Chapter 13 Jimmy
JIMMY
We take turns to shower and then make our way downstairs. Flynn is wearing yesterday’s clothes, as he hadn’t been expecting to stay over.
“What do you fancy? A cooked English breakfast, or a quick bowl of cereal?” I ask once we’re in the kitchen.
“Would you let me cook?”
“You’re the guest.”
He dips his chin and rubs his fingertip over the breakfast bar counter. “You’ve taken care of me a lot in the last twelve hours or so. It’s my turn.” He lifts his gaze, meeting mine—a splash of pink warms his cheeks and nose.
He did take care of me, more than he realises. And that blow job! I do a mental chef’s kiss. Not to mention the trust he placed in me to take care of him.
“There’s no need. I’ll have you know I’m an expert at cooking breakfast.”
He narrows his twinkling eyes. “I thought you could only cook three meals. Mac and cheese—which was delicious, by the way—pizza, and burgers.”
“That’s right.”
“A cooked breakfast would make four.”
I snort-laugh. “A fry-up doesn’t count as cooking.”
He folds his arms. “On what planet?”
“Planet Jimmy.” I wink and pull a couple of frying pans out of the cupboard. “Sausage? Bacon? Eggs? Beans? Black pudding?”
He screws his face up. “Ugh. No thanks.”
“What do you mean? Black pudding is the food of the gods.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Yes. I mean, someone must like it, right?”
“I guess.”
“Eggs fried or scrambled?”
“Whichever you prefer. Please let me cook?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got this. How do you prefer your eggs?” I know the answer. At least, I used to.
“Fried.”
“Do you want me to turn it over at the end, so the yolk is more solid?”
He smiles and nods, his blush intensifying.
“Coming up.”
He sits on a barstool, wincing and rubbing his shoulder.
“Is it hurting again?” I put four sausages under the grill and then gather everything else I’ll need.
“A little. Not as much as yesterday, thanks to you.”
I want to offer him another massage, but that wouldn’t be in the spirit of giving him time to think about the possibility of us.
I don’t want to do anything that could be construed as pressure.
Hence why I gave him the option to eat a quick bowl of cereal and leave sooner rather than later.
He chose the longer option. Is that a good sign?
“At least you’ve got today off. It’ll give you a chance to rest it.” I empty a can of baked beans into a saucepan and put it over a low heat.
“Yes.”
“You might be able to get a last-minute appointment for a proper massage.” I add a bit of oil to one of the frying pans and turn the heat to warm it.
“The one you gave me last night wasn’t a proper massage?”
I laugh. “You know what I mean. Get a massage from an expert. Someone with qualifications.”
“Can you recommend anywhere?”
“You can try the place I had my summer job at, although that was sports massages rather than relaxing ones.”
“Isn’t that what I need?”
“Maybe.” I find the details on my phone and put it on the counter in front of them. “Give them a call.”
He purses his lips, pausing before tapping the number into his phone and pressing Call.
I turn the sausages before adding the bacon to the warmed pan. I concentrate on the sizzling bacon, rather than Flynn’s conversation with the receptionist on the other end of the phone. Even so, it’s impossible not to get the gist.
“They don’t have any appointments until next week,” he said as he disconnected the call.
“Did you book one?”
He shakes his head. “I’m hoping it’ll be better by then, or I’m going to be useless at my job.”
“It’s not all heavy lifting, is it?”
“No. But there’s a lot of repetitive work, especially while milking the cows. It’ll be fine.”
“Take care of yourself, okay?” I stir the beans to avoid looking at him.
“I will.” His voice is soft, almost wistful. His stare makes my skin tingle.
I want to reach across the breakfast bar, pull him close, and kiss him. But I can’t. I promised to give him space. I promised to give him time. But I can’t help thinking this could be the end before we’ve even begun to see what’s possible.
I add oil to the second frying pan and warm it over low heat. The sausages need turning again, as does the bacon. I’m going to make it crispy enough to brown the fat and curl up at the edges, the way Flynn likes it.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” he asks.
“Positive. You could ring around some of the local hotels to see which have spas. They might have an opening for a massage.”
“It’s fine. I’m beginning to think you have an obsession.”
“With what?”
“Massages. Specifically, me having one.”
“Is that a hint to shut up about it?”
“No. It’s sweet. You’re sweet.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but ‘sweet’ is not one of them. I prefer stud.”
He laughs. “You’re not a horse.”
“No, but I’m hung like one.”
He laughs harder, clutching his stomach with one hand and his shoulder with the other. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Did I say something funny?” I ask in the most innocent voice I can muster. “I was telling the truth.”
He rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and takes a few deep breaths.
“Are you disagreeing with me?” What am I doing? Give him space. Give him time. I shouldn’t be making lewd jokes about my dick.
“No, I’m not.” He shifts on the stool and stares at the breakfast bar.
I need to dial it down. Focus on cooking, not inconsequential chit-chat. I glance out the window. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.” The sky is bright blue, and there aren't many clouds.
“We’re talking about the weather, now?”
“We’re British, aren’t we? All we do is talk about the weather and complain about queuing.”
“But we’re so good at it.”
“Complaining?’
“Queuing.”
We burst out laughing.
