Work Text:
“A slice of pie for you, sweetheart.”
Benoit couldn’t help but pause as he watched his waitress set down the slice of apple pie in front of him, topped with a dollop of ice cream and sprinkled with powdered sugar because Miss Maria had a soft spot for him. Something about him reminding her of her youngest back when he was young. So, trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he set aside the crossword puzzle that had been driving him a little mad and began to dig into his unexpected dessert.
Although, as his gaze went back to five down, in the newspaper, he did begin to wonder what he did to earn it. Not that getting the odd freebie at the diner was unexpected, but they were treats given with a reason. Like when Miss Maria added some hot chocolate to coffee during the winter months because she knew his Southern soul wasn’t built for New York’s cold. Or when Del, the diner’s head cook, supplied him with a plate of something new he was considering adding to the menu for opinion since Benoit ate there more often than not ever since he had found the twenty-four hour diner.
But the pie, he couldn’t think of what he had done to deserve that. Not when spring was in full force, alternating between heavy rains and gorgeous hints of the summer to come. Even his cases had been going well now that he had made more of a name for himself. Granted they were still mostly cheating fears and power move cases, but they paid well enough and he was happy to settle for that for the time being.
Wiping his mouth as Miss Maria came over to grab another pot of coffee, he rested a hand on her arm and smiled. “I just wanted to say thank you for the pie, Miss Maria. It was lovely.”
Her patented snort slipped past her red stained lips as she waved him off. “Don’t thank me. Another customer ordered it for you. Specifically said it was the blonde at the counter with the puzzle so I didn’t mix you up with that girl over there.”
Benoit couldn’t help but glance at the blonde woman who looked like she was either heading to or returning from a club of some sort. She was admittedly gorgeous--even if his type skewed more toward the brunette who occasionally frequented the diner and nodded his hellos across the room the few times he had caught Benoit accidentally staring-- but she didn’t have a puzzle like he did and for some reason that mattered to the customer who had bought him pie.
“Don’t frown like that,” Miss Maria said as she tapped his chin. “It’s gonna stick that way.”
Chuckling at the warning his mother used to give him as well, he nodded and made more of an effort to smile for the waitress. “Can you point them out so I can say thank you?”
“Already left. But I’ll pass along your message.”
Not quite what he had been hoping for, but he trusted Miss Maria. She didn’t forget anything, it seemed, and if she said she would pass along his message, he knew that she would. So he settled for that while he finished off the kind gesture and went back to pondering that damn crossword clue.
Squinting at it for a long moment, he smiled when it finally fell into place.
--
Benoit was halfway through his fifth cup of coffee, holed up with his latest case in a corner booth where no one but the staff might disturb him. Foot tapping restlessly, he was certain that the answer had to be clear as day for all he was struggling to figure out who the hell had stolen the money from Mr Monroe, but something was missing. It wasn’t adding up no matter how hard he stared and--
“Here you go, sweetheart.”
He looked up from his work in time to see Miss Maria setting down a slice of cheesecake topped with strawberries. A rather immodest slice, it was a good deal larger than the kind she might cut for the average customer. Closing his case file, he set his work to the side as he looked up at her apologetically.
“I look that miserable?”
“No. Well,” she quickly corrected. “I was warned you were a bit stressed by a certain customer on my way in. Slipped me a ten to get you a slice of something nice to cheer you up.”
Benoit cast his gaze around the diner despite the fact that he knew the other customer was no longer there. But his mind needed clues as to who the generous stranger was and he was filled with a foolish hope that some might be found. However, all he saw was the usual evening crowd--and lord when had they slipped in? He could’ve sworn he had just waved goodbye to the Englishman when they locked eyes as the man was heading out. But time tended to slip like sand when he was focused on a case and the evening crowd looked far too comfortable to have just gotten off work.What was more important was the fact that they shouldn’t have been in that afternoon he was doing the crossword puzzle. The even crowd was made up of people who lived in the area like he did. Although, unlike him, they didn’t seem to work in the area.
