Chapter Five
“Another coffee?” Dave couldn’t believe how quickly the afternoon had passed.
It was almost time for Chris to walk through the door, and Dave was trying not to think about that.
When they’d got back to the house on Sunday, Chris had shown a little interest in Jeff, asking why he’d never met him until then.
Dave had told him Jeff was a new friend, and Chris had seemed content to leave it there.
Coming home to find him in the house was bound to raise more questions—and one concern.
I want him to like Jeff. The realization came as a surprise.
“Sure.” Jeff’s eyes sparkled. “But I’m starting to think you lied about the crumpets.”
He laughed. “We can’t have that.” He got up from the table, went over to the cabinet, opened it, and removed an unopened packet of nine crumpets. He held them up with a grin. “See? Crumpets.” Then he brought the cafetiere to the table to refill their mugs.
Jeff folded his arms. “You’re not out of the woods yet. You said we’d toast them by the fire.”
Dave narrowed his gaze. “A toaster isn’t good enough for you?”
“Nothing to do with toasters. I’m simply holding you to your promise.” His eyes held a cheeky glint. “Or do I have to make a complaint?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Trade Descriptions Act, mate. I could have you for misleading me.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Dave rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll light a fire.” Not that he minded. In fact, for the first time in a long while, he was enjoying himself.
He reached into another cabinet and brought out two side plates. Then he retrieved the butter from the fridge, and a knife from the drawer. He went into the sitting room, deposited his items beside him on the rug, knelt in front of the grate, and moved the screen aside.
Jeff followed him, bringing their mugs of coffee. “Hey, don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
Dave laughed. “Make up your mind.” He turned his head to look at him. “It’s okay, I usually light it before Chris gets home anyway. It’s a winter habit. He comes in from school, I make him hot chocolate, and he sits on the rug in front of the fire and tells me about his day.”
“That sounds like a great habit.”
Dave placed twists of newspaper between two blocks of wood, then balanced the kindling in a criss-cross pattern on top of them, before adding a couple of logs.
He lit the paper, and the kindling caught quickly.
Then he crossed his legs and gestured to the rug.
“Come on, squat. You can’t toast a crumpet from there. ”
Jeff gaped. “I have to toast my own crumpets?”
“Hey, I never said I’d do it for you. That wasn’t part of the offer.” He took the mug Jeff held out, and Jeff hunkered down next to him. “It’ll take a while before the fire is hot enough for toasting.”
“But we’ll end up toasting our fingers too, won’t we?”
Dave chuckled. He pointed to the fork leaning against the chimney breast. “This is especially for crumpets. You stick the three prongs into the side of the crumpet, then hold it to the flames. Only, not too close, or you’ll end up cremating it.
” He drank a little of his coffee. “I think you said you’ve been playing Santa for a couple of years? ”
Jeff nodded. “The little kids are the best. You know, the ones that still believe, who think they’re meeting the one and only. I love that Christmas look, all wide-eyed wonder. But as they get older, they change. It becomes, ‘I want… I want… I want…’”
“Chris wasn’t like that, was he?” Dave’s stomach clenched. Chris was growing up to be a generous, warm-hearted individual, and Dave hated to think that avarice could creep in as he got older.
“Hell, no. Chris was… well, he was sweet.” Jeff’s eyes twinkled. “And I’m still not going to tell you what he asked for.”
“I wasn’t asking, honest.” He opened the packet of crumpets, removed two, and speared one on the toasting fork. “Want me to go first? To show you how it’s done?” He bit back a smile.
Jeff arched his eyebrows. “I think I can manage.” He put down his mug, took the fork, and held it out to the fire.
“Closer. At that distance, it won’t even get a tan, let alone toasted.”
Jeff edged it a little closer, turning it now and then. Then he pulled it back hastily when flames licked the edges. Dave used the knife to pry it from the fork, then handed it to Jeff. “Help yourself to butter.” He readied his own crumpet.
The front door opened. “Dad?”
“We’re in here,” Dave called out, his pulse racing a little. He caught the clomp of Chris kicking off his shoes and dropping his school bag, then he charged into the sitting room, stopping dead at the sight of Jeff, his mouth full of crumpet.
“Oh. Hi. You’re the man from the fair.”
Jeff swallowed. “Yup. You’re just in time for crumpets.”
Chris beamed. “Great.” He came over to them, bent down, and kissed Dave on the cheek. “Hi.”
“Ooh, your face is cold.” Dave gave him a one-armed hug. “Go get out of your uniform, wash your hands, and by then I’ll have your hot chocolate waiting for you.”
Chris was out of there in a heartbeat.
Dave handed the fork to Jeff. “Take care of this while I make his drink. He can have that one. He’s always peckish when he gets home.” He looked Jeff in the eye. “Be ready.”
