Chapter Twelve
Owen
Peace, Love & Pancakes was an adorable little American-diner-style place tucked away on one side of town with a hand-painted sign and big windows with rainbow bunting hanging across the top of them.
It had this lovely welcoming feel, the smell of fresh coffee, pancakes and sizzling bacon greeting you as soon as you walked through the door.
The walls were a mix of exposed brick and primrose yellow, with vintage-style posters and photos covering parts of it.
There were booths lining the walls and Formica tables with padded chairs filling the spaces, each with little jars of daisies and carnations sitting next to the packets of sugar, paper napkins, and salt and pepper shakers.
There was a counter at the front and behind that a window into the kitchen. More bunting was hung across the counter, and next to the till, in a little pot of pens, was a tiny American flag next to a Progress Pride one.
It was owned by Faith, an American woman originally from Georgia, and her wife, Louise, and the pair of them made everyone who came in feel like family.
Their breakfast menu was a work of art, and the last time I’d been here I’d spent ages chatting to Faith about it, because it was everything I loved about cooking.
It was the perfect balance of familiar, comforting, and delicious, and had allowed Faith to bring a little bit of her home to Yorkshire, celebrating the best of both parts of the world.
The result was a menu which wasn’t fully American but not English either—just a tasty mash-up of the two.
I was surprised Darcy hadn’t been here before, but from what he’d said, he hadn’t done much more than renovate the shop, open the shop, and make ice cream since he’d moved back. With the occasional breaks for sleep, meals, and washing.
With luck, getting him out and about would make him realise he didn’t have to be attached to Lick It! twenty-four-seven, although hopefully our hookups were starting to help him see that too. And if not, I was happy to keep taking him to bed until he did.
Darcy was so gorgeous when he came. I’d be playing the sounds he made in my head for years.
I could still hear them now as I looked at him sitting on the other side of the booth, his tongue poking out as he looked at the laminated menu, twisting a few strands of golden hair in his fingers.
The loose T-shirt he’d chosen skimmed over his frame, almost making him look like he should be in some sort of ad for one of those fancy designers who charged sixty quid for a T-shirt and two hundred quid for a pair of jeans.
“Had any thoughts about what you want?” I asked, already knowing I wanted coffee, orange juice, and a breakfast burrito with a side of home fries, because I was craving something salty, spicy, and crispy.
I’d kind of made up my mind before we’d even arrived, but I wasn’t in any rush.
I wanted Darcy to take his time and enjoy himself.
“Hmm, it’s a toss-up between the French toast, the blueberry pancakes, or the breakfast special,” he said, his eyes roaming across the menu as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t make any of them at home, but I’m not sure if I want sweet or savoury.
I mean, I love sweet food but what if it’s too sweet, you know? What if I need something savoury too?”
“The pancakes come with crispy bacon,” I said. “And I’m going to get a side of home fries if you wanted to share them? They’re like these awesome little fried potato cubes with paprika, cayenne pepper, onion, a bit of garlic. They’d be perfect if you need something to cut through the sweetness.”
“Ohh, they do sound amazing. Okay, pancakes it is then.” He grinned at me as he put the menu down. “Luckily I’m not sure blueberry pancake will really translate into an ice cream flavour, so I don’t have to worry about my brain fixating on that for the next hour.”
I chuckled softly, gently sliding my leg out to brush my foot against his. “And we already have several flavours in the works, with even more lined up for testing.”
“True. I really don’t need to add anything more to my plate.”
“No, you don’t.”
He nodded, his smile softening as he hooked his foot around mine. “I appreciate you calling me out. Or at least, trying to keep me honest.”
“I know it’s tough, trying to get the balance right with life and work, especially when you’re running your own business. But you deserve a life that’s more than work, Darcy. You need things that make your soul sing.”
“What if that thing is ice cream?”
“Then you have to find a way to make it about doing it for the love of it, not work. But also, I do think you need something outside of ice cream too, since you turned it into an awesome business.”
“I thought the advice was do what you love, then you’ll never work a day in your life?” he asked, the little glint in his eye suggesting even he knew that was bullshit.
“No, they only say that so you’ll work more. Capitalism will squeeze you for everything you’ve got.”
“And then some,” Darcy said. He gazed out of the window for a moment, watching people in the street. “I guess your hobbies are swimming? And surfing?”
“Yeah, and I like paddleboarding and kite surfing too—anything that gets me out on the water. Cooking, obviously. And getting tattooed, but I’m not sure if you’d count it as a hobby.”
Darcy chuckled. “Maybe? It’s something you enjoy doing, so I guess it counts.”
“In which case, we’re totally counting having sex as a hobby too,” I said, lowering my voice and leaning across the table. His hand was still resting by the menu, and I casually intertwined my fingers with his. “Because I really enjoy making you come, angel.”
Darcy’s face flushed bright pink, his eyes widening as he glanced around in case anyone else had heard what I’d said. “Owen! You can’t say that,” he hissed.
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because… because…” He opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.
So, of course, Louise picked that moment to come over and take our order, smiling warmly at both of us. “What can I get you, boys?”
I smiled charmingly, casually releasing Darcy’s hand so I didn’t make him uncomfortable. “I don’t think anyone’s called me that in a while.”
“Anyone younger than thirty-five is always going to be a boy to me,” Louise said with a wink. She studied the pair of us closely, paying particular attention to Darcy. “You run Lick It!, don’t you? Down on Saltgate. I thought I recognised you.”
“Yeah, I do,” Darcy said, the relief evident on his face as he snapped into professional mode. “It’s myself and two friends, then Owen here is one of our fabulous chefs.”
