Page 96 of The Best of Times

Aron smiled sadly. “Let’s really make an effort not to. My heart won’t be able to take it a third time.”

He fought the tears as he walked away.

When Aron awoke the next morning, the rain hammered against the window. It appeared the power of Granny’s divine intervention had waned and they were back to a typical London winter.

He snuggled under the duvet and watched the patterns the water made on the window. At least they’d had a perfect day. He had no idea what he was going to do with his week in London. A visit to the British Library might show enthusiasm.

His parents had invited him for a meal. He would definitely take them up on the offer. Something had shifted but it remained fragile. Aron found himself wanting to nurture it more and more. It exhilarated and terrified him.

He scrambled on the floor and found his phone.

It had gone eleven. He’d slept for hours.

Yet, it was the lack of message that made his stomach lurch. Paul would have gone by now and not even said a proper goodbye. Again.

He needed coffee.

Aron threw on his robe and made his way downstairs. The house was quiet without Granny. She had a habit of filling a place. A patient Parkin sat at the foot of the stairs.

“Let’s get you some breakfast,” Aron said. “Then we’ll go out for a long walk. Rain or no rain.”

Once in the kitchen, he fired up the coffee machine. Whilst waiting for the elixir of life to brew, he nibbled a piece of wedding cake that he’d left on the kitchen counter. The old wives’ tale said he should have slept with it under his pillow. Then he would dream about his future husband. Hardly likely.

He fed a chunk to an ever-hopeful Parkin. He would be the only man in Aron’s life this week. Something he was perfectly content with.

Yeah. Right.

Before he had a chance to make a coffee and sort Parkin’s meal, there was a knock at the door. It would either be Alexander or Mercury. Probably calling round to dissect the day and judge everyone’s outfits.

With a grin, Aron went to answer the door. He could force himself to have a bitch session. There had been some hideous fashion choices by Granny’s friends from the bridge club.

In a scene reminiscent of twenty-four hours previously, he opened the door to find Paul on the doorstep.

“Paul.”

“Aron.”

“I suppose I should be glad I didn’t have a blini in my mouth,” he said. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you missed your flight.”

Paul leant on the door frame. Fuck he looked good.

“I need to talk to you.”

Aron’s ears instantly pricked up. What the hell was this all about?

“Really? I am honoured. You’d better come in.”

Without waiting, Aron walked through to the kitchen. His heart hammering away inside his chest. He needed that moment to get himself together.

He heard the door close behind them and Paul’s footsteps following him down the hall. Parkin scrabbled at his legs but he would have to be patient a minute or two more. It appeared Uncle Paul had called in to trample on Aron’s feelings once again.

Thankfully, the coffeepot had continued doing its thing. No matter what Paul had to say, Aron did not feel ready to face it without caffeine.

“Brew?” Aron asked, as nonchalantly as possible.

“Sure.”

Paul shrugged off his coat and sat down at the table.