Chapter 10 Quin #2
Kit edged towards him. “I’ve never had a cactus before.”
Quin didn’t breathe as Kit took the plant from him, their fingers brushing. Quin felt his face warm in embarrassment at the contrast between his thick, clumsy digits and Kit’s small, delicate ones. Kit held the cactus with care as he took it and placed it on the windowsill.
“I’ll keep the curtains open during the day so it doesn’t die,” Kit said, though it was more of a remark to himself than to Quin. Quin didn’t mind. He was just glad Kit had accepted the present. It meant he could get him something even better next time.
Kit spent a few more moments contemplating the placement of the cactus, moving it this way and that until he seemed content. He turned back to Quin. “Thank you.”
Quin scratched his beard. “It’s my pleasure.”
Kit nodded, then glanced towards the kitchen. “Oh!” he said. Quin whipped his head to follow Kit as he blurred to stand by the countertop. He pointed at the bright red electric kettle. “I got that delivered yesterday, especially for your tea.”
Quin felt a flare of guilt pass through him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you out.”
Kit waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Now, what kind of tea would you like?”
“What have you got?”
Kit cracked open a cupboard, not allowing Quin to see inside. “If you tell me your favourite, I can see if I have it.”
“I’m happy with anything from a builder’s brew to a chai latte,” Quin said, hoping that being less picky would be helpful.
Kit’s head rolled back in obvious frustration. “Well, which is it?”
“Um. What about Earl Grey?”
Kit craned his neck around and gave him a withering look. “Those are three distinct options.”
“If you just tell me what you’ve got, then—”
“Fine!” Kit threw open the cabinet with such force that Quin was concerned it would fly off its hinges. “There. Which one.”
Quin gaped at the inside of the cupboard, which contained no fewer than thirty types of tea. He spotted the old classics like chamomile, peppermint, and English Breakfast, and flavours he was less familiar with, like rooibos, matcha, and turmeric.
Kit leaned against the counter, arms hugging his waist. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
He didn’t like seeing Kit looking so self-conscious, but Quin couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face. “So you cleaned out the entire Co-op for me?”
“I only got one of each,” Kit said defensively, then seemed to realise Quin was joking. “Couldn’t risk not having your favourite,” he added.
“I appreciate it,” Quin said. It was probably the sweetest, if most erratic, gesture someone had made for him in as long as he could remember.
“So which one?”
“How about you choose?”
Kit turned back to the cupboard, bringing down a green box. “I was curious about this one.” He flashed the box to Quin. Liquorice.
He tried not to make a face. “Whatever you want.”
Kit filled the kettle and stuck it on. “I’ve not made a cup of tea for around forty years,” he said. It reminded Quin that although Kit looked young, he’d been a vampire for longer than Quin had been alive.
“I can do it if you’d rather,” Quin offered.
“A bet’s a bet,” Kit said, crouching to pull a mug out of a lower cabinet. He brandished it at Quin. “I got this for you, too.”
Quin’s cactus was inadequate compared to the lengths Kit had gone. The mug was comically large—the size of Kit’s face. It faded from midnight blue to seafoam green, and it looked almost like a soup bowl. As Quin studied it some more, he thought it might truly be a soup bowl.
“That’s enormous,” he said. “Where did you pick that up?”
“I ordered it from one of the pottery shops,” Kit said as he popped a teabag into the mug. Kit looked between the box of tea and the mug. “Do you think it might need two teabags?”
Again, Quin fought to keep a straight face. “I’m sure one will be fine.”
Kit ignored him and put an extra teabag into the mug, and then after another moment of contemplation, added a third. “This way, you’ll definitely taste the liquorice,” he explained.
Quin couldn’t imagine anything worse. But he didn’t stop Kit as he poured the now-boiled water into the mug, anise filling the room. Quin struggled not to gag as he breathed it in.
“It might be a bit strong,” he ventured, hoping Kit would take the hint.
Kit sniffed at the air, his nose turning up delicately. “Wow. That’s pungent.”
That was one word for it. “What would happen if you tried to drink it?” Quin asked, curious.
“Nothing good. I attempted a burger once. Won’t ever be making that mistake again.” Kit brought the mug over and set it on the coffee table. “There. Bet satisfied.”
“Don’t suppose you have any biscuits?” Quin asked, desperate to avoid tasting the tea for as long as possible. “Kinda goes hand in hand, you know?”
Kit rolled his eyes. “You’re a demanding guest.” Even as he complained, he went back to another cupboard and, with a sheepish expression, threw open the door.
If Quin had been impressed by the amount of tea Kit had, it had nothing on his biscuit stash.
He really did wonder this time if Kit had cleared out the local shop.
“Which biscuit?” Kit asked.
Quin was already screwed with the tea flavour, so he figured he might as well continue down the path he was on. “Dealer’s choice.”
