When you were young, you may have thought dating an older man was gross. But then you got older. And much wiser.

Dating Art was beyond anything you ever could've imagined. You were like a never ending summer for him, an addiction that he would never even try to kick.

It would be more than fair to say that an amicable divorce left him with more money than he could ever know what to do with, landing him an easy life sprinkled with the occasional board meeting, ad deal, or commentary gig. Which, in turn, landed you an even easier life, your new norm being vacations with Art where the only activity always on the itinerary was being lavished with his attention.

So now, instead of an internship or temporary barista position, you were letting the sun warm your back as you looked out across Lake Como, the faint sound of small waves lapping against the dock filling your ears. It was like a dream, no expense spared when it came to Art wanting to make you happy.

Even if that meant needing to take a business call, pulling him away from you for this moment to secure a deal that you already knew would be used to fund your next few excursions with him.

Just as you were about to get up and go look for him, you could hear the sound of his bare feet padding across the sun soaked tiles, right until he was leaning over you, lips pressed to the bare skin on your shoulder. "You're warm."

It's not unlike him to murmur little notes like that, the underlying concern hidden behind facts. But you knew what he really meant, only confirmed when he popped the cap off of the sunscreen, warming it in his hands before starting to massage it into the skin of your back.