Chapter Thirty-Two
Jenna
Robert's parents were stuffy and predictable, but they were pleasant enough and had decent taste in restaurants so I could easily survive meeting them for dinner once every few months. So while I’m experienced at having dinner with the parents of someone I'm fucking, I'm not exactly well-versed in doing it with the parents of a man who is thirteen years younger, and I am definitely not even close to being prepared for having dinner with a mother like his.
This is why, after a quick walk to the resort’s shop, I pass my afternoon sunbathing and doing very little other than scrolling on my phone, wondering what I should wear, how I should do my hair, and whether red lipstick is appropriate or not.
These thoughts are interrupted far too often with mad dashes to the bathroom as my stomach reminds me just how nervous I really am.
In the end, I choose the fitted mid-length black dress I was saving for my last night and a possible dinner with Jake.
I pin my hair up in a French twist and opt for a nude shade of lip gloss instead of anything bolder.
I get to the restaurant thirty minutes early and am busy talking to Eric the barman, when I see my brother fly out of the kitchen carrying four plates like the silver service pro he's been since his first job as a waiter at the four-star hotel down the road from our childhood home.
My eyes follow him as he places plates on a table, a slightly manic grin wrapped around his face. It's only when his hands are empty and his back is turned to the customers that a frown returns.
“Jakey, what's up?” I ask as he approaches me.
“Our chef has got the flu. Like how is that even possible in this heat? Anyway, he's off and I've made two of the serving staff jump in to help in the kitchen, meaning my pert backside is running around like Manuel in Fawlty Towers.”
“Well, you make it look good.”
“Just wait until the end of the evening. We have a late booking for a group of twenty here for a family reunion, and as luck would have it, one of the teenage daughters was stung by one of the wasps in the nest we finally removed today, so I could really do without this tonight as I want to impress and make it up to them, but we shall see just how spectacularly it all goes wrong.”
“Oh, Jakey, I would offer to help too but I'm about to have dinner with Marty and his family.”
My brother's jaw drops. “What the actual fuck? Did I just miss out on six months of dating? Was there a time warp and I wasn't notified, which would be criminal because you know how I feel about that musical number!”
I chuckle despite the churning in my stomach. “No time warp, just a holiday fling that took a wrong turn.”
“Or a right turn?” He gives me one of his best pouts before realising where we are. “And what are you doing behind my bar, Peggy Mitchell?”
“It's Marty's birthday present,” I say.
“Oh, that's right. He's like eighteen today, right?”
“Ha-di-ha.”
“But seriously, what are you doing?”
“I’m making him a mocktail. I wanted to get him something for his birthday but as charming as it is, what would I get him from the resort shop?
A two-day-old Sunday Times? An inflatable slice of watermelon?
A book of sudoku puzzles? No offence but it's a bit short on exciting gift ideas. But I know he likes his mocktails so here I am.”
My brother opens his mouth but pauses a moment before he speaks. “So, what's in it?”
“I’m not quite there yet, but I know it’s going to be fruity but not too sweet, a little fizz, a little heat and of course, very colourful.”
“Wow, you almost sound like you know what you’re doing,” he says.
I'm blushing because it's true. All that scrolling of recipes was the most productive thing I did all day.
“Oh, God. Are you falling in love with him?” My brother asks, which promptly wipes the pink right out of my cheeks as I freeze, arms and chest tight.
“Jake, I barely know him...”
“All the more reason why it's entirely possible. I never fall in love with people I know well. In fact, that seems to make me fall out of love rather quickly, so I try to avoid it at all costs.”
“Let's have a conversation about that one day, please,” I say. Although we have before, many, many times.
“Don't dodge the topic. State your case that I'm not speaking the truth,” he says.
I sigh. “He lives in Dublin. I live in London.”
“Let the parish council minutes reflect she neither confirms or denies the accusations.”
I pull my eyebrows together. “Parish council meetings are not places for accusations, Jake.”