“For what?” Jeff asked with a frown.
“Well, for one thing, you’re the first visitor to the house that isn’t his aunt Janine. He’s going to ask questions.” He went into the kitchen.
If he knew Chris, there would be a ton of questions.
“How do you know my dad?” Chris asked as Jeff handed him a second buttered crumpet.
“We got talking over coffee.” Jeff glanced at Dave. “And we talked a lot. When he found out I was a builder, he told me about your house, then invited me to see it.”
“What do you build?”
“Houses, office blocks, all kinds of buildings really.”
Chris drank a little. “Are you good at it?”
Dave coughed. “Chris. That’s not something you should be asking.”
Jeff laughed. “It’s okay.” He smiled at Chris. “I think I am. I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen, so I should be by now, don’t you think?”
Chris nodded, then turned to his dad. “Can Jeff stay for dinner?”
What?
Jeff jerked his head to look at Dave, who stared at Chris, blinking. “That’s a nice idea, but I’m sure Jeff has other plans for his evening.”
No, I don’t. I really don’t.
Chris frowned. “But you don’t know that.” He turned to Jeff. “Do you have to go?”
Now what do I say? “Well, I…”
“It’s lasagne tonight. Dad always makes loads of it. Please stay.” Chris’s brow wrinkled, his blue eyes focused on Jeff.
“Chris.” Dave’s voice was quiet. When Chris fell silent, Dave gave Jeff an apologetic glance. “He’s right though, there is plenty to go around. And if you want to stay, you’d be more than welcome. But please, don’t feel you have to say yes, even if Chris is doing a good job of twisting your arm.”
“The arm-twisting is nothing compared to the puppy dog eyes,” Jeff confessed.
Dave chuckled. “Oh, believe me, he’s perfected that look.”
“Then you’ll stay?” Chris demanded. When Jeff nodded, his face lit up. “Would you like to see my room?”
Jeff burst out laughing. “Talk about whiplash.” He grinned. “I’d love to see your room.”
“Great.” Chris was up off the rug and dashing out of the room.
Dave chuckled. “I have no idea where he gets his energy from. He’s like this from the moment he wakes up until he goes to bed. He exhausts me sometimes.”
Jeff got to his feet. “Another tour.” He walked out of the sitting room and into the small hallway. Chris’s door stood ajar, but he knocked anyway. “Okay to come in?”
“Sure.”
The room was smaller than the two upstairs, and it had a charm of its own.
There were shelves along one wall, on which stood model dinosaurs, and dinosaurs adorned the duvet cover.
On another wall were posters from films: Jeff recognized Cars, Coco, and Lego Batman.
A bookcase stood beside the bed, stuffed with books.
“Dinosaur fan, huh?”
Chris smiled. “Papa bought me the first one, a stegosaurus.” He sat on the bed with a bounce. “Did you know Papa too?”
Jeff sat next to him on the small bed. “No. I saw photos of him today though.” He cocked his head. “You must miss him.”
“Yeah, I do, but not as much as Dad does, I think.” He locked gazes with Jeff. “Are you gay too?”
“Yes.” He’d been prepared for questions, but Chris’s forthright manner was still surprising.
“Are you married? You don’t have a ring.”
“No, I’m not married.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Nope. It’s just me.”
Chris picked up the T-Rex that stood on top of the bookcase, turning it over. “Do you like my dad?”
Oh dear Lord.
“He’s a nice man,” Jeff said diplomatically.
“He’s great. He can cook too.”
Jeff couldn’t help thinking Chris was attempting to sell his dad as a prospective boyfriend, which wasn’t a surprise, given his request to Santa. “Is he a good cook?”
Chris nodded with obvious enthusiasm. “I love it when he makes spaghetti Bolognese, but he says I make too much mess.”
“Want to help me make garlic bread?” Dave called out.
“Coming!” Chris lurched up off the bed, and Jeff followed, albeit with less bounce.
Dave was at the kitchen table, on which had been placed two baguettes, the tub of butter, and a small heap of finely chopped garlic. He smiled when he saw Chris. “You know what to do. I’ve already cut the bread.”
Jeff watched as Chris took a bowl from a cabinet, spooned butter into it, then tipped in the garlic and stirred the two together. “You’ve done this before.”
Chris grinned. “Dad always lets me make the garlic bread.”
“As long as he remembers the rule.” Dave peered at his son, his eyes twinkling. “And what’s the rule?”
Chris bit his lip. “Wash my hands before I touch my eyes,” he said with a sigh.
Jeff winced. “Ow.”
“Your aunt Janine called today. She’s singing in a pub next week.”
Chris’s face fell. “That means I can’t go, doesn’t it?”
“Not so fast. She also says there are seats outside, and you’d be able to sit there.”
Chris widened his eyes. “Can we go then?”