Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Ilias
Cinnamon & Clove was a tiny café and bakery in Fulham that I’d never heard of before Oscar had suggested it. The outside was painted terracotta orange with bright lettering adorning the fascia and a scattering of bright metal tables spilling out across the pavement surrounding it, each one filled with people enjoying the April sunshine.
I saw Oscar through the window and stepped inside to join him, the heavenly smells of freshly baked goods and rich coffee filling my nose. He sat facing the door as if he wanted to keep an eye out for me, but he was currently scrolling through his phone. It gave me a moment to look him over.
His dark hair was longer and fluffier on top than it had been the last time I’d seen him, but the faded sides still bled neatly into the carefully trimmed stubble that highlighted his strong jaw. He still carried a lingering tan from his last few trips, and it suited him. The bronze of his skin was highlighted by the simple white t-shirt he was wearing that skimmed over his shoulders and wrapped around his biceps. Oscar wasn’t muscular per se, but he was toned.
A smile played across my lips because if I was handsome, so was he. We’d make a perfect couple—at least in pictures.
“Hello, beloved,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite him and shooting him my most charming smile. Oscar looked up at me and grimaced, his thick eyebrows knitting into a frown as he put his phone face down on the table. “Too soon for pet names? I’ll make a note.”
“Hey. Thanks for coming.” He didn’t return my smile, and it made something inside me flicker. Although I didn’t know Oscar well, I had discovered he was great fun to tease—gently of course. And stupidly, like a small child, his coolness made me want to react the opposite way. I knew this meeting was a serious one, but the situation was farcical, and we should at least be able to joke about it. Besides, Oscar sounded cute when he was bordering on exasperated.
“Of course. I’m not turning down an opportunity like this.” I grinned. “I’m not sure what part of it is better—the luxury hotel or the fact that I’ve suddenly acquired a boyfriend. A cute one too.”
Oscar grunted. “It’s not…”
“Not what?”
“I was going to say it isn’t like that, but it is.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”
“It seems a little late for that, especially considering the email you sent me earlier.”
“Did you read it?”
“Not all of it,” I said. “But what I did read sounded lovely. Especially the part about the couple’s massage. And the dinner on the beach.” Oscar winced, and I could partly see why.
The St. West Hualālai was part of a small, locally owned chain that had seized upon the idea of being featured in The Traveller with gusto. They’d happily put together an all-inclusive press trip along with what look liked some bumph about their diversity and inclusion policy and why they were happy to welcome and support queer guests.
It seemed a little like their marketing team might have landed on the idea of allyship as a way to make money, but I was trying not to be that cynical. Especially because I was glad we were heading somewhere locally owned rather than a massive resort chain.
“Yeah, well, they want us to have the full experience they give to… couples.”
I opened my mouth to ask a question about the way he’d said couples, but we were temporarily interrupted by a smiling waitress in a bright pink t-shirt who’d come to take our orders. I decided on a delicious-sounding roasted beetroot and halloumi salad with pomegranate seeds and thin slices of fresh peaches, a peanut butter-caramel sourdough doughnut for afterwards, and a large cappuccino.
“I hope,” I said as the waitress disappeared behind the counter, “that we’ll get a chance to explore. The hotel and excursions sound great, but I do love to have a good nosy. You find all the best places that way.”
“I hope so too,” Oscar said. “I’m sure we can find at least one free afternoon to go exploring. Not that we have to go together… If you want to go by yourself, that’s fine. I just…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you behind. It’ll be our little adventure.” I smiled at him again, and this time Oscar’s lip twitched, which I considered a minor victory. There was a moment of silence, which stretched out just long enough to become awkward.
“So… do you want to walk me through all the details?” I continued. “We should talk about our relationship as well. I want to know everything. Have we been dating long? Who asked who out? Are we in love, or is it more sexual? Have you met my family? If so, that’s definitely a sign of something serious. They’re an… interesting bunch. Very loud.”
And that was the polite way of putting it. My family was a chaotic hurricane of drama, centring largely around my nonna and my grandma, who hated each other and started cross-family feuds whenever possible. Everyone else was continuously caught in the middle and forever changing sides, so it was impossible to know who was mad at whom on any given day.
Oscar chuckled. “Mine are the same. Do you have many siblings?”
