-The Heart Of One That Honors Beauty
Dave POV
We sat at a lounge in LA —
Quan and I —
after a long day.
They had a handful of tasty choices.
I chose steak.
Steak for me.
He chose Fried wings.
And to accompany our meal.
A bottle of their best wine.
Quan’s my cousin.
We work together.
We’ve been close for years.
He came at the right time —
sharp, loyal, steady —
the kind of man you want beside you.
We were actively speaking about work.
He told me he’d have to let go of a few in the Service department.
“They’ve gotten comfortable,” he said.
“More chat than work.”
Fair.
I did pay my people well.
And respect goes both ways.
As we talked,
my eyes found her again.
I’d seen her earlier —
driving in,
parking —
a woman in work clothes,
elegant,
hair in a neat bun,
honey-blonde,
Shining through the late afternoon sun.
skin glowing like light on honey.
I looked.
She looked back.
And for a second —
the world paused.
Even now, I couldn’t look away.
Goodness, she was beautiful.
Not loud.
Not trying.
Just… there,
like a painting that breathes.
Quan followed my gaze.
“She is a beauty.” He said
“She is.” I breathed.
“What’s holding you back?
It’s been a while since you’ve been with someone.”
It has.
But I’ve never been one to let desire lead.
I was raised to honor women —
By my mother.
not to see them as conquests,
but as beauty that doesn’t always has to be touched.
To want a woman is one thing.
To *deserve* her — that’s another.
“I’ve been busy,” I said.
“Two new projects.
I don’t think I could give her all of me.
And if I can’t give all —
I won’t give at all.”
Quan nodded.
He knew.
He’s seen me turn away from easier paths.
“She’s the kind you’d make compromises for,” he said.
“But I get it.
You’ve been building.
Nonstop for years.”
I called the waitress.
“Whatever she ordered is on me.”
Not because I wanted anything.
But because beauty like that —
it deserves to be thanks.
Later, she stood to leave.
The waitress pointed to our table.
She looked.
Our eyes met.
A silence.
A stare that lasted longer than it should.
A nod.
A smile.
Radiant.
Full.
Enough to make me second-guess every word I’d just said.
I wanted to walk over.
I didn’t.
It took everything not to.
She left with a friend.
And when she was gone —
I sighed.
Rare, that kind of effect.
Rare to feel so much —
and do nothing.
Because a woman isn’t a thing to touch.
She’s a life to meet —
or not.
To look at a woman and only see flesh —
that’s not desire.
That’s weakness.
A failure of discipline.
A corrupted mind.
We are taught, from childhood,
to control nothing.
But I was taught better.
By my mother.
By my father.
By time.
A woman is not a child —
but she *is* delicate.
And if you look at a child with hunger —
you are sick.
So why is it different with women?
If you’re not ready to give her everything —
your time,
your truth,
your protection,
your loyalty —
then don’t look.
Don’t pretend.
“She really caught your eyes, huh?” Quan said.
How couldn’t she?
A woman with class.
Effortless elegance.
Any man would want that.
We finished our drinks.
Went our separate ways.
Each to our own home.
But I carried her with me —
not in fantasy,
but in silence.
In respect.
In the quiet truth:
Some women don’t need to be held.
They just need to be seen —
And let go of,
With honor.
Dgoldenblossom 🌸
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