.” I covered my face with my hands, to stop myself from continuing.
He was the boss’s son. What was I doing?
“Bess, that’s amazing.” His voice was so soft and excited it drew me out.
My hands dropped and I met his eyes. Those beautiful, glistening eyes that followed me, searching. He’d been looking at me, constantly, making me feel far more interesting than I really was.
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” he said. “This fake dating… It never needed to go that far. I have no excuse, other than…” He bit his lower lip, looking simultaneously sheepish, incorrigible and unbearably hot.
“Apology accepted,” I said quickly.
Change the subject. Stop thinking about that kiss.
I tilted my glass, watching the fairy lights reflected on it.
We sat in silence, looking up at the starry sky. “Other than… what?” I finally asked. I couldn’t let it go.
Some deep, damaged part of me wanted the confirmation. I needed to hear that I wasn’t the only one feeling this utterly misguided desire, currently fueled by wine, warm water and the entire Milky Way stretching over our heads.
“Curiosity?” I guessed when he didn’t reply.
“No.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t curious.”
“No?” I tried to neutralize my face, to not show my hurt.
“No. I knew it’d be hot.” He grinned.
“So what’s your excuse?”
His eyes sparkled, reflecting the fairy lights. “Honestly… I was just thinking with my dick. Sorry about that.”
Wine sprayed out of my mouth, and a little from my nose. “Seriously? That’s your answer?”
“Do you not appreciate honesty?”