“Three brothers, all older. And about twenty cousins. Plus eight nephews and four nieces,” I said. “I’m the only one of my brothers who isn’t married.”
The waitress reappeared with a tray and slid our food onto the table. The salad looked amazing, and I picked up my fork ready to dig in, hoping we could move past the awkward part of the conversation about me not being married.
“I have five siblings,” Oscar said, looking at the enormous ciabatta sandwich stuffed with homemade pesto, heritage tomatoes, rocket, and mozzarella. “Four brothers and a sister, and I’m the second oldest. Technically, I’m only related by blood to my sister and the second youngest brother, but I’ve known the other three long enough that they feel like family, especially Lewis—the youngest—because he was only two when our mums moved in together.”
“You have queer parents?” I knew I sounded rude and that my mouth was hanging open, but I’d never met anyone near my age with queer parents. It was cool.
“Er, yeah. My mum, Eleanor, has known my stepmum, Miranda, since they were kids, and when my dad died and Miranda got divorced, they just… realised they were in love with each other.”
“Oh. That’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Oscar didn’t look convinced, and I wondered if it was a sore spot for him. I didn’t want to press him for further details though, so instead I said, “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks.” Oscar nodded, giving me another of his rare half smiles.
“Are any of your other siblings queer?”
“Yeah. All of them except one. The oldest, Richard, is straight. The rest of us are all…”
“Gay as fuck?” I grinned and stabbed one of the pieces of roasted beetroot and a piece of halloumi. The salad had been the right choice, and I was going to have to try recreating it in Dominic’s kitchen. It was either that or come back here. It would be a lovely place to work.
“Something like that. We’re all under the umbrella somewhere. But none of them are married yet. A couple have partners…” He frowned again, then shook his head. “Although I’ve just realised my sister Jules and I are the only single ones left.”
“Just wait,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. “As soon as one of them settles down, the rest of them will, and then it’ll be weddings and grandchildren and the endless nagging about why you’re still single.”
I jabbed my fork into another piece of beetroot with more force than necessary and watched as it went spinning across the bottom of the bowl. “Although, since your family is mostly queer, they might be different.”
“Speaking from experience?” Oscar asked.
“Yes.” This was my sore spot. I loved my family, even if I didn’t always like them, and the constant questions by my grandmothers, aunts, uncles, various cousins, and even my brothers was starting to drive a wedge between us. They’d accepted me being gay, but they hadn’t accepted the idea of me being single past the age of twenty-five. It was like I was some shrivelled piece of fruit that was rapidly heading past its sell-by date.
Sometimes I wished I was a rotten tomato or something just so I could throw myself at them to make them be quiet for five fucking minutes.
The only people who were on my side were my parents, who hadn’t gotten together until they were nearly thirty, and my cousin Zo?, who had her own reasons for avoiding my family.
“I’m sorry,” Oscar said. “That must suck.” He gave me a little nod, then picked up his sandwich and continued. “So details… Let’s start with the basics. Let’s say we’ve been dating… eight months. Since New York.” He took a huge bite and looked at me, waiting for me to react. I was just stuck on the fact that he’d changed the subject away from my family without wanting to know more. It made my chest flutter.
“Eight months sounds good,” I said, trying not to let on how much he’d thrown me. “I suppose I charmed you with my winning ways? Convinced you how wonderful and sexy I am.”
“Something like that. I mean, we’ve sort of known each other for a while, and dating in this job is hard. It would make sense.”
“That is the most unsexy thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. Dating for practical reasons .” I shot him another smile as I rolled my eyes in the most melodramatic way I could. “But fine, we can go with that. I’m still going to tell anyone who asks that you were won over by my bountiful charm and vivacious wit.”
“You do that,” Oscar said, and this time, he actually smirked at me.
Oh my fucking God. So there was something underneath the grumpy fa?ade. That was very interesting. It made me want to flirt harder to see if I could get more out of him, but if I pushed too much, he was liable to just clam up, and that would be even worse.
“I will.” I scooped up the last few bits of my salad. “Did we have a first date? Was it romantic?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think that matters.” Oscar took another bite of his sandwich, and I had the urge to roll my eyes again. I couldn’t tell if he was being deliberately obtuse or just poking me, but either way, it was annoying.
