Page 62 of Best Supporting Actor

Jay just laughed again and performed a chef’s kiss. It was meant to be funny, but Tag’s gaze went straight to his mouth, to those beautifully carved lips, and he felt suddenly airless, remembering them pressed to his own.

Tearing his gaze away, he said, “I should give my parents a quick call. Tonight’s a big deal for them too.”

“Good idea,” Jay said easily, rising to his feet. “I’ll get dinner sorted while you chat to them.”

He ambled over to the kitchen area, moving with that easy grace that Tag had become so used to over these last weeks of rehearsing together, and for a few moments, Tag just enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching him. He was an incredibly hot guy, no question, and that was certainly part of his pleasure, but it wasn’t just that. Now every line of Jay’s body, every facial expression, every movement he made was imbued with his…Jay-ness. With the person Tag had come to know and—

Fuck.What was he thinking? Dragging his gaze away, he yanked his phone out of his pocket and, with shaking hands, called his mum.

She answered immediately. “Tag, is that you?” Her voice was bright with anticipation, her ever-present Irish accent warmly familiar.

“Hi, Mum,” he said. “Thought I’d give you a quick ring before the show.”

She was a talker, so he settled down to listen to her chat for a while, peppering her monologue with “hmms” and “ahs” and “she never dids?” Once his mum was done talking, he spoke to his dad for a few minutes, and then his sister, and then his mum came back on for a bit to interrogate him about his eating habits and check yet again that he’d sorted out tickets for them to come to the play when they came up to York.

“You know we don’t mind buying them, like everyone else,” she said for the fortieth time.

“Don’t worry about it, Mum,” Tag said, torn between amusement and exasperation. “It’s all sorted.”

After another few minutes of goodbyes—his dad and sister were put back on again for half a minute for that purpose—his mum said her final farewells. “Bye-bye, darlin’. You take care of yourself and make sure you’re eating plenty of fruit and veg, all right? I can’t wait to watch the show.” With a bubbly, “Love you, love you!” she hung up.

The screen informed him that the call had taken forty-nine minutes, and he looked over at Jay guiltily. “Sorry that was so long,” he said. “My mum can talk for Ireland—and that’s saying something. Have I messed up dinner?”

Jay shook his head. “Not at all. It’s perfect timing. The lasagne’s had time to rest, which will save us from burning off the roofs of our mouths.” He pointed a spatula at the table. “Go and sit down and I’ll bring it over.”

Tag was topping up their glasses with more fizz when Jay set down their plates. The lasagne looked and smelled amazing, and it tasted amazing too, as did the crusty bread and the green salad and the dry, bubbly wine. It was, all of it, just… lovely. And Jay was lovely too, making Tag laugh and making his heart feel warm and full. Making this very ordinary day into a special occasion that Tag knew he would always remember.

As he swallowed the last bit of champagne in his glass, that thought—that this would one day be a distant memory—sent a stab of sadness through him. Which was stupid. Of course this would be a distant memory one day. Everything would,oneday. And that was especially the case for actors, who often formed intense, short-term bonds with their colleagues that did not—could not—last. Tag was going to have to build up a thicker skin for dealing with this kind of thing if he was going to make a success of his career.

Thrusting the melancholy thought aside, he smiled at Jay. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. I’ll clear up, though.”

“You willnot,” Jay said severely, steering a protesting Tag over to the sofa and pushing him down. He quickly cleared the table and stacked the dirty dishes next to the sink.

“I’ll sort them tomorrow,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I can’t be arsed tonight.”

“I’ll do them,” Tag insisted.

“Nope,” Jay said, pointing at him. “This is your special night, and you will not touch those dishes either tonight or tomorrow. No arguments!”

Laughing, Tag subsided, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay.”

“What do you want to drink now?” Jay asked. “I’ve got red or white.”

“Morewine?” Tag asked, raising a brow. “Henry would not approve.” Henry had views on drinking the night before rehearsals.

Jay said drily, “Bow Streetstarts in ten minutes, and if you’re anything like me, you’re going to need a drink when you watch yourself on screen.”

“Good point,” Tag said feelingly. “Red then.”

Jay set the wine down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa, along with a bowl of popcorn, which Tag was way too full to eat. Before he sat down, Jay switched off the main light, leaving only one small light on, next to his bed. A small glowing point in the now-dark apartment.

It felt like they were at the cinema, and as Jay sank onto the sofa beside him, Tag felt the oddest surge of excited anticipation. Alarmed, he shifted back, leaning into his own corner of the sofa, trying to move his centre of gravity away from Jay. Which was ridiculous, given that Jay seemed entirely oblivious, his attention focused on switching on the TV and findingBow Street.

“I’ve been looking forward to watching this,” he said, without moving his eyes from the screen. “And not just because of you. It’s a great premise, and of course Derek Brookes is brilliant in everything.”

Derek, a well-known television actor, played Arthur Thorne, one of the main characters inBow Street. Tag’s own key scene near the end of the pilot was opposite Derek and had been the single most exciting moment in Tag’s career so far—well, until he’d been cast inLet Us Go Back. It didn’t get much better than playing opposite Skye bloody Jäger in a fourteen-night stage run. Not that Tag had felt that way when he’d first learned that his co-star would be Jay… Tag gave a strangled laugh as he remembered his dismayed reaction, and Jay turned towards him, his face faintly lit by the ghostly blue light reflected from the TV. He raised an eyebrow in query, but Tag just shook his head and took a gulp of his wine.

The show was starting now, and Tag’s stomach was a tangle of nerves. Which struck him as absurd—it wasn’t like he was about to go on stage, but still, his heart was thudding as the pre-titles prologue scene began. This first scene was set twenty years earlier from the point of view of Mary, who viewers would later learn was Bishop’s—Tag’s character’s—mother. The scene began in a vibrant, busy tavern, the camera roving over various groups of men. Mary wove her way around the pub, chatting and flirting in a brassy way. After a while, she slipped out into the dark, grimy night, hurrying through a web of alleys, before arriving at the docks. A man in a long coat stood waiting, leaning against a post, his hat pulled down low over his face.