I point at him. “Now who’s cracking jokes?”
“Me. Ow. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t even a good joke. Maybe I should ask you for another massage after breakfast.” He bites his lip and looks away.
I’d give him one if he asked.
“I’m sorry. That was a mixed signal.”
“It wasn’t. It’s fine. You’re in pain.”
“It wasn’t fine.”
“Flynn—”
He hunches his shoulders, closing in on himself. “I’m sorry.”
“Food’s ready."
I plate everything up and push one across to him. I stay on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, standing to eat. It’s not that I don’t want to sit with him, but the situation is delicate, and I don’t want to make it worse.
He slices some sausage, bacon, and egg and eats them together. “I think you’re understating your cooking skills.”
“I told you, tossing things in a frying pan isn’t cooking.”
“Yes, it is.”
“All right, I’m a master of four meals.”
He smiles. “It’s a good start.”
“What do you mean? It’s awesome. I can rotate between three meals.”
“Four.”
“Nah. This is a treat breakfast. Never dinner.”
“Well, thank you for treating me.”
“You’re welcome.”
He blows out a breath. “I’m doing it again.”
“Talking?”
He meets my gaze. “Giving you mixed signals.”
“I promise, you’re not.”
He pushes a piece of sausage into the baked beans and shovels them onto his fork. “What are you going to do with your first day of freedom?”
“Contemplate my future?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Is that a question or a statement?”
I chuckle. “I was joking. I’ll go to the gym on campus,” he carries on. I get cheap access while I’m a student, but that’ll end soon, so I might as well make the most of it.”
“To lift weights?”
“If I can find someone to spot me. If not, I’ll use some of the other equipment.”
“You’ll keep working out?”
“Damn right. The gym is my happy place. Working out gives me a hit of endorphins and makes me feel good about myself. Plus, I’ve met a bunch of great friends because of it.”
“Like Angus?”
“Yes.”
He smiles. “I’m glad you’ve got something like that.”
“So do you. Working on farms is your happy place, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” And yet his voice is tinged with sadness.
Is that because of my jerk of a brother made him feel guilty about it for who knows how long?
“Do you want your own farm someday?” I ask.
“I’d never be able to afford it.”
“I don’t see why not. A bank would give you a business loan, as long as you were taking on a profitable farm, and you had a clear plan of how to keep it successful.”
“Maybe…”
“They would. What type of farm would you want? Dairy, like Angus’ dad’s farm? Sheep? Crops? You could own a rhubarb farm!”
“Rhubarb?”
“Yes! There’s an area in south Leeds called the Rhubarb Triangle.”
“You’re screwing with me.”
“I am not. Look it up.”
He uses his phone with one hand while eating the rest of his breakfast with the other. “Wow. There is.”
“Told you so.”
“The soil and conditions are perfect for growing rhubarb.”
“I bet it’s because it’s moist.”
“You didn’t just say that.”
“I did. Is it true?”
He focuses on his phone again. “The article mentions the damp conditions.”
“See? Moist.”
He rolls his eyes and puts his phone down. “I enjoy dairy farming, but, like all types of farming, it comes with its ups and downs. It’s hard for independent farms like Tony’s to compete with huge companies.”
“Tony?”
“Angus’ dad.”
“Oh!”
“You didn’t know his name?”
I shrug. “Why would I have done? He’s not my boss.”
Flynn pushes his plate away. It’s empty except for a few streaks of tomato sauce from the baked beans. “Owning a farm would mean living there.”
“Newsflash. You already live on a farm.”
“True.” He folds his arms on the breakfast bar. “But I’d have the choice to live somewhere else if I needed to. Owning a farm is different. You have to be there twenty-four seven. It’s more than a job. It’s a way of life.”
“One you’re cut out for.”
“I hope I am, but, until I got this job, I could only find seasonal work. This is the first chance I’ve had to work full-time in farming.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes.”
“I sense a but.”
He stares at his palms. “Farming can be lonely.”
“Are you?”
“Sometimes. I don’t know many people here.”
“You know me. No matter what you decide about us, we’ll still be friends, right?”
“I hope so.” His voice is soft. Fragile.
“There’s another ‘but’ in your voice.”
“I can’t rely on you, Jimmy. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of us if you were my sole source of friendship.”
“What about Angus?”
“He’s not around much.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
“He’s around a bit more at the moment, because of finals, but before that, he was barely home at all. He’d come back late at night.”
I can’t help but smirk as I imagine Angus sneaking around with Professor Dick. Sorry. Richard.
“What?” Flynn’s stare searches mine.
I wave my hand. “Nothing.”
Flynn pinches his lips together.
“It’s not up to me to say anything.”
At some point, Angus will go public with his relationship with the sexy professor, but not yet. It’s too soon. Until then, I’ll keep his secret.
“Breakfast was great, thank you,” Flynn says in a smooth change of subject.
“You’re welcome.”
“I should go.”
“Call me?”
“Sure. Enjoy freedom.”
I laugh. “I’ll try.”
An awkward silence hangs between us for a few seconds, until Flynn stands and sees himself out. I wait for the bang of the door and then release a heavy sigh. All I can do now is wait and hope that, this time, Flynn chooses me.