Chapter 6 #2
“The snow’s stopped, so do you think there’s any chance, in the next day or two, that I’ll be able to get to Bobblecombe, or at least to the nearest town with a station?”
“No, I don’t.” What else could he say? The chances of Ru getting away—with his help, because the guy’s car was dead, awaiting burial—had been at zero earlier, but now they were sliding well and truly into the negatives.
Ru nodded, his expression resigned as though he’d already known the answer. He looked out of the window and shivered as he wrapped his arms around himself.
“You’re cold.” It wasn’t a question. The farmhouse, for all its solid construction, could be drafty in places, especially during a hard storm like this one.
“A bit,” Ru admitted, rubbing his arms. “It’s fine though. I’m just not used to proper country cold. London never gets like this.”
Without comment, Jake strode from the kitchen, returning moments later with a thick, navy blue cable-knit jumper.
“Here,” he said, thrusting it at Ru. “This should help.”
Ru blinked in surprise, then accepted the garment with a grateful smile. “Thank you. That’s really kind.”
“Can’t have you freezing to death in my kitchen.”
Ru pulled the jumper over his head, emerging with his hair even more tousled than before.
The garment was comically large on him, the sleeves extending well past his fingertips, the hem reaching almost to mid-thigh.
But the relief on his face, as the thick wool enveloped him, was immediate and genuine.
“Better?” Jake asked, trying to ignore the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Ru wearing his clothes.
“Much,” Ru agreed, snuggling into the jumper’s warmth.
“Normally, I’d have the fire going by now, but—”
“You’ve been completely thrown out of your routine by finding a waif and stray making themselves at home in your barn.” Ru’s lips twisted in a wry smile.
“I suppose you could say that.”
“Well, this particular waif and stray is very glad you found him.”
Jake answered with a sharp nod. He had no idea what to say. Had he always been like this? Maybe, because he’d had the words terse and sullen thrown at him more than once. He’d never been one for wasting words, preferring to say it like was, but those things? No, not before—
He cleared his throat. “You must be hungry.” Along with neglecting to get the fire going, there had been no breakfast, either.
All he’d given Ru was a begrudging cup of tea.
He glanced at the wall clock, surprised to see it was nearly lunch time.
What did the guy eat? Not much, from the looks of him.
He was, but only just, on the right side of skinny but it would only take a few missed meals and he’d be well and truly across the line.
“A little. Maybe a piece of fruit? I really don’t want to be any more of an inconvenience than I already am.”
“You’ll be even more of one if you flake out on me. Sausage sandwich.”
“What? Ah, I don’t really eat… Erm, yes. Thank you. That’d be good,” Ru said quickly.
Quick food, easy food, but good food. The sausages were organic, from a neighbouring farm, and the bread homemade sourdough from the same place.
I don’t really eat… What? Jake’s eyes narrowed.
Sorry, hun, there’s not an avocado within fifty miles for you to smash.
Jake strode over to the fridge, pulling out what he needed.
“Can I help?”
“No. But thanks,” he added. He’d always been brisk, as he liked to put it, though others wouldn’t always agree with his choice of word.
“You could make some coffee. I’ve got a basic cafetière.
” He pulled out a bag of good ground coffee from the fridge.
The all-singing, all-dancing machine had long since disappeared, along with the top of the range cookware.
Jake hadn’t bothered with replacing the machine, and the pots and pans he now possessed had come from a discount homeware shop in Plymouth.
They did the job, even if they didn’t have a fancy French name and an even fancier price tag attached.
As they moved around the kitchen, Jake found himself acutely aware of Ru’s presence, of the soft squeak of his rubber soled shoes on the stone floor, the quiet hum he made as he sorted out the coffee, and the way he absently pushed his hair back from his forehead.
It had been so long since Jake had shared his home with anyone that he’d forgotten the subtle dance of coexistence, the small adjustments and accommodations that happened automatically when another person entered your orbit. The muscles in his stomach flexed.
Outside, the snow started to fall once more, insulating them from the world beyond the farmhouse walls.
The kitchen windows had frosted at the edges, creating a frame of delicate ice crystals around the wintry landscape beyond.
The effect was cooly beautiful, like looking at the world through the border of a Christmas card.
Christmas. The thought struck Jake suddenly.
It was only days away. He hadn’t made any plans, hadn’t seen the point, not with just him and Monty.
The festivities had lost whatever appeal they’d had, with the day itself just another to be got through.
But there was another day he marked, the date ringed in red in his big desk diary in his office.
Would Ru still be here? Even if it stopped snowing now, clearing the roads would take time, especially up here on the edge of the moor, and along the remote tracks that led to Bobblecombe.
It was entirely possible that his unexpected guest would still be under his roof when Christmas not only arrived, but had departed, too.
The thought should have alarmed him. But what alarmed him more, was that he wasn’t.
The coffee made, the food followed a few minutes after. Taking the plates to the table, Jake pushed one of them across to Ru.
Picking it up, Ru looked at it as if he had no idea what to do with the huge house brick of a sandwich, with bits of sausage poking out the sides. He bit into it, fast and sudden, and closed his eyes as he groaned in sausage induced ecstasy.
He chewed slowly, lost in his own world, his lips slick with melted butter and sausage fat. Jake held his own sandwich, clamped between his hands. He watched, mesmerised as a deer caught in car headlights, as Ru’s mouth worked the food, the tip of his tongue making regular sweeps of his lips.
A sausage fell out of Jake’s sandwich on to his plate.
Fucking hell. Since when was a sausage sandwich a turn on? His dick twitched in his underwear, waking up for the first time since he couldn’t remember when.
This was not what he needed or wanted. No way.
Averting his eyes, he bit into his own sandwich as he sent up a prayer for a sudden break in the weather.