Giving up with a sigh, he couldn’t help but notice the smirk on Miss Maria’s face. She knew because she had taken both orders and had delivered both meals to him. If he wanted he could ask her the person’s name and she would be happy to point the person out the next time they were both in diner together. Benoit would be able to say his thanks and that could be the end of it. But that smirk also meant she knew him. That after two years of coming to the diner, after watching him spending his morning on crosswords and evenings on work, that he wouldn’t give up the mystery that easily. Once was a kind gesture, but twice? That was a game and Benoit loved his little puzzle games.
So he looked away from her, petulantly digging into his cheesecake--a pleased groan slipping past his lips after that first bite. Del was a downright devil in the kitchen and Benoit was annoyed with himself for not ordering the dessert more.
Although, clearly, as long as he had his mystery benefactor and Miss Maria, he wouldn’t have to worry about that.
“Feel better, sweetheart?” Miss Maria asked with a knowing smile on her face.
Rolling his eyes, Benoit nodded reluctantly.
Patting his arm, she made a satisfied noise then walked off to deal with other customers. Benoit waited a beat before taking another look at the case file. It still made no sense that the money would just go missing. But then it made no sense that the man didn’t seem as concerned as his wife. Conflicted, sure but--
He shook his head as he took another bite.
Of course the man was conflicted. He was somehow responsible for the missing money.
By the time he received the third dessert from his mystery benefactor a few days later, he had developed a list of suspects, mostly due to the lack of work in his life. With summer having settled fully over the city in all its oppressive heat, it seemed like most people weren’t trying to sort through problems in their lives. Which was fine. He had money stashed away and a mystery of his own at the diner. And with the air conditioning at his apartment being on the broken side, any excuse to be out of that hellish box was a relief.
So he sat at the counter with his notebook on the suspects, having already noted that five of them were in the diner at the moment. His money was on the older woman, Miss Irina, who lived in the neighborhood and started every day off with tea. He had spoken to her once and wound up hearing a lavish tale about her childhood back in Russia and being shown pictures of her family, from kids to cats. She was nothing, if not the caring and generous sort given that she had also given the new waitress, Anna, a silken scarf the day the girl almost broke down over spilling a tray of food.
Anna made a point of wearing it every day after that and today was no different as she sidled up to him brandishing a large bowl of ice cream and a whipped cream canister. Her freckled faced smile was infectious, Benoit found as he moved his book aside so that she could set his latest dessert down.
“Say when,” was all she said, before beginning to positively cover his sundae in enough whipped cream to smother a man.
Honestly, he was happy she had found her groove.
“I didn’t order this.”
“Someone thought you looked hot, in the literal sense and ordered it for you,” she said before walking off to her next customer.
Not the best reason for a dessert, but it was too hot in the whole damn city to be too annoyed. It took everything he had not to moan as he dug into the blessedly cold dessert. Making the effort to savor each frozen bite, he was a little caught off guard when someone next to him chuckled. Turning toward the person, he was a little surprised to find a somewhat familiar patron.
“Well that is a lot bigger than I thought a sundae might be.”
He grabbed for a napkin as he swallowed the mouthful of ice cream. He knew the voice before the man had even bothered to sit down. He was another regular, showing up around lunch to order breakfast or sometimes late into the evening to order lunch. Benoit wasn’t sure what kind of schedule he kept since he showed up on the most random of days, but he did know that the man had a pleasant English accent and was desperately attractive with his tousled brown hair and suits, always suits. Even as he took the seat next to Benoit the man had the audacity to wear a great suit.
Wiping at his mouth, he fought the urge to blush as he spoke, “It’s not. Anna, the new waitress... She was very generous with the whipped cream.”
The Englishman nodded, clearly amused with the explanation. “It’s actually more concerning to think most of that might be whippy cream.”
“I like it. I don’t think I’ll be able to finish it all, but I like it.”
