Page 7 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

He surprises a laugh out of me, and I listen to it with disbelief. “It’s how he describes himself. He’s not known for modesty,” I say wryly. “They have a huge home in St John’s Wood and a cottage in the Cotswolds where they rub shoulders with the Camerons.”

“Kevin and Louise?”

I laugh. “No, you pleb. David and Samantha, of course.”

“Is that where we’re staying?”

I shake my head. “No, we’re at a country house hotel just outside Stow-on-the-Wold. It’s huge and they’ve booked the whole place for a few days. Then in a month we’ll have to go to the wedding and the party in London.”

“No quick trip to the registry office, then? ”

“Not for Frances. What she wants, she gets.”

“Like your ex?”

I nod. “Just like him.”

He nudges me gently with his elbow. “Not sure it’s a prize she’s got,” he says softly, and I smile awkwardly.

He must sense the awkwardness. He seems to have a fine-tuned sense of what people are feeling and thinking. I’ve seen him turn many potentially unpleasant situations around with just a few words and a smile so the glaring people end up laughing and smiling and utterly charmed.

“So, do they know about you and Patrick?”

I nod. “I met them a few times when I was with Patrick because his dad was friends with Frances’s father. We didn’t particularly hide what we were to each other.”

“So, how will they take to you being there?”

I smile. “They’ll be very charming and welcoming, but if I cross them or look like I might throw a spanner in the works they’ll unleash hell. Charles is utterly ruthless.”

“How lucky it is then that you’re bringing your younger and much more socially adept new partner with you. Someone who will put Patrick to shame and charm the entire party.”

“Have I arranged for someone else to come with me?” He laughs, but I sober.

“Patrick’s parents will be there as well.

They hate the gays because they think we’re all prowling around waiting to find our next victim.

Like some sort of glittery zoo animals. They also think I’m a sexual predator, and that I somehow tricked their son into being gay. ”

“How do you trick someone into being gay?” he says, and there’s a great deal of interest in his voice. “Is it through card tricks or something to do with the rabbit in the hat?”

I laugh, something I never thought I’d ever do when talking about Penny and Victor. “They’d like me to disappear. Or worse.”

“Lovely,” he says faintly. “So a few days in the Cotswolds with a wanker. Sorry, I mean a banker. And old-aged murderous homophobes. Anyone else?”

“Quite a few of Patrick and Frances’s friends, obviously, and the bridesmaids. ”

There’s a long silence, and I’m sure he’s thinking of opening the door and just walking back to London, and then he laughs.

“Well, I’ve always liked a challenge.”

“This isn’t a challenge, so much as a suicide mission,” I say glumly.

The next hour passes surprisingly well. He takes control of the stereo and synchs it to his phone. I make a token protest but find that we have a startlingly similar taste in music. He loves the eighties, declaring that it’s retro, which makes me wince slightly because I fucking grew up then.

With “Long Hot Summer” by the Style Council playing, we turn off the motorway and start to travel down winding roads, the trees spreading their branches over us like the world’s oldest and greenest gazebo.

We pass through little villages that look chocolate-box pretty with their village greens surrounded by houses made from the ubiquitous honey-coloured stone.

“Have you ever been here before?” I ask as I click the indicator and pull into the car park of an old pub.

Made of the same Cotswold stone as the rest of the village, it has wisteria growing prettily up its sides and mullioned windows that gleam in the light of the sun.

The pub garden has lots of benches with bright red umbrellas, and even though it’s just midday, there are already a few customers sheltering under the umbrellas.

Their happy voices reach us as we enter the pub and blink to clear our eyes and let them adjust to the cool dimness.

“No, I’ve never been here,” he says. “My mum and dad spent one of their anniversaries here though. They loved it.”

I wander over to the bar. “I thought we’d have lunch before we get there and our appetites totally disappear,” I throw over my shoulder.

The barman comes over and I order an orange juice for myself and the cider Jesse requests. After a look at the menu we add our requests for Ploughman’s, and on an assurance that they’ll bring our food out to us, we head out to the garden by unspoken accord.

“I suppose we should get our stories straight,” he says and I turn abruptly, almost tripping in the process .

“What?”

He grabs my elbow gently and steers me to a table in the far corner by a big lilac bush. Bees are dancing lazily amongst the flowers and the air is heavy with the scent.

“I mean,” he says, “that we should work out our story. Where we met, how long we’ve been together. That sort of thing.”

“I never even thought of that,” I say in astonishment as I sit down on the sun-warmed bench.

He smiles wryly. “That’s because you’re very straightforward. I bet you haven’t told many stories.”

“Lies, you mean,” I say baldly. “No, I haven’t. I had enough of…” I stop abruptly, unable to believe I was just about to bring my father up.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. And they’re not really lies. They’re more what my mum used to call fibs. Something that doesn’t harm other people. We’re not harming anyone, are we?”

I shake my head. “Of course not.” I consider his words and find that I’m peculiarly okay with them. “Alright,” I say slowly. “Where did we meet?”

“Patrick doesn’t know what I look like, does he?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, he knew your name at one point, but I don’t think he’ll remember it now. He doesn’t retain people’s names well unless he needs them for something.”

“Okay then, we met at a club. I think it was Magenta,” Jesse says promptly. “You spilt your drink on me and promised to pay for the dry cleaning. That’s how you got my phone number.”

I look at him with my mouth open. “I’m very smooth,” I say slowly.

He laughs. “As butter,” he says mockingly. “Now, what job should I have?” He clicks his fingers. “I know. I’ll be an architect.”

I blink. “Do you actually know anything about architecture?”

He grins. “I know buildings have roofs and doors and windows. And I was fucking brilliant with Lego when I was little.”

I groan. “This is going to be a disaster.”

He laughs. “Lighten up.” He leans forward, his face alight with enjoyment. “It’s a game,” he says in a low, teasing voice that goes straight to my cock. “We’re who we want to be and there’s fun in that. ”

“Fun?” I echo, and he nods.

“Fun.” His face becomes businesslike. “Okay, we’ve mentioned that we like eighties music, so that’s covered. What books do you like?”

“Crime thrillers and mysteries. What about you?”

“Gay romance.” I blink and he smiles. “Really. There are some brilliant books around. I’ll lend you one. I’ve got a couple in my case.”

I stare at him. “I never imagined you–”

He looks at me wryly. “Did you think I couldn’t read?”

“No, of course not.” My words are fast and embarrassed. “I just thought you’d be too busy.”

“Shagging?” He bursts into laughter at my undoubtedly horrified look. “I’m kidding.” He pauses. “Well, not about the shagging. I love that.”

“Of course you do,” I say faintly.

He smiles. “But I like reading too.” He sits back as the waitress hands us our plates and cutlery and I watch as he charms her.

It isn’t a false charm. Patrick could be very charming when he wanted to, but a lot of it was only surface deep.

Even while he was doing it, I’d see the thinness to the veneer covering him.

Jesse doesn’t have that because his charm is true.

He genuinely likes people and his interest in them seems to make them come alive under those warm, twinkly eyes.

He turns back to me when the waitress disappears and unfurls his napkin with a flourish. “Okay,” he says, a businesslike tone to his voice now. “Likes and dislikes?”

And so for the next hour that’s what we do. We sit in the sunny pub garden working our way through a laundry list of our likes and dislikes, and I’m alarmed to find how many we have in common. Alarmed and enthralled. I sigh. That about sums up my attitude towards Jesse Reed.