“You clearly have never been to a parish council meeting. Vicious gatherings.” He leans over the bar and his voice is lower and softer when he practically whispers in my ear. “You know it's okay to fall in love with him.”
“It's been three days, Jake,” I tell him but I'm talking to myself, especially the already simmering hot waters that swim in my gut whenever I think about any of the moments Marty and I have shared.
“And so fucking what? Please tell me you believe in love at first sight? You of all people should.”
I'm about to answer but he's pulling a ringing phone out of his pocket.
“Sweet child of my straight ex-boyfriend, it's reservations again. That's the third call in an hour,” he says.
“Problem?” I ask and he answers, shaking his head at me.
“Jake speaking.” He's all charm, even if the frown crinkling his brow remains.
I go back to taste-testing my third attempt at making the perfect mocktail, dipping a straw in what I just mixed. It's good but not quite right. Something’s missing. I bend down to look in the juice fridge another time.
“But that will mean the resort is full?” I hear Jake say, all his calm replaced with shock. “For five weeks!”
He turns around to face the restaurant, rubbing his forehead.
I follow his gaze towards the kitchen where one of the usual wait staff is manically gesturing at Jake while wearing a chef's shirt and trousers about five sizes too big.
My brother gives him a wave back that could easily mean, Come here, Stay there, Piss off, or all three.
“Okay, well, do it,” Jake says into his phone, turning back to face me, a little dazed.
“And then we need to start looking at optimising where everyone goes so we have more availability. Put a freeze on the free upgrades for the foreseeable future and send me an updated bookings schedule for the next two months before you log off for the day. Please.” He hangs up but keeps his eyes fixed on his phone.
“That sounds like you're about to get very... busy?” I say tentatively.
He looks at me, still bewildered. “Something has happened.
We've completely packed out the resort for the next month and a half. We've taken more new bookings in the last two days than we have all year. After the Bouras’ told me I had to increase positive organic reviews by 300%, I was confident that would get a few more bookings but not this many, and not this quick,” he says when his phone is back in his pocket.
“I wish I had time to look into it, but I need to get back in the kitchen.”
“You're doing amazing, Jake. It’s probably all your hard work already paying off.”
“Maybe.” Jake's thoughts drift elsewhere for a moment but then he snaps back to me, his nose wrinkling with a quick sniff and his eyes narrowing. “Oh my Greek Orthodox God, can you smell burning?”
I don't have time to reply before he's halfway to the kitchen in a very nimble jog. I smile after him and make a mental note to go help him out with washing up or serving customers as soon as this meal is over. Then I turn my attention back to what I'm doing.
Three batches later, I have it perfected, or at least perfect enough. It's fruity with a little fizz that tickles the tongue and a little spice that warms the throat. It's so very, very Marty and I hope I don't have to explain the reasons why in front of his parents.
I thank Eric after he helps me prepare five glasses of the drink, leaving them in the fridge to stay cool.
He then pours me the glass of white wine I suddenly need more than I care to admit.
After quickly looking at the reservations list, Eric points to a table that I walk over to. Then I sit down and wait.
As it happens, I don't have to wait long. I barely have two sips of wine, muttering, “Everything’s going to be okay,” to myself a handful of times, before I'm watching the tall, striking figure of Marty walk towards me.
He's wearing faded but fitted black jeans and a baby-blue polo shirt that's tucked in, accentuating his narrow waist and broad shoulders.
His hair looks like he's just stepped out of the shower, which conjures up the best recent memories, and I catch a glimpse of his naked ankles in his Birkenstocks.
He's never looked sexier, and maybe older even, like I really wouldn't have said he was just turning twenty-four.
But if I'm honest, I'm past even caring about this.
What I care and am delighted about is that he's alone.
I stand to take a step toward him but he's already there, jogging the last few metres and pulling me straight into his orbit as his hands cup my face and he takes a long deep kiss from my lips.