The Englishman made a sound of understanding before turning back to his menu. Not that he needed it. Benoit had noticed him over the weeks of studying customers. He may not have been an everyday regular, but was consistent in what he ordered. Eggs Benedict and tea for his breakfast, turkey sandwich with water for whatever one might call his evening meal. And, of course, despite the earlier hour, the man did order his sandwich, which was odd, but Benoit couldn’t imagine anyone drinking hot tea on a hot day.
Turning back to his own work, opened his notebook and looked around the diner as casually as could be in search of Miss Irina, but she wasn’t there. Which wasn’t a deal breaker considering the cheesecake incident. It just meant that he would have to ask Anna if she might’ve spoken to the older woman on her way in.
“What do you have there?” The Englishman asked.
“Stupid little mystery.”
“Oh. Like Cluedo. Or Clue... I think you lot call it that?”
Benoit grimaced. “Not like Clue. I hate Clue. I’m terrible at Clue.”
Just thinking about the game and all its dice rolling and pointless questions and randomness had him rolling his eyes as he continued to eat at his ice cream. Real mysteries weren’t just randomly chosen pieces, they had a clear motive and a clear means and clues that actually made sense rather than guessing. Huffing as his mental rant came to a close, he looked back at the man next to him ready to apologize, but instead found him smiling.
“Did I strike a nerve? You seem to be a bit red.”
Benoit snorted. Gesturing to the bowl of ice cream, he said, “I’m hot. That’s why I have the ice cream, because I look hot.”
“Well I admire the confidence it takes to feel that way about yourself.”
“No!” Flustered--which seemed to be the intent judging by the way the man smiled into his drink--Benoit couldn’t help but wave his hand dismissively. “No. That’s my mystery. Someone has been buying me desserts. First time was when I was doing a crossword puzzle, then the next was when I was looking at a casefile and today it was because I looked hot.”
The Englishman hummed thoughtfully as he took a bite of a sandwich. When he reached for the book with eyebrows raised questioningly, Benoit nodded and watched as he slid it closer. Then he looked over the notes with a slight frown, considering the information thoughtfully.
“So your suspect is a woman?”
“Who else would buy a random man dessert?”
“Safe assumption, I suppose,” the Englishman agreed. “You leaning toward anyone in particular? A certain woman you’d like to maybe... have wooing you?”
“No,” Benoit said firmly, albeit it a bit too quickly. Looking back over the list, he let out a small sigh. “I just want to thank them. Moved up here a few years ago and my work forces me to keep odd hours. It’s nice that someone... noticed me enough to give me a little pick me up.”
Why he was confessing that to a complete stranger, he couldn’t say, but the Englishman didn’t seem to mind. He just nodded quietly, looking over the list of women for a moment longer, before sliding the book back to him. “Well, I certainly know how that goes. Took me ages to find my footing in the city, especially with my job--”
“Which is?”
“Oh. I work in sales. You?”
Benoit ducked his head, suddenly feeling bashful under the man’s earnest interest in him. “I’m a private detective.”
“Aren’t you a bit young?” He asked, before quickly backtracking. “I mean... You’re... in your twenties, I’m assuming?”
“I turned twenty-seven this past spring.”
The Englishman’s eyes widened. Taking another sip of his water, he shook his head. “I figured you were young, but... That’s young.”
“Right because you’re so old.”
“I’ll be thirty-five this year.”
It was Benoit’s turn to be surprised. Sure, he had assumed the other man was older than him given how put together he always looked, but something about the idea of someone being in their thirties still felt frighteningly old. Even more so since he only had a few more years in his twenties. He knew it didn’t make the most sense, but his mind couldn’t help but see the Englishman in a new, more adult light.
Even as he watched him make a face over the state of his fries before smothering them in enough ketchup to appease a small child.
He took another bite of his ice cream as he thought. The motion of eating one spoonful after another became almost mechanical in the silence that descended between them until the Englishman’s leg knocked against his own.
“Why are you eating around the chocolate ice cream?”
“I like chocolate so I save it for last.”
He made a soft noise again. Benoit had half a mind to question the question, but the man was standing up and reaching for his wallet before he could. Placing his money on the counter, he looked to Benoit with a kind smile and said, “Well, it was nice talking to you. Name’s Phillip, by the way.”
