Page 39 of Love At First Fright

T hat afternoon, Rosemary discovered she had a new kink: watching Ellis harvest potatoes and parsnips in the garden. Alright, maybe it was seeing him play-fighting with Fig over a carrot, wiping his muddy hands on his thighs that was doing it. Either way, Rosemary was a happy lady.

Mr. Tokes had been right; there was an abundance of root vegetables in the garden that were ready to be plucked from the ground.

There was a row of long, thick leeks, the rounded leaves of potatoes, another row of green-tufted parsnips, and a feathery row of carrot tops.

Fig was having the time of her life gnawing on a carrot.

It had been ages since Rosemary had harvested from a vegetable patch.

Her parents had one where they grew seasonal fruit and vegetables, and when her mom had been at her sickest, Dad would blend all the harvest into soups for her to sip.

The memories of that time rose to the surface, and Rosemary sat with them softly.

The late afternoon brought with it more rain, and they hurried indoors.

Setting themselves up in the kitchen, Rosemary and Ellis stood side by side as Ellis washed and sliced the veg, Rosemary chopping up the strawberries to make jam.

They’d had to pop to the local grocer for them, but it would be worth it.

“Is this your jam recipe?” Ellis asked.

“It was my nana’s. We’re lucky Mr. Tokes keeps a well-stocked pantry; the secret ingredient is a splash of rosewater. I don’t make it as much as I used to.”

Rosemary remembered the last time she’d made it for her mama.

The paranoia had set in by then, a side effect of the morphine and the tumour, and she had refused to eat anything, convinced it was poison.

The memory ached and scraped at her. She knew that wasn’t her, it was the terror and pain speaking.

She inhaled deeply, realising that she wanted to tell Ellis, to share it all with him.

“I think it’s because I made it so often for my mom in the end, that I kind of associate it with her. And pavlovas, too, topped with jam. She used to love those, and she needed the calories.”

Ellis leant over and kissed Rosemary’s head. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Cancer. She was actually sick for a really long time, on and off. People always imagine cancer is this disease that you get diagnosed with and then three months later you’re gone.

And I know that happens a lot when they don’t catch it early.

But with her, they caught it early, it was just stage two at the start.

She had chemo and a mastectomy, and then it went away. ”

Rosemary felt her voice turning thick, but she pushed through it.

“Then we had a few good years. The flower farm was doing well, Mama and Dad were happy. Though, they always were. It came back the summer right before I started senior year, but this time in her brain. Stage four. There wasn’t much they could do at that point.

The doctors were amazing, they put her forward for all kinds of new treatments, and some of them worked for a little while.

But it was all just buying time. Every month she seemed weaker and weaker, unable to help on the farm anymore.

All she could do was sit on the porch and boss my dad about, though I don’t think he minded.

One day, we were eating a picnic dinner out by the cherry tree in our yard, and she told us—me and my dad—that she was done.

She was tired. That’s the only time I really remember the two of them fighting. ”

Rosemary recalled the argument; their muffled voices, her dad pleading.

She wanted her mom to stay, she would have given anything for it, but her mom had been so adamant, so sure.

Behind it all, Rosemary remembered the relief that she wouldn’t need to see her mom remain in pain for much longer.

There was no greater pain than watching your parent suffer and being helpless to fix it.

“After that, it was all very fast. She went into palliative care, and we took care of her, with nurses dropping in every day. She wasn’t herself much at the end; she said a lot of things she didn’t mean, she didn’t know where she was.

That’s what happens with brain cancer and all the painkillers, it takes them away, bit by bit.

” Rosemary took in a stuttering breath, tears falling freely down her cheeks.

“In the end, it was peaceful. She fell asleep and just never woke up. I thought, part of me thought, that I might see her again—that she might…but…” She couldn’t talk anymore, and Ellis scooped her into his arms.

Sobs overtook her, and even though she wanted to tell him about the hours she sat beside her mom’s body, waiting to see if she’d appear to say goodbye, she couldn’t form the words.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He kissed her forehead and held her close, and they rocked gently side to side until Rosemary’s breathing calmed.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I cried. I’m normally alright talking about it.”

“You’re allowed to cry, Rosemary.”

She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes, as her nose and cheeks were probably all blotchy and tearstained now.

“It’s just…been a while. I talk about it with Immy and Dina, my friends, but not really with anyone else.”

“Well, you can tell me anything.”

What if I told you I can see dead people? “Anything? I might hold you to that.” She was tired, talking and falling back into memories of her mom’s illness always sapped her energy, so she leant into Ellis’s warm chest.

The oven pinged to announce it had reached the right temperature.

“We better put the veg in to roast, then you can show me this magic jam recipe.” Ellis smiled, clearly guessing how he could best cheer her up.

They whiled away the early evening by making jam on one half of the stove.

The kitchen windows began to steam up as Rosemary poured the jam into a couple of small jars and Ellis set to work searing the steaks.

Unsurprisingly, Fig came sniffing around once the steaks were cooking, and Ellis took a moment to sort out her kibble.

“I’m just going to take one of the jam jars to Mr. Tokes, as a thank-you,” Rosemary said, bundling into her rain jacket.

“Alright, the food should be done in a minute.”

She smiled, and walked out into the rain, coming back a few minutes later utterly soaked.

“It’s horrible out there,” she said, hanging her jacket on the rack to dry. Ellis was standing by the small dining room table, lighting a candlestick. Warmth spread from her chest to every inch of her body. Ellis came over and kissed the rain droplets on her nose and cheeks. “Come and eat.”

