Page 58 of Home Grown Talent
“Okay,” Lewis said reasonably. “Just bear it in mind, that’s all I’m saying. I know that, right now, working on the show is throwing you two together a lot, and obviously, Mason’s capitalising on the publicity, but it’s not going to be like that forever. You said you don’t see yourself trying to carve a TV career out of this, so maybe have a think about what things will be like with Mason once the show’s done. Will your lives still mesh then?” He shrugged. “Like Aaron said earlier, Mason has a lot invested in his Instagram life. Don’t underestimate that.”
Owen sighed. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
Lewis clapped his shoulder, squeezing once before dropping his hand. A rare show of affection that made Owen’s chest tighten.
Another pint. That was what he needed. He stood. “My round I think. Same again?”
Owen and Mason’s private celebration for their first TV appearance together was taking place at Owen’s house. Mason was doing a beach shoot all day Friday and wouldn’t get back to London till late, so he was going to come straight to Owen’s place—his first visit there—to spend the night. Then they’d have a celebratory breakfast the next morning while watching the show.
Owen felt a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension at the thought of Mason coming over. He loved his house and had the vague, unsettling sense that once Mason had been here, once he’d lounged on the sofa and pottered in the kitchen, and lain in Owen’s bed, those memories might be difficult to shift. But it was too late now to change his plans. He’d invited Mason, and Mason had said yes—he could hardly uninvite him. So instead, he focused his efforts on making plans for their fancy breakfast, which he was determined should be celebration-worthy.
When he got home from work on Friday evening, he had a bite to eat, gave the place another quick tidy, and changed the bedding to the new absurdly-high-thread-count set he’d bought earlier in the week. Finally, on an impulse, he went out into the garden and picked some of the early blooming tulips, scarlet red ones and creamy white ones. He didn’t have a proper vase since he generally preferred his flowers to stay in the ground, but he found a plain glass jug and stuck them in there with lots of water, and they looked very pretty, if somewhat haphazard.
At ten he got a message from Mason.
On my way back. Hoping to get to yours around midnight.
Owen sent back, Looking forward to it. Fancy some Champagne when you get in?
Bubbles appeared in the message window, then went away again. Then reappeared and went away twice more. Finally—
Honestly, I’d prefer a cup of tea. I’m freezing, knackered, and have sand in unspeakable places. Sleeping-face emoji.
Owen laughed softly. He felt weirdly pleased by the message—more pleased than he would have been by enthusiastic agreement to popping the fizz open, to be honest, because it made him feel trusted. Like Mason felt okay showing Owen his vulnerable side.
Happy to help you wash off the sand. Let me know when you’re five minutes away and I’ll have a cuppa waiting.
He was rewarded with a quick Can’t wait and three hearts in response.
He killed the next couple of hours in front of the TV, sipping his way through a couple of beers while a series of panel shows flickered on the screen, each one merging into the last. Finally, his phone buzzed again.
Be there in ten.
His smile in response to that simple message was big—too big.
Christ, he really was in trouble.
He switched off the TV, then decided it was too quiet and set up some music in its place, fiddling with the volume obsessively till he was satisfied it was just right. Then he popped the kettle on and began pacing the kitchen, excited and nervous in equal measure.
No sooner had he poured the hot water in the teapot than the doorbell went, and his heart began pounding. Rubbing his hands down the front of his thighs, he forced himself to take two deep breaths, then strode to the front door.
“Hey,” Mason said when he opened it, giving a crooked smile. He looked tired but ridiculously gorgeous in threadbare joggers, an old denim jacket and a striped beanie.
“Hey,” Owen echoed, smiling wide and fighting the urge to grab him and just enfold him in a huge hug.
Play it cool, he schooled himself silently.
He stood back to let Mason enter, smiling even wider when Mason paused to kiss his cheek, then followed him into the house.
“Straight down the corridor to the door at the end,” he directed.
Mason paused when he entered the living area, turning in a slow circle as he took in the big squashy sofa, the sturdy, mostly oak, furniture and the myriad pot plants that filled every nook and cranny, from the spiky yucca plant in the corner to the big, leafy japonica beside the glass doors that let out onto the garden.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” Mason said, his eyes shining with real pleasure. “And I love your kitchen.” He headed towards it, and Owen followed slowly, watching his reactions.
Mason ran a finger over the hob of his range cooker and raised an eyebrow at Owen. “This looks very clean,” he said, quirking a smile. “Almost as if it’s not been used much.”
Owen chuckled. “That’s fair, but I will be using it tomorrow.”