“Blanc. Well, Benoit.” He winced. Taking a deep breath even as his cheeks became heated under Phillip’s amused gaze, he tried again, “My name’s Benoit. Blanc in my last name. I’m just used to introducing myself to clients.”
“Of course,” he agreed too easily. “Best of luck on your mystery, Blanc.”
Rather than watch Phillip walk away, Benoit turned back to his notebook and waited until he was certain the man was gone before he let out a miserable groan. A perfectly nice conversation ended with his own inability to speak to men he found attractive in otherwise normal settings. Taking a bite out of his chocolate ice cream sooner than intended, he huffed.
Catching sight of Anna, he flagged her down. “Two things: first, did you see Miss Irina today?”
“Nope,” she said, popping the P sound like bubblegum.
“OK,” he said, processing what the set back meant for his mystery. “In that case, I’ll just pay for my meal and--”
“Already covered. Phil said he left a fifty for his food, you food and a tip for me, which is way more attractive than the accent.”
Benoit remained silent on the matter, but the girl wasn’t wrong. The generosity after such a brief conversation was confusing, but also damn attractive.
It was after the third dessert that Benoit found himself at a loss.
The desserts came when they did, each a bit more delicious than the last from the red velvet cake with the decadent cream cheese frosting to the brownie served nice and hot with a scoop of vanilla ice cream criss crossed with hot fudge.
But rather than focus on the case, he was focused on Phillip.
Phillip, who began to say hi when they saw each other after that first conversation, which then turned into sitting together and talking about whatever came to mind. Conversations about the struggles of appeasing clients, of which they shared a few given Phillip’s mystery sales job happened to be with Sotheby’s. Shared complaints about their mothers constant harping about when they were going to visit home. Even debates over the stupidest things.
“How have you never heard Weezer?”
“Says the man who has lived here for nearly a decade and never went to a Broadway show,” Benoit shot back with a scoff.
Phillip shook his head in disbelief. “Blanc, please, I’ve done the greatest thing that could be done in this city. I saw Nirvana’s Unplugged session.”
“Until three weeks ago, I didn’t even know what a Nirvana was.”
“Right, I’m leaving.” Phillip said as he made to stand up.
Grabbing hold of the man’s arm, Benoit rolled his eyes. Over the month they spent getting to know each other, he had gotten used to the surprisingly dramatic nature of the man. He always threatened to leave and never did. At least not while he was laughing. When Phillip actually had to go--back to work or just to his part of town--he did it with a look of regret that Benoit refused to read too deeply into. Experience had taught him that that kind of behavior never led to anything good.
“You know, I think I liked it better when you two weren’t so close. Was quieter in here,” Miss Maria teased as she made her way over to the table. It wasn’t her job--Anna was taking care of them for the evening--she just made a point to stop by their tables, especially when they were dining together.
“Sorry. I was just stunned by Blanc’s lack of culture.”
Benoit gasped. “Lack of culture? Me? The man who goes to Broadway shows and Operas and--”
“Had no idea who Nirvana was or had ever listened to Radiohead,” Phillip said as he took his seat again.
Before they could return to their bickering, Miss Maria set a plate on the center of the table. It was a large piece of chocolate cake with chocolate icing that made Benoit’s eyes light up before he thought to look around the room to see who was there.
“It’s from Phillip,” Miss Maria said with a fond shake of her head. With a quick thanks from the man himself, she walked off, still smiling to herself as she muttered, “Just like my youngest.”
Which left Benoit with a slice of cake that was begging to be eaten, a faint smile on Phillip’s face and Benoit’s confusion. Not that he needed it to be from his mystery person, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of why Phillip would order him cake. Biting at the inside of his lip, he looked up when a foot knocked into his.
“Problem? You like chocolate, don’t you?”
“I love it. It’s just... why?”
