Chapter 28 Shaun
Shaun
Dinner date round two.
I park outside Freddie’s house and wing him a quick text, telling him I’ve arrived. Instantly, he fires one back to let me know that, barring any more home invasions, he’ll be right out. Heart fluttering, I tuck my phone away and smile to myself.
We’re going out, as an actual couple! I would have taken him out the other night but after an entire soap opera unfolded in the café, I wasn’t capable of holding a conversation with anyone, even Freddie, so we decided to hold off till the weekend. Probably for the best.
My stomach flutters with anticipation, mainly because of all the things Freddie’s promised we’ll do after dinner.
Avenues we haven’t explored yet. Bases we haven’t touched.
We both made it down to the sexual health clinic for testing and, on Freddie’s advice, I’ve been preparing myself every night, making sure my body is ready for him.
If what I’ve felt during my solo exploration is anything to go by, I think I’m in for a wild evening.
But first, I’m going to spoil him rotten.
A quick glance at my reflection in the rear-view mirror tells me I look exactly the same as the last fifty times I checked.
A modest trim of the beard and some hair wax go a long way.
It’s been a while since I got dressed up and my old suit is at least a size too small but I think I look passably smart.
There’s a crunch of shoes on gravel and I look up to see not Freddie, but Rory, marching like an elephant down the driveway towards me. Oh no, what does he want?
I roll down the window, but only a quarter of the way.
“Hi—” I begin, but Rory cuts across me.
“Hello. Freddie and I have been talking and it seems I was mistaken.”
His face is rigid, impossible to read.
“Mistaken how?” I ask.
Rory reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crisp fifty-pound note. With two fingers, he posts it through the gap in the window.
“I’d like you two to have a good time.” His voice is oddly robotic. Even more than usual. “On me. Consider this an apology.”
I blink stupidly at the red note flapping in my face. “Rory, there’s really no need—”
“I don’t want to discuss it further. Please just take it and don’t tell Freddie.”
I don’t want to take it, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I refuse.
“Thanks,” I take the fifty and pocket it. “I won’t tell.”
Rory makes a gruff sort of noise and turns his back, plodding back up the drive. He passes Freddie on the way, who looks just as confused as I am, but his brother walks straight past him and back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
Eyes wide, Freddie smiles awkwardly and gives me a wave.
Bloody hell, he looks amazing. Aside from his old leather jacket, he’s in a textured navy shirt with the top button undone and jeans so black they pass for formal and so skinny, they’re practically spandex.
A thin gold necklace draped around his neck catches the shimmer from the streetlamps, complimenting the golden tones of his hair perfectly.
I don’t think he’ll ever stop taking my breath away.
I hop out of the car and greet him with a tender kiss that quickly turns into a passionate, tonsil-deep, attempted-suffocation, kind of kiss.
“Whoa there, big boy,” Freddie chuckles, pulling away and patting me on the chest. “You missed me that much?”
“I guess I did.” Our shifts haven’t aligned the past couple of days and it’s not been the same at work without him. Tonight, however, is all ours.
I gesture towards the car, keenly remembering the bag I have stashed away in the boot. “Hungry?”
Freddie gives me a once-over, his eyes lingering over places that set my heart racing. He bites his bottom lip.
“Starving.”
There’s a table with our names on it at Fortuna, a small but reputable bistro nestled in a quiet lane two minutes from the esplanade. It’s always booked up weeks in advance, but the head chef is a friend of Andi’s and I called in a favour to get us a last-minute booking.
A wave of intoxicating aromas washes over us as we step inside. I pick out smoky chorizo, sizzled garlic, and the fruity scent of red wine among others.
“Welcome!” A hostess in a crisp white shirt greets us at the door. “Reservation name?”
“Two under Shaun Harrison,” I say, removing my coat.
Freddie leans into my ear as the hostess checks her tablet. “Two? Who else do you plan on having under you tonight?”
“Shh!” I say, kicking him in the shin as the hostess looks up.
“Right this way, Mr. Harrison.”
We follow her through a tight labyrinth of tables to a booth at the back. There’s a window on one side, facing out to a small, lantern-lit garden.
“How is this for you, gentlemen?” the hostess asks.
“It’s perfect,” I say.
“Some wine to start?”
“I’ll have some sparkling elderflower,” I say, having already memorised what I want from the menu online. “Freddie?”
He looks a little overwhelmed.
“Uh, do you have beer?” he asks.
The hostess rattles off a list of craft beers I’ve never even heard of. In the end, poor Freddie asks her to “surprise him.”
“Fancy place!” he exclaims once she leaves.