—

While Rosemary cuddled Fig on her lap, the little dog dozing and chasing bunnies in her sleep, Ellis wondered if it was possible to feel too happy.

Harvesting veg from the garden, cooking together, and having Rosemary trust him enough to tell him about losing her mum, and letting him comfort her in return, it left Ellis with a floaty feeling of contentment.

Was there such thing as a domspace? The feeling you got from taking care of someone, comforting them, making them feel better—it elicited such joy for him.

It had Ellis thinking things that were probably—no, definitely—too early for him to be thinking about. Like how it would be a good time to plant some broad beans to harvest next year with Rosemary.

He kept imagining what it would be like, getting to see her every day. Getting to kiss her senseless, make her come, support her, make her happy…love her.

Was he thinking too far ahead? Absolutely, and he knew it.

Rosemary had made it clear that she was rudderless right now, but even if she had close friends in England, surely she had a whole life in New York?

Perhaps leaving it for a time was only making her realise that that was her home.

And her family was in the States, too, there was no way she’d want to live so far away. Or with him.

Ellis supposed he could make use of his homes abroad, the one in L.A.

and the apartment in New York, that he’d bought for filming over there, but it was too early to float the idea past Rosemary.

For Christ’s sake, they’d only just had sex and spent the day together.

She’d think he was loony if he suggested that he could move across an ocean to be closer to her.

They hadn’t even defined what this was between them.

“I just had a new idea for my book,” Rosemary said, looking up at him with a pleased sort of surprise on her face.

“You should write it down.”

Carefully, he picked up the dreaming Fig, as Rosemary went and grabbed her laptop. Then he watched the applewood fire crackling away in the hearth whilst Rosemary tapped away at her keyboard beside him on the sofa.

They sat there in companionable silence for a bit, Ellis smoothing his hand over Fig’s head as she slept. Even full from dinner as he was, Ellis couldn’t wait to get Rosemary naked again. He wanted to feel her thighs wrapped around him, wanted to see her perfect tits bouncing as she rode his cock.

But he had also been thinking about their conversation earlier, when he said she could tell him anything. He’d meant it. Again, he wondered if it would be the same for her. Ellis really, really wanted to tell her he was bi.

It was such a core part of himself, and he was so tired of hiding it.

But the thought of her finding out, and reacting badly, was so suffocating when it took over.

It felt like he was wading waist-deep through the muck of every vile thing he’d ever heard Brody or some other guy in the industry say, and every time he thought he was ready to live truly as himself, the muck held him fast.

He wished he had friends he could have talked about this stuff with, back when he was coming out. But Hollywood was such an isolating place, especially when you didn’t know who you could trust.

Rosemary paused and shut her laptop.

“I can’t believe it. I wrote seven hundred words. In one go.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“It is for me. It was like I was possessed,” she laughed, “and the words couldn’t come fast enough.”

She sat back on the sofa, looking down at the closed laptop as if it were some kind of marvel. “Thank you,” she said.

“You don’t need to thank me, love, you’re the one who did the writing.”

Rosemary smiled at him, and heat bloomed in his chest. “Still. Thank you. You helped me get the courage to ask for more time, and you gave me the…the brain-space to actually feel creative again.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asked, not missing the flash of desire in her eyes.

—

“Ellis, are you awake?” Rosemary whispered, and a sleep-groggy Ellis felt a soft kiss against his neck. Followed by another, moving lower to his nipple. A sudden sensitive jolt of pleasure went through him as Rosemary bit down gently.

“Very much awake now,” he growled, his hands immediately circling her, pulling her on top of him, kneading her ass.

It was still night, the circular window showing only navy-blue darkness outside.

All he could hear was the quiet hum of rain and the hissed intake of Rosemary’s breath as he claimed her breast with his mouth.

Her hair tickled his face as she squirmed in pleasure, needily dragging herself across the underside of his already very hard cock, coating him with herself.

“Fuck, you’re so ready for me.”

“I woke up from a dream about you and here you are,” Rosemary whispered in his ear, like a secret. Everything about her was soft and warm against him, surrounding him with her sweet cherry smell. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her.

He did. Something about this time of night, in the soft slow hours before morning, nothing was real and every touch meant everything. Every sigh, every kiss. This was more than just sex, he knew that now.

Fucking her leisurely, his right hand holding her in place on his cock, the other playing with her clit, Ellis drove his hips upwards, giving Rosemary what she wanted.

When Rosemary arched her back and moaned his name, it was a prayer; when he captured her mouth with his and rolled on top of her, losing himself in the pleasure of her, the way she took him so fucking well, there was something almost holy about it.

In the moonlight her skin looked like a living painting, and he wanted to give her all the pleasure he could. His mind went blank at the sight of Rosemary beneath him, her hair messy, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kisses and the look of utter need in her eyes.

It was the kind of thing that you remembered right at the end of it all: proof that you’d lived a life worth living. He buried himself deep into her. His body was made for it, for her.

“ Fill me, ” Rosemary breathed, shuddering against him, and Ellis let go, pumping his come into her, seeing stars. Even when their breathing began to settle, the sweat on their skin began to dry, neither of them moved. When Ellis shifted himself out of Rosemary, it still wasn’t over.

“Like I said I would,” he groaned, and used his fingers to fuck his come back inside her, needing to give her one more orgasm, needing to hear Rosemary’s voice keening his name.

Only then, only then could he clean her skin in the soft steam of the shower, and only then could Ellis carry her back to bed.