The way Phillip looked at him could only be described as wonder. Not unlike the way people marveled at great works of art or stunning acts of stupidity. Then, taking up his fork, he took a bite of the cake for himself. “Two weeks ago, you were talking about solving a new case. I said we’d have to celebrate sometime then... work happened and this is me making it up to you. Congrats.”
And really, he didn’t know what to say to that. Yes, Phillip was generous, but he was also the sort who Benoit saw in the diner. Their friendship was confined to quick meals of cheap food and casual talks about life. He hadn’t taken the off-handed comment seriously and even though Phillip was casually eating the cake himself, Benoit couldn’t help but be stunned at the gesture.
“I’m sorry. I just... I thought it was from--”
“Your admirer?”
“Not my admirer. She may not like me,” he argued.
Phillip pointed a chocolate stained fork at him and said, “I don’t know. Would it be so hard to believe that someone enjoys seeing you happy? That, just maybe, they’re into you in a romantic sense?”
Benoit tried not to look uncomfortable with that idea as he joined Phillip in eating the slice of cake after a quick glance around. It was late and there weren’t many people around to comment on them sharing a plate. Still did nothing to help him shake the idea that there were ulterior motives to the dishes now that Miss Irina had moved out to Long Island to live with her daughter. It left plenty of suspects, but they were all closer to his age and could have genuinely... felt such feelings about him. The last thing he needed was some woman he might have to see and turn down being his mystery person.
Their forks knocked together as they each went for the same frosting covered section of cake. Looking up as Phillip ducked his head and backed off the plate entirely, Benoit couldn't help but note that it was the first time he had seen the man blush. And the fact that the flush of red looked good on him was enough to make Benoit duck his head as well, trying to hide his own embarrassment by focusing on the cake.
“I don’t want ulterior motives. I just want to say thank you to whoever keeps sending me treats when I’m feeling down.”
“Yeah, but they’ve clearly been watching you if they notice when you’re feeling down. They pay attention to you and your moods.”
He frowned around the fork in his mouth. Phillip had a point. Someone had been watching him with some interest since spring. They were nearly halfway through summer and the gifts hadn’t stopped. He truly had caught some poor, misguided woman’s eye.
“Keep making that face. Maybe we can get another dessert,” Phillip remarked somewhat flippantly.
He kicked at Phillip’s leg and was kicked back for his effort. When he looked back at those bright blue eyes, there was a nameless sort of look to them that only made Benoit feel even more complicated. He couldn’t deal with the man’s ideas and his sad puppy dog-like eyes right then. He needed space, he decided as he rose from his seat.
“I should be going.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’ll pay on my way out.”
Phillip waved off the idea before attacking the cake with more viciousness than necessary. “Don’t worry about it. Anna’s had my card since I ordered. I have it covered.”
If he had ever managed to pay for a meal with Phillip, he might’ve been more surprised. As it stood, the older man always had some reason that he should pay for their dinners and no amount of Benoit’s protesting ever got him anywhere. So, he settled for patting Phillip’s shoulder.
“Night, Phillip.”
“Stay safe, Blanc.”
Which he did. Not that the diner wasn’t safe, but every time he thought of going over there, he felt a sort of fear. He didn’t even know who his admirer was and yet the idea of having to reject them left him feeling uncomfortable because he didn’t know what to say. Hell, part of the reason he had moved to New York was to get away from situations that led to conversations of how he wasn’t interested and ‘really, he didn’t mean any sort of insult’. Constantly dancing around what he struggled to keep from being too obvious because that kind of obviousness led to much bigger problems than a woman’s hurt feelings.
Thankfully, there was work for him to throw himself into all through the middle of summer. It was still hotter than the devil’s asshole outside and twice as swampy, but it kept him busy and provided him with the money he needed to do other things. See plays, try new restaurants. He even ventured down to Greenwich Village, which was a delight in and of itself, even if he had spent the majority of the evening at a bar watching other people have fun.
It was enough to put the diner out of mind.