“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, completely unfiltered and genuine, and I should have put more chilli in that mocktail because the amount I settled on now feels very under-representative of the instant fire in my chest and between my legs.
“Happy birthday, again,” I say, and I stretch as far as I can up on my toes and rub his nose with mine. “Are you surprising me and saying your parents got a better offer?”
“You sound far too hopeful,” he says, and his hands slide down to hold my waist against him. “But I'm sorry, no. They're on their way but I had to come early and do this.”
He kisses me again, this time with enough force that I almost stumble back, and I feel an uncomfortable twinge in my neck from the angle he moves me in.
That is why I'm a moment late in realising that his hands have slid lower, grabbing a substantial handful of my butt in each palm and pushing my stomach against the place where Marty is growing hard.
I'm starting to think it could easily be criminal that he's that big, hard and ready for me already and we have to wait hours before he can slide inside me, but then we hear a loud, intentional cough.
“Would you please extract your tongue from my sister's mouth?” I hear Jake say from somewhere behind Marty. Obeying, Marty pulls back, and we both turn to him.
“Jealous, Sweet Cheeks?” Marty asks with a grin that is much too cocky, even feeling what I'm feeling against my belly button.
“Of a meal with a lover's parents who are possibly closer in age and cultural references to me than the man who's dicking me? No, thank you very much. Believe me when I say I can handle a lot of drama but even I couldn't cope with that.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jake,” I say as I step back and find my chair.
“Didn't have you down as a bottom, Resort Manager. But good to know.” Marty winks as he also sits down.
“Everything okay back there?” I jump in just as I see Jake’s mouth open to reply with something equally inappropriate.
“Not in the slightest,” Jake says with a pained smile.
“We're down to our last ten scallops - which is easily our most popular starter, and we have another fifty covers coming this evening - and unbelievably someone just burnt soup, so am pretty sure I'll have aged ten years by the time tonight is over.”
“You're a man down in the kitchen?” Marty couldn't look more interested.
“Two men down now. Our head chef is off with flu, and I've just had to send our commis chef home for sneezing a little too close to our dessert station. I refuse to take any chances.”
“Jesus, that's a fucker. How can I help?” Marty says standing up again.
I am too stunned to protest - the horror of even imagining having dinner alone with his parents and sister grips me - but I don't have to thanks to my brother.
“And leave my poor sister to get ripped to pieces by parents who are no doubt as quick-witted and dry in the sense of humour department as you?
You must think I don't actually love the only living family member who gives a monkey's about me? Sit your admittedly cute backside down and take good care of her, please.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Marty gives a quick salute before he sits down.
“And please ensure nobody orders the scallops!” Jake declares before marching off.
“Love you, Jakey,” I say to his back.
When it's just us, and after a quick scout of the entrance to check his family aren't on their way, I lean towards Marty.
“How are you doing, birthday boy?”
“Me, I’m fine. The question is how you are, and if you’re ready for this? It's going to be an absolute shit show, you know. My mum has had plenty of warnings today, but so far she's ignored every single one.”
“What's the worst that could happen?” I ask, both as a joke and because I’m now a little worried what the answer could be.
“Tears? A tantrum? A mental breakdown? And that's just me, I haven't even considered the possibilities for my mother. Now, are we sitting in the right seats to get the best view of the sunset?” he asks.
I lean over and rake my fingers through his hair.
“Yes, that was my first thought too.” I brush his lips with mine.
My intention wasn't for it to be more than that, but he's quick to nudge my mouth open and find my tongue with his, and I'm too enraptured with how he’s stroking my neck and how he smells – sun cream, cinnamon, lemon and fresh air - to stop it deepening, which it does until we are jolted apart from the loudest, most severe throat-clearing noise I've heard in my life.
Please be my brother. Please be my brother. Please be my brother. I beg the universe as I open my eyes.
It is not my brother.