Kit gnawed on his lip with a fang as he looked up at the overfilled cupboard. A bead of blood welled where he broke the skin, and he sucked his lip into his mouth. Quin had a fleeting thought about being the one to suck on Kit’s lip instead, before being brought back to reality when Kit spoke.
“How about a Hobnob?” Kit pulled the pack down before waiting for Quin’s answer.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Hobnobs, he could do. “Sounds perfect.”
Kit pottered around, laying half a dozen biscuits down in a circular pattern on a large plate, before bringing it over and placing it beside the mug on the table.
He then finally sat down, perching on the armchair opposite Quin.
Just like he had when he was at Quin’s place, Kit sat on the arm of the chair and put his feet on the seat.
It looked somewhat precarious in terms of balance, but Kit seemed comfortable enough with his go-to position.
The grey sweatshirt he wore was so oversized that it kept slipping down his neck and revealing a tantalising hint of shoulder.
Instead of imagining sinking his teeth into Kit’s bare flesh, Quin took a Hobnob and tried to nibble it without getting crumbs in his beard. He wasn’t successful on either count.
It was then that he noticed Kit was staring at him.
“What?” Quin asked, then coughed as a bit of dry biscuit stuck in his throat.
“The tea,” Kit said over the sound of Quin choking half to death.
Quin looked forlornly at the steaming mug of liquorice tea. On one hand, he needed to clear his throat. On the other, he might actually die if forced to drink something as disgusting as liquorice. He picked up the tea and took a difficult sip, the vapours wafting from it making his eyes water.
He tried to make an appreciative noise, but his face must have betrayed him.
“What’s wrong with it?” Kit asked.
“I…don’t like liquorice,” Quin admitted.
Kit blinked. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because I didn’t want to be a bother.”
Kit waved a hand towards the cupboard. “I bought over a dozen different flavours of tea, and you let me make you the one you don’t enjoy?”
Quin’s face heated. “Yes.”
Kit sighed dramatically. “I’ll get you something else.” He took Quin’s mug from his hands and dumped the disgusting tea down the sink.
Quin couldn’t deny his relief at seeing it go.
“All right, which tea would you actually like?” Kit asked.
“I’ll go for a palate cleanser. Bog standard Tetley, please.”
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Dash of milk and two sugars.”
Kit turned to him. “Two sugars? What are you, a child?”
“I have a sweet tooth,” Quin said.
“Clearly,” Kit muttered to himself as he made a fresh cup of tea.
Only with two tea bags, which Quin nodded his approval of before Kit poured the water in.
This time, when Kit brought it over, Quin could enjoy the perfect cup of tea, dunking the Hobnobs in one by one until he’d eaten far too many.
They chattered about this and that, and made plans for Quin’s change when the full moon hit later in the week.
When Quin finished the tea, Kit stood up. “What one now?”
“Huh?”
“Tea, Quin,” Kit said, with the air of someone who was dealing with a toddler. “What would you like?”
Quin checked his watch. It was getting late. “Chamomile?”
“Of course.” Kit performed the task in a ritualistic manner, putting the kettle on, washing Quin’s mug, drying it, popping the teabag in and finishing with the hot water to steep.
“I could get used to this,” Quin said when Kit brought the mug over to him once again.
“Being waited on hand and foot?”
“Oh, so now you’re the one with the foot thing.”
Kit glanced down at his own feet, which were, as usual, ensconced in thick socks. “You haven’t even seen my feet yet and you’re weird about them.”
“I’m really normal about your feet,” Quin argued.
Kit stretched one foot out towards Quin, waggling his toes through the fabric. “So you won’t react if I take my socks off?”
“Not at all,” Quin said, taking a sip of the tea. It was mild, and as calming as it purported to be. At least, he remained calm for all of a few seconds until Kit sat back down in the armchair and pointed his foot up like a ballerina, then pulled at the end of his sock.
Quin tried not to watch. He really did. But he found himself amused at how Kit kept peeking back at him to gauge his reaction as he took one sock off with exaggerated slowness.
When it was almost fully off, Kit stuck his tongue in his cheek and kicked the sock off with aplomb. It landed like a bullseye into Quin’s mug.
“I didn’t mean to do that!” Kit said, slapping a hand over his mouth.
Quin looked down at the mug, now complete with half-submerged sock. “I’m not drinking your toe tea,” he said quietly.
Kit giggled. Full-on giggled, and the sound was delightful. “Well, at least that answers one question.”
“Which question?”
“Whether you have a foot fetish. If you did, you’d have guzzled that right up.” Kit tried to keep a straight face for all of a second, but his eyes were shining with humour and he shook with silent laughter.
“I demand a replacement,” Quin said, pointing to the mug. “And I’ll be leaving a scathing review of the place, just so you know. Terrible service all around.”
They shared an amused look, and Quin felt like he might have melted Kit’s frosty exterior.
All it took was a few cups of tea and a faked foot fetish.