At least until he, quite literally, ran into Phillip as the man was exiting the place in question. Thankfully Phillip had the good reflexes to keep his styrofoam cup of tea held a good distance away from his body while his other arm held onto Benoit in order to keep them both upright. A practice aided by the way he had gone stalk still, hands sandwiched between Phillip’s chest and his own.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I was--”
“Blanc, relax. It’s fine.”
Realizing how they definitely looked, Benoit disentangled himself from Phillip, who looked far too amused with the situation. Hit by the fact that he had missed that smile quite a bit, he smiled back, matching his amusement since he was too flustered to match the man’s calm.
Phillip let out an amused sort of huff. “Been awhile. I almost feared you moved.”
“Started getting more clients so I’ve been busy.”
“That’s good.” It was a perfunctory reply followed by a sip of what was undoubtedly tea in his cup. Never mind the fact that the temperature was already in the eighties. Coupled with the dark suit that really brought out his eyes, the man truly had to be immune from the heat. Maybe, since there was still the faint coloring on his cheeks to give him away. “Are you going in?”
“No. No...” He winced at the thought. “I’m heading home actually. Forgot some files and--”
“Work. Right.” Phillip kicked at the ground restlessly. “I suppose I should let you go then. It’s nice seeing you. I missed talking with you.”
It was a sentiment he shared, though not verbally. Anything verbal was a bit lost on him as he watched Phillip begin to walk away to carry on with his day. Maybe they’d run into each other again. Maybe not. It was really up to fate and--
Fuck it.
“Phillip?!”
The man stopped in his tracks and looked back at him. “Yes?”
Jogging over to him, Benoit pulled a pen and his notebook out of his pocket. Without taking the time to think, he scribbled down his number and said, “I’m not sure when I’ll have time for the diner again, but I think you may be one of the few people I’ve gotten to know in this city in a friendly capacity. So I was hoping, maybe, we can meet up sometime? I’m still learning this city but--”
“Alright then.”
“Right.” Tearing out the paper, he handed it over to Phillip, who then took his pen and notebook as well. With numbers written down both items were handed back to him and Phillip gave a curt nod before carrying on with his day.
And that was fine, really. Benoit hadn’t been lying about needing to head home for some files. The case was already a time sensitive one to begin with and he didn’t need to dawdle watching Phillip with his ridiculous suit and tea walking down a hot New York street like it wasn’t hot enough to boil water. He just carried on home, making sure to wave at the curious looking Anna as she spotted him through the window.
And when life slowed down, he did make more of an effort to go to the diner. Not as often, but that was less and less due to worries about his potential secret admirer and more so due to the fact that Phillip was a good guide around the city and outside of it since, apparently, Atlantic City was well worth the visit. Which wasn’t wrong, but he doubted Phillip expected him to get involved in a case at that casino when they first agreed to the weekend trip.
The air conditioning in his apartment also allowed him reason to stay home and cook for himself without fear of heat stroke. It also allowed him to have guests over again. Mainly his neighbor, Nichole Elliot and her little boy, who insisted that if Benoit was a detective, he was basically Batman. But there was Phillip, who sat on his couch listening to the Weezer album he had put on rather than the one Benoit had suggested upon their return from the theater.
Listening to the noise coming from his stereo, he could only assume it was payback for Benoit insisting they go to a musical. Still, it had been worth it to see the look of utter confusion on Phillip’s face as his friend watched Cats.
“I’m pretty sure I said to put on the Sondheim cd,” he complained as he walked into the living room with two beers and a plate of beignets. A reward of sorts for Phillip getting through the evening with him.
“No. No more musicals,” Phillip said with far too much vehemence. Which, considering Cats, was a fair reaction.
Setting their dessert on his coffee table, he did his best to look innocent. He failed miserably, but that was more to do with the undercurrent of annoyed horror on Phillip’s face and how desperately he wanted to laugh at him. “You’ll like it. Sondheim’s far more your speed. You liked that film he did.”
“Do I?”
“That mystery that was hardly a mystery?”
“Bugger off. Last of Sheila is a mystery. You’re just... pretentious.” With that he grabbed one of the still warm beignets and took a bite, uncaring of the powdered sugar that spilled all over him.