“Yeah,” I concur. “I haven’t been before, but the reviews are spectacular.”
Freddie flips over his menu and baulks. “Bloody hell. Not cheap, is it?”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”
And Rory.
I help Freddie translate the French cuisine and he settles on steak frites with peppercorn sauce because it sounds, “rad as hell.” A silver-haired waiter arrives shortly afterwards with our drinks. Once I’ve given him our food order, he lingers for a moment.
“Sorry to bother you, but do you by chance work at that new café on the seafront?”
“Yes!” I say, my ears pricked. “We both do. I’m the owner.”
The waiter looks impressed. With context, I recognise him and suddenly his usual order—a latte and a brownie—leaps out from the catalogue in my mind.
He smiles, warmly. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I absolutely love your coffee. Best in town. And the cakes! Irresistible! My wife says I’ve put on ten pounds since you opened.”
I’m filled with a rush of gratitude. Freddie looks impressed.
“Thank you. That means a lot. I hope your wife forgives me!”
The waiter shrugs. “It’s worth it. Seriously, I don’t know what you put in them, but keep it up.” He leans in and whispers: “How about some escargots to start? On the house.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say, making a mental note to give the waiter his next coffee for free.
Once he’s out of earshot, Freddie emits a low whistle. “Local celebrity, much?”
I roll my eyes, though I’m secretly relishing the compliment.
“Says the viral superstar!” I tease.
Freddie’s singing barista reel clocked up another few thousand views. Messages are already pouring in to the cafe’s inbox, asking if he’s playing again soon and, to my amusement, if he’s single.
“What are you going to sing next week?” I ask. I know very little about Freddie’s music beyond the snippet I saw online.
“Dunno,” he says, sliding his pint towards him. “A mix of stuff, probably. Some originals, some covers. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it coffee shop friendly. No death metal. Maybe one Christmas song.”
He takes a sip of the tangerine-coloured beer and licks foam from his lips.
“Good?” I ask.
“Wow. Yeah. Bit different to a pint of Tennent’s.”
I take a sip of my own drink, the sweet floral liquid tingling on my tongue.
“So that song in the video, it’s one you wrote?” I ask.
Freddie nods. “Yeah, years ago. I don’t write so much anymore. Ran out of inspiration, and since Rory stopped playing with me, I don’t have as much reason to.”
“What did he play?”
“Drums, mainly,” says Freddie. “A bit of guitar. He can’t sing to save his life though. I got that from Mum.”
“Well, he and I have that in common,” I say, recalling the one terrible time I did karaoke on a night out with the team at Andi’s. Never again. “Do you miss playing with him?”
“Totally. It was kind of our thing… until it wasn’t.”
I shrug. “Maybe you should ask if he’ll perform with you at the café?”
Freddie laughs. “Snowball’s chance in hell, I’m afraid.”
There’s an unmistakable hollowness to his voice, like this is a battle he’s tired of fighting. I won’t press him on it.
“So what’s the dream, Freddie? Headlining Glastonbury?”
“Ha!” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well yeah, obviously I wouldn’t say no, but I’d be happy with just getting my music out there. In a band, on my own, who knows. Anywhere people will listen, I’ll play.”
“I think you can aim higher,” I say, impressed by his humility. “I’m sure before long you’ll have people flocking to hear you sing.”
“You haven’t heard me live yet. I might be trash!”
I smile. “I doubt that. Anna and Ethan have already given you glowing reviews.”
Freddie chuckles. “Well, I’d better not disappoint.”
“You could never,” I say, catching a bead of condensation running down my glass with a finger and pressing the cool liquid to my lips.
Under the table, our feet touch. Rather than moving his away, Freddie rests his leg against mine, the firm muscle of his calf brushing my own. Placing his elbows on the table, he makes a bridge with his fingers and rests his chin on it, drawing me in with a soft gaze.
“You scrub up well, Freddie,” I say, enjoying the sensation of his leg rubbing gently against mine.
“Likewise. You look sexy in a suit!” Freddie lowers his voice and murmurs, “Though I can’t wait to rip it off you later.”
I inhale a mouthful of elderflower fizz and erupt into a very un-sexy coughing fit. Freddie, of course, finds it hilarious.
“Wow,” he drawls, once I’ve almost recovered. “If that’s enough to get you flustered, I can’t wait to see what happens later on.”
Excitement ripples through me. We haven’t been properly intimate for days. I try to play it cool.
“Nothing to do with you. I have a tickle in my throat.”
“Oh really? No more kissing for you then.” Freddie takes his leg away and I’m ashamed by how much I miss it. “Guess I’ll have to get creative.”