6
Our ice cream has long since melted, and the coffee has grown cold.
You have your elbows on the table, your chin resting on steepled fingers. "Kate didn't tell me what you do for a living."
The ice cream might as well be a lead ball in the pit of my stomach.
This moment always comes. I'll tell you what I do, and your pretty brown eyes will cloud over with dollar signs. Instead of Edward, the guy you've had fun with all night, I'll become a meal ticket.
I sip my now cold coffee just to have something to do and decide to do it quickly. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. "I own Masen's Toys."
Recognition crosses your face, just like I knew it would. But then your eyes fill with tears and you reach across the table, squeezing my fingers tightly.
"Many of the students that I teach wouldn't have had a decent Christmas or birthday if it wasn't for your company and the charity events you host throughout the year. Thank you, Edward."
I feel ashamed for thinking the worst of you, but it's literally all I've ever known since the success of my company took off.
"Growing up, there were years we had to skip Christmas or birthday presents in order to pay the bills. I never want a parent to have to choose between a teddy bear and their electricity or food on the table. I try my hardest to do what I can for the community."
You squeeze my fingers one last time before dropping your hand in your lap. "I feel like an asshole," you mutter.
I tilt my head to the side in question.
"When I first saw you, I thought you were a hotshot lawyer or a doctor with a giant ego."
"It's the suit, isn't it?"
You laugh. "Just a little. I'm more of a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. Don't get me wrong, I like to play dress-up sometimes, but I'd rather be comfortable."
"Me too."
"Besides, I teach a classroom full of kids who like to keep me on my toes. I wouldn't be able to chase them around in a pair of heels and a pencil skirt. Fancy blouses would just get ruined with sticky hands and finger paint."