Of course, that might’ve had more to do with the fact that he wasn’t in his work attire. Instead he wore a Nirvana t-shirt with a some anatomical angel on the front and a worn pair of jeans that hung too low on his hips, given the way that every time he stretched too much, Benoit was treated to the faintest glimpses of his stomach. A sight he could do without since he didn’t need those kinds of thoughts about his friend.
Not when they were already so frequent.
Grabbing a beignet for himself, Benoit gestured at Phillip with it. “I’m not pretentious. It was just easy. From the death or to the clues, it was all just... there.”
“But it was fun.”
“It was fun,” he agreed.
Regardless of how easy the movie was to figure out, he had enjoyed that night watching movies with Phillip and debating the merits of Sherlock Holmes. Film and television was at least something they could find more common ground on, even if Phillip questioned his love of truly awful horror films--as though A Nightmare on Elm Street 2 wasn’t a perfect movie.
Settling back against the couch, Phillip hummed along with the song currently playing as he finished off his dessert. “You make these often?”
“I feel if I say yes, you’re going to be here more often.”
“No, never. Might force you to come around to mine though.” Licking the sugar off his fingers with care, he grabbed a napkin to clean off any excess moisture on his fingers. Then turning to face Benoit better, he said, “You’ve been missed around the diner, you know?”
Words that took more than a few moments to process as Benoit couldn’t quite shake the image of those cupid’s bow lips wrapped around those fingers, unsure if he was just jealous of Phillip or that desperate for him. Blinking, he slowly nodded as he tried to find his train of thought. Or derail the track it was currently on. “Uh... Who? Not... whoever was giving me those treats?”
“No. Maria. She says it’s been two weeks since she last saw you and told me that the next time I see you to tell you that if you aren’t in this Friday for lunch, she’s hunting you down.”
He laughed, though he did feel a little guilty. Frankly, he missed the waitress and Anna and even Del. It was just the idea of being hit on and having to come up with a reason why he couldn’t possibly return such advances was hard. He didn’t like being rude any more than he liked discussing himself with anyone. Hell, he’d been going to that diner for months before he finally started chatting with Miss Maria and that was still after she opened up first.
“I’ll be there. I promise.”
“I’ll let her know next time I’m in.”
Which was thoughtful, but then, that was just who Phillip was. He liked to pay for things, but when offered a free ticket to a musical about cats, he still was too polite to say no because the tickets had already been bought. He didn’t seem to mind that he had become a sort of go between for Miss Maria and himself, either. Instead, he was happy to pass along the message without even being asked. It left a funny sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Finishing off the last of his beignet, he reached for his beer in hopes the alcohol might soothe his nerves as much as the music was, to his surprise. The sound of people chattering before the singing took over creating a comfortable atmosphere in the room. Of course, there was also Phillip watching him in that too careful way he did from time to time, but that wasn’t comforting so much as it was disconcerting.
“What? There something else?”
“No. No. Well.” Phillip’s tongue settled in the corner of his mouth like it always did when he was thinking. He nodded toward Benoit. “You’ve got a bit of powder on your face.”
Face going red, Benoit wiped at the corner of his mouth nervously. “Did I get it?”
“No it--” Phillip huffed as Benoit continued to wipe at his mouth. “Let me.”
Dropping his hands to his side, he sat perfectly still as Phillip leaned across the sofa. With a hand cupping the side of Benoit’s face, the man gently stroked his cheek along the corner of his mouth. It was a spot he was certain he had already wiped at, but then, he started to doubt there was ever powdered sugar on his face to begin with as Phillip closed the gap between them with a kiss.
“What was that for?” Benoit asked, still a bit in shock.
Smiling through his nerves, Phillip moved away just enough to look Benoit in the eyes. “I like you. And I figured between Maria and you wanting to spend time... Maybe I hadn’t misread you?”
“What? What does Miss Maria have to do with this?”
“She says you remind her of her youngest son,” Phillip said as though it was obvious.
“I don’t follow.”
