Page 43 of True Sight (Nat. 20, #4)
It’s not that I’m embarrassed of him or even worried what other people will think about us.
Fuck what other people think, I only care about what he thinks and what my friends think because they’re the only ones that matter to me anyway.
And Annie, but I don’t think she cares about what I do with my personal time as long as I feed her twice a day, take her on a walk, and let her sleep in bed with me.
My not wanting to tell other people about us has nothing to do with what they might say, and more about the fact that once people know, there’s no going back.
Everything will change and I’m not ready for that change.
I like my life, my friends, my job, as it is.
Once people know that I’m…what I’m…all of that will change.
If he’s okay with keeping things between us for a while, then so am I.
“Can you get me the tin opener?” he asks, tapping his index finger on top of the can of tomatoes we bought.
I chuckle at his name for the ‘can opener’ and add it to the mental running list I have of ‘Henry Terms.’ His English accent is sexy enough on its own but the use of quirky English versions of my normal, boring American words add a layer of cuteness to him.
“Here’s the can opener you asked for.” I pull the tool out of a drawer next to the oven and hand it to him. When he grabs it, I don’t let go and use the joint connection we have to pull him into a kiss.
“Thanks for cooking dinner, sweets,” I hum against his lips.
“A proper meal is important and I’m happy to provide one anytime you need.” His lips curl into a smile and we hold each other close for a beat before I release the device and let him get back to it.
“Do you need my help with anything? Can I cut or chop or, I don’t know, do anything remotely helpful?
” I look around my kitchen which looks like a real chef is using it for the first time.
Cans and produce are scattered around and my pitiful spice supply is waiting to be used.
As my eyes take in the mess, my brain starts to get overwhelmed by the lack of order and I have a sudden urge to organize the mess.
Sensing my overwhelm, he leans in and kisses me on the cheek with a smile. “Why don’t you just sit at the counter and give me something nice to look at?”
“I can do that.” I smirk at him.
I hoist myself up into one of the bar stools and rest my elbows on the counter.
He scans all the ingredients and starts to roll up his sleeves so they are tucked out of the way, exposing his strong and toned forearms. I lick my lips, not at the idea of the meal he is about to make for us but at the image my mind conjures up of the muscles in his arms pulsating as he works to get me?—
“Conrad? Did you hear me?”
“What?” My voice cracks and I shake my head out and look at him. Clearing my throat, I adjust myself in my seat because the tension between my legs is making me uncomfortable.
“I asked if you prefer more garlic or less?” He raises a brow at me and chuckles.
“Oh, uhhh, more is fine. Yeah, I like garlic, so more is great,” I fumble out quickly as I try to regain my composure.
“You okay, love?” he asks as he starts to dice up the vegetables. He glances up at me through his lashes and I know he knows I’m not.
“Fine, I’m fine.” I push out a breath and the image of him jerking me off, and try to shift my focus so my hard-on will go away.
“So, tell me, how are things moving along at the studio? I still haven’t seen the newest renovation updates you know?” Last time I was at the studio was when I bailed on my friends this past weekend to have sex with him.
“Oh, things are great. Hardie and his guys are amazing and right on schedule for us to open the first week of January. They just finished the locker rooms and got the water running throughout the studio. The showers are to die for. I wish the bathroom at my place was as nice as they are. You should come see them sometime.” His voice trails off as he starts to slice some carrots.
“You want me to come see the new locker room showers?”
“No, I want you to come see the whole studio just…with a focus on the showers.” He gives me an enticing smirk and cocks his head to one side, waiting to see how I’ll respond.
“I think we could make that happen.” I smile back.
For the next thirty minutes I sit and watch as he chops, sears, and boils, creating a whole meal from a couple of random items. Cooking has never been something I’ve been interested in but watching him cook for us is something I can do daily and never get bored.
His hands worked with precision and he moved around the kitchen like a professional.
By the end of his dance, he’s created a delicious spaghetti dinner complete with homemade sauce.
“How’d you learn to cook?” I ask, as he sits down next to me at the bar. I don’t have a dining table as it’s only me and buying an entire dining set felt wasteful. Now I wish I had one even if it’s only big enough for two.
“Oh, uhm, I worked in a kitchen for a few years after university.” There’s a hint of apprehension in his voice.
“When my parents kicked me out after telling them I’m gay, they also cut me off and I needed to figure out a way to pay my bills.
So I got jobs wherever I could. During the day, I worked in a kitchen at this posh restaurant that served people who made money just by wiping their noses.
And in the evenings,” he pauses and glances up at me with a smirk, “I worked at a club who served the husbands dining at that fancy restaurant as they ‘blew off steam’ with other men of the night.”
“Wait, were you a?—”
“I was strictly a bartender,” he cuts me off and holds up a hand, putting to rest my thought that at one point in his life he exchanged sexual favors for money. I nod my head and take a bite of pasta, letting the explosion of flavors take over my tastebuds.
“So you can dance, make a mean cocktail, and cook a delicious meal all on your own.”
“I really am the perfect catch,” he quips confidently with a hand on his chest. We both chuckle and take another bite of food. When I glance over at him again, an idea strikes me.
“Hey, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Thanksgiving? Conrad, love, you know I’m English right? We don’t celebrate your American Thanksgiving.” He’s smiling and shaking his head at me while he twirls another bite of spaghetti around his fork.
“Well, would you like to celebrate this year? With me? Here? Or at your place if you’d rather do that, I don’t care. I could show you what a real American holiday is like.”
His face lights up at the invitation but then falls quickly. “Thanksgiving, that’s in two weeks? Alex was telling me about it yesterday and I feel like I remember her saying it was at the end of the month.”
“Yeah, it’s always the last Thursday of the month,” I explain.
“Ugh, I would love to but I’m not going to be in town.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were traveling.” I feel my heart sink in my chest and I’m surprised by how disappointed I am. The idea of spending the holiday with him had only just come to me but hearing him say he can’t hurts more than I expected it would.
“I’m sorry. My best friend Ellie, back in London, is eloping that weekend and has already booked my flights. She only just told me a few days ago. I’m so sorry, I should have told you.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“Oh, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I squeeze his hand back and wave him off. It isn’t his fault he isn’t going to be here and his reason for being gone is important.
“Next year?” His words are hopeful as he gives me a sheepish expression. My ears perk up at his question.
“Next year?” I repeat. The indication that we’ll still be whatever we are a year from now sends a wave of energy through me. I haven’t even thought about the end of this week. Knowing he’s thinking through the next year makes me happier than I expected it to.
“Are you telling me you plan on being with me in another year?” I joke with a sideways smile.
He wipes his mouth with his napkin and turns to face me. Bringing the back of my hand to his lips, he kisses it softly before covering it with both his hands.
“This is me telling you that I’m not going anywhere so long as you don’t want me to.”
A small smile spreads across my lips as he looks at me, his green eyes dancing with hope and anticipation.
The more I look at him, the more a warm knowing spreads throughout my body.
The knowing that I like the idea of having another year with him.
That I like the idea of having more nights like this one with him, just the two of us, getting to know one another.
That I like that he wants to have another year with me too.
“Next year,” I confirm with certainty and lean over to press my lips to his.
I might not be sure if I’m ready for other people to know about us yet or the change that will come when they find out.
But I’m certain about how I feel about him.
How he brings a sense of joy to my life that I haven’t felt in years or the subtle sense of stability he makes me feel.
How he makes me happier, lighter, and more content than anyone I’ve ever met before has.