“We love your stuff. That strawberry and cream is perfection. And the lemon curd! I think I could eat it by the bucket. You don’t happen to sell tubs do you?”
“Not yet, but it’s one thing I’ve been considering,” Darcy said smoothly. “I need to look at our infrastructure and see whether it’s feasible, especially since we’re quite a small kitchen. But it’s good to know it’s something people want.”
“Well, if you ever have them, I’ll be first in line.
” She smiled warmly and we both returned it, but inside I was cursing.
Because while producing ice cream tubs might be a good commercial suggestion, I was trying to convince Darcy to work less, and that wasn’t going to help.
If he decided it was something he wanted to do, he’d plaster himself to the kitchen until he figured out how to make it work.
And there weren’t enough hours in the day for him to do that and live.
Maybe I’d have to try tying him to the bed… I could get some nice cuffs or some soft rope. It’d be fun for both of us. And the perfect distraction.
We ordered our food and a couple of drinks each, and Louise promised it wouldn’t be long. I told her there was no rush and Darcy shot me a quizzical look as she walked away. “We have to get to work though?”
“We’ve got plenty of time,” I said, taking his hand again and squeezing. “And we need to find you a new hobby. Besides sex obviously.”
“Hey, I run. That counts!”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Sort of? It’s not my favourite thing. But I like getting to see you afterwards, it’s my reward for getting through it.”
I smiled as my heart did a little flip. “I like getting to see you too. You look very cute in your shorts.”
“That’s good, because I got them for you.” He smiled teasingly, squeezing my hand. “And they are very comfortable, I really do like running in them. But mostly it was for you.”
The admission was playful, but it felt like there was more to it. A need for me to notice him, to see him and pay attention to who he was. To separate him from his work and his dreams and find out who he was underneath them, because while they were part of who he was, they weren’t everything.
And not for the first time that morning, I wondered what would happen if I left.
I knew Darcy would be fine without me, I wasn’t egotistical enough to think he needed me that much, but I did worry that, without anyone to stop him, he’d throw himself into work and burn himself to a crisp, hiding his stress behind a smile and fooling everyone into believing he was fine.
Because even though Alfie and Milo knew him inside out, Darcy had clearly learnt how to hide things from them.
He probably thought he was doing them a favour too. Not burdening them with his stress.
It didn’t work like that though.
“Hopefully I’ll get to see you in them more often,” I said. “And your T-shirts too. You look cute dressed down.”
“You don’t think it’s too casual?” he asked, plucking at the T-shirt and frowning.
“No, why would it be? You spend all your day in a kitchen making ice cream—comfortable and practical is the name of the game here.”
“True.” He sighed then chuckled. “Next thing you know I’ll be wearing those ugly chef’s Crocs.”
“Hey, don’t knock them, they’re awesome. I might have to get some more. My last pair died before I moved back.”
“Just let Alfie know what you want, and we can get you some,” he said, his thumb running over the back of my hand, slowly tracing every bump, ridge, and scar.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” He glanced out the window again, and I realised he was looking at the little stationery shop a bit further down the street.
“You know what I really used to enjoy? Colouring. I got one of those adult colouring books years ago when they got really popular, and it was so therapeutic. Do you think they still do them? I’d kind of forgotten about it until now, but that might be fun to try again. Maybe help me disconnect for a bit.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said. “Hey, if you get some watercolour markers or whatever, you can always colour my tattoos in too.”
“Really?” he asked eagerly, then he sat back and swallowed, looking away like he was embarrassed. “If that’s not too weird, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Of course not, otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it. And it’ll wash off.”
“I’d like that. Maybe we could, er, watch a movie together or something too? Maybe cook? Not ice cream, but something else.”
“I’ll always cook with you, angel. Making food for people is my favourite thing,” I said, my mind already suggesting a thousand things I wanted him to try.
Recipes I’d collected from every corner of the globe I’d been to, shared with me by the people I met.
Every one of them had a story, a memory, and I wanted nothing more than to share them with the beautiful man sitting opposite me.
“Mine too.”
“Have you ever baked bread before? That’s one of the most relaxing things I’ve ever done. It takes time, but it’s worth it in the end. And nothing smells better.”
“I haven’t. Mostly because of the multiple hours for one loaf of bread thing. I’m pretty sure I’ll spend all that time making it only to eat it within an hour.”
“Does it matter if you do?” I asked, twisting our hands slightly so our fingers were interlocked and I could hold him steady. As if my body was trying to tell him I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I guess not.”
“Food is made to be enjoyed, so enjoy it. And I’m going to make you my favourite spicy, crispy pork and rice too.”
“That sounds amazing. I can offer an apple crumble if you’re interested?”
“With custard?”
“Obviously.” He grinned. “Unless you’re desperate for ice cream.”
“Sorry, custard wins every time. Apple crumble with custard is probably the one thing I miss most when I’m travelling.
That and sticky toffee pudding, also drowning in custard.
Sometimes I have to give in and make it with whatever I can find, because even if it’s not perfect it’s something.
Plus, I’m happy to spread the cult of sticky toffee across the world. ”
“As you should! But I can definitely make you both of those,” he said, a lightness to his expression I’d rarely seen before. “And you can make me all the recipes you’ve collected.”
“And then you can colour in my tattoos.”
“And if we haven’t fallen asleep in front of the TV after that, maybe you can fuck me?”
“Absolutely, angel.” I leant over the table and kissed him, drawing it out until everything in my body relaxed. “It’s a date.”