Clearing his throat, Phillip looked away nervously as he said, “Well, he’s a nice chap. Very kind, loves his mum, lives out in San Francisco with his two kids and boyfriend.”
Benoit’s eyes widened. “So you assumed I was--”
“I mean, I had my doubts when you stopped showing up at the diner after my comment, but then when we ran into each other, you wanted my number and to spend time together.” The breath he took seemed to take as much energy as it did for him to look back at Benoit, genuine fear in his puppy dog eyes. “Please tell me, I haven’t misread this?”
“I... No. I just... Yes, I missed seeing you but these get togethers were just--”
“Dates.”
“No! We were just friends doing friend things.”
At least he thought of them as friend things, but then he didn’t have many friends in New York and certainly only the one English one, who was still leaning into Benoit’s space and cupping his cheek. Maybe he should’ve leaned away, but he liked the warmth of the man’s touch and wanted to kiss him again. He just couldn’t help but want answers about how a nice evening to a musical had landed them in such a predicament.
“I’m sorry,” Phillip said, though it wasn’t an apology. It was a much needed interruption to Benoit’s spiraling thoughts. “Let’s start over. Are you gay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
Put on the spot, it was harder to be quite as emphatic, but he did nod. It was a nervous motion and his whole face felt like it was on fire from how hard he was blushing, but it served its purpose.
“And you didn’t mind being kissed by me?”
“No! No.” He tilted his head a little as he shrugged. “That was plenty nice. Worth repeating. But all of this is coming out of nowhere.”
“I spent months watching you and buying you desserts and this is out of nowhere?”
“It was a few weeks, at best. That mystery customer...”
The realization hit Phillip first, his eyes narrowing suspiciously before widening in shock. Snorting at the entire thing while Benoit tried to catch up, he shook his head in disbelief.
“Oh. Oh God. That’s it. You’re an idiot, Blanc.” Which wasn’t nice to hear, but Phillip carried on before he could interject. “You seriously didn’t realize? Here I was panicked because I thought, well, me alluding to being into had scared you off. Could handle the odd gift, even from a man, but you drew the line at anything gay, which is fine. But no, you’re just so blind.”
And really, he should have defended himself. Would have, if not for his mind replaying everything he knew about the mystery. On Phillip’s comment about the sundae that he had mistaken for a casual remark because they’d been in public, at a diner that was closer to Harlem than Greenwich Village. On the idea that the person behind the dessert had a romantic interest and how that had bothered him because he didn’t want some woman interested in him. He wanted the man who was currently watching him like he did from time to time, part awe and part incredulity. Which was fair since a detective wasn’t meant to miss the obvious.
But he did because being that kind of obvious was dangerous in the wrong place and Phillip in his nice suits, going to his Sotheby’s job, didn’t seem quite so reckless. Not like the Nirvana loving, Cluedo enjoying the menace of a man who had yet to move away.
Swallowing down his nerves, he closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. “I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah,” he agreed readily. “But you’re attractive and kind and very good at noticing the little things. Big picture’s a bit lost on you, but I still like you.”
He couldn't help but blush like a twelve year old as the admission that Phillip liked him. Enough to give him a chance, to notice him when he was miserable and looked upset. To specify to Miss Maria which blonde he intended to bequeath a dessert to.
It was a lot. It was probably the sweetest gesture he had ever received.
Taking a calming breath, he swallowed down the worst of his nerves and asked, “So you liking me.. Does that mean you’d be open to...”
“Not another musical, Blanc. Not the album, not in person. You want me to enjoy Sondheim, we’re putting on The Last of Sheila again.”
Benoit nodded, quietly making a note of Phillip’s newfound distrust of him. “I was going to ask if you were open to staying the night. In my bedroom? Not to sound like I’m easy but...”
“No. No. I would love for you to sound easy. The idea is rather exciting.”
Rolling his eyes, he cupped the back of Phillip’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Content to have the mystery solved once and for all. Even if, in hindsight, it had been painfully obvious from the third dessert. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as though any case could be as blindingly obvious as Phillip’s interest in him had been.