“Of course it matters! We need to sell this fantasy. You have to commit to it,” I said. Then I thought for a second while I chewed. “Our first date was at Lola’s. It’s this tiny Cuban restaurant in Washington Heights run by Nina and her husband Eddie and named after Nina’s abuela. The food is incredible, and it’s one of those places that you’d walk right past if you didn’t know it was there.”
“That sounds amazing.” Oscar was staring at me, and it felt like I’d said something that had struck a chord with him.
“It is. Next time you’re there, I’ll send you the address.”
He nodded. “I’d like that.”
There was another pause, but this one felt less awkward. I took a long sip of my cappuccino and reached for my doughnut. “Basic details are sorted, then. What about things like PDA?”
“We’ll be working, so we’ll need to be sort of professional,” Oscar said, frowning again. “But I guess I’m not opposed to things like hand holding. Or cheek kisses.”
“Any more?” I asked. “Are you okay with hugs? Kisses?” His frown deepened. “Just the occasional one. And I won’t use tongue. It’ll be very teenage first date but without the awkwardness.”
“Um… yeah, fine. We can do that.”
I wanted to ask why he had objections to kissing me, but I could get to that later. “Good. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
Oscar hummed as if he didn’t believe me, and I was almost offended. Then he opened his mouth and did it for real.
“As this is a press trip, and we’re supposed to be dating, you can’t go round flirting with everyone and going off with whoever takes your fancy. I don’t want to wake up and find you sneaking back in from some all-night fuck fest with a twink you found at the beach.”
“Excuse me? Do you really think that little of me?” I glared at him. This was just fucking typical—when it was all going well, he had to go and accuse me of being a slut like it was the worst thing in the world.
“How dare you be so judgemental! You said yourself that dating in this job is hard, so what if I want to have a little fun? Are you the sex police or something?” Oscar was starting to look a little contrite. Good. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted him squirming.
“Do you really think I would go to all this effort to help you out and then leave you for some rando?” I asked.
“Er… well…”
“Because that’s what you just said, and I can’t believe you wouldn’t extend me the basic courtesy of believing that I could act like a professional. You owe me big time for this shit, and I’m doing you a favour. The least you can do is not act like a pretentious, stuck-up dickhead who judges people for their choices, choices which are, coincidentally, none of your fucking business.”
“I’m sorry,” Oscar said. There was no hesitation to his words, and no insincerity either. “That was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, you shouldn’t. You should never judge people for their romantic or sexual choices as long as everyone involved is consenting and of age and nothing illegal is being done.”
“I know.” He nodded. “You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve heard that speech from.”
“Really? Are you a pretentious, judgemental twat with other people too?”
“No. It wasn’t about something I said… it was…” He thought for a second, then shook his head. “One of my brothers said it about another situation. Not involving me. It was one of them. They’re fine. It was nothing bad. They were just making a point about something.” He grimaced as his eyes met mine.
“I’m really sorry, Ilias,” he continued. “I’m so nervous about this trip, and I’m worried I’ve dragged you into this hole I’ve dug, but I shouldn’t be taking my worries out on you. I shouldn’t have thought less of you.”
“No, you shouldn’t. But I accept your apology,” I said as I pulled apart my doughnut, watching the peanut butter and caramel ooze onto the plate. “If you say it again though, you’ll be on your own. We’ll have the messiest, most public non-breakup-breakup ever. There’ll be screaming and plate throwing and everything.”
“I think I’d deserve that.” Oscar looked down at his dessert, which looked like a pastry twist brushed with jam and covered in icing and slivers of almonds. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because of what I just said. You must think—well, I know you think I’m a colossal dickhead.”
I thought for a second while I ran a bit of dough across my plate to mop up the caramel. The truth was, I still wasn’t sure why I was agreeing to the trip. There were hints that Oscar and I could pull this off, that we might be vaguely compatible or at least able to fake a bit of weak chemistry. But there was still so much about each other we didn’t know, and we’d already managed to have one argument.
But there was something about him that pulled me in like I was on the edge of a gravity well and couldn’t escape. I couldn’t see myself backing out even if I wanted to.
“It’s fine,” I said. “A rocky start doesn’t mean a rocky ending. Besides, my hopes are up now. You’ll have to work a lot harder to dissuade me from a week in paradise.”
“Okay, then. If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t sure I believed it though.