Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Matt let himself through the side gate to find Owen sitting on the patio, a mug on the table. “There you are.”
The warmth in his voice made Matt smile. “Sorry. I got held up.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to convince myself the last section of my dissertation doesn’t need another three hours of work.”
“And did you succeed?”
“Not remotely.”
Owen laughed, stood, and took a step towards him.
For a moment, Matt expected the familiar greeting of a hand at his waist or a quick kiss. Maybe even being pulled against Owen’s chest before either of them had said another word.
Instead, Owen touched his shoulder. “Come in.”
Matt followed him inside. It was such a small thing that he almost laughed at himself for noticing.
Except he did notice.
Nothing’s wrong.
Owen had smiled when he’d seen him. He’d sounded pleased.
Maybe he’s tired.
Matt glanced at Owen as he crossed the kitchen.
Perhaps he’s trying to give me a little space.
After all, the last few weeks had changed things. The island had definitely changed things. The way Owen had trusted him had changed everything.
Maybe Owen’s simply being careful.
The thought should have reassured him.
It left him feeling uncertain.
Then Matt saw the second mug already waiting on the counter. “You made me one?”
Owen glanced over his shoulder. “Of course.” That familiar grin appeared.
Whatever small doubt had crept into Matt’s head disappeared.
He picked up the mug. “Then I forgive you.”
“For what?”
“All the work you’re going to make me do this afternoon.”
Owen laughed. “There are those trays of bedding plants we bought yesterday to be planted, and the roses to be dead-headed, the lawn to be mowed, the—”
“I get it,” Matt said with a chuckle. “Get my arse in gear.” He followed Owen through to the lounge, feeling lighter.
Whatever Owen was thinking, whatever little adjustment he was making, they were still here, together.
That was what mattered.
At least, that was what Matt told himself.
By the time the film started, the coffee had disappeared and Matt had claimed the bowl of popcorn.
Owen glanced at it. “You know that’s supposed to be shared.”
“I am sharing.”
“With yourself?”
Matt grinned. “Exactly.”
Owen shook his head, but he was smiling as he settled into the other end of the sofa. Matt looked at the distance between them.
Too far away.
Matt stretched his legs out. A few minutes later, his foot nudged Owen’s.
Neither moved.
He glanced across. Owen was watching the screen, apparently oblivious.
Matt left his foot where it was.
It was ridiculous how much he liked this. No great conversation, no plans, no need to fill the silence. Just the two of them watching a film they’d both seen often enough that they could recite half the dialogue.
Matt whispered the next line before the actor said it.
Owen turned towards him. “We’ve talked about this.”
Matt fired back an innocent glance. “You knew what you were getting.”
“I clearly didn’t.”
Matt’s only response was a grin.
When the next scene began, Owen reached for the popcorn at the same moment Matt did, and their fingers collided.
Matt laughed. “You’re stealing my popcorn.”
“It’s mine.”
“I brought it.”
“I bought it.”
“You did not.”
Owen seemed thoughtful. “Then perhaps we should settle this like adults.”
Matt narrowed his eyes. “How?”
Owen leaned towards him, and for one delicious second, Matt thought he was going to kiss him.
Instead, Owen plucked a piece of popcorn from between Matt’s fingers. “Victory.”
Matt stared at him. “You’re a thief.”
“A successful one.” He popped the piece into his mouth.
Matt shoved his shoulder.
Owen laughed, caught his wrist and held it.
The laughter faded between them. Matt looked down at Owen’s hand around his wrist, then back at his face.
Owen’s thumb traced the inside of his wrist, a slow, almost absent-minded gesture, the same touch he’d given Matt dozens of times, almost without thinking.
Matt’s pulse skipped. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps he’d imagined the earlier hesitation. Maybe nothing had changed after all.
Owen’s gaze dropped briefly to his mouth.
Then he released him. “Sorry.”
Matt frowned. “For what?”
Owen looked back at the television. “Nothing.”
The answer bothered him more than an explanation would have.
Matt studied him for a moment, then reached for another piece of popcorn. “You know, you’re terrible at being innocent.”
Owen laughed. “I’m not even going to ask what that means.”
“Good.”
Matt turned back to the film, but the moment stayed with him.
Ten minutes later, he shifted sideways until his shoulder rested against Owen’s.
Owen didn’t move away, and for several minutes, they stayed like that.
Matt relaxed.
There. This was them. Whatever little oddness he’d noticed earlier, it meant nothing.
Then Owen shifted his arm along the back of the sofa. His hand came to rest just behind Matt’s shoulder, not touching, but close enough that Matt could feel the warmth of him.
Matt resisted the urge to lean back into it. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because some part of him had suddenly become afraid that if he moved, Owen would too.
So he stayed where he was.
The film played on, and for a while, everything felt almost normal.
Almost.
The film had reached the point where Owen could have recited the dialogue himself, yet he was paying very little attention to what was happening on screen.
Matt was sitting beside him now, close enough that their thighs brushed whenever either of them shifted, and every accidental contact sent a small reminder through Owen that he was supposed to be keeping his distance.
He’d spent the last week telling himself to be careful.
This was what careful looked like.
Except careful apparently required an extraordinary amount of concentration.
So when Matt edged a little closer, Owen shifted too, creating just enough space between them to make the movement seem natural rather than deliberate. He kept his eyes on the television, although he could feel Matt gazing at him.
After a few seconds, Matt settled back against the cushions.
Owen hated how quickly he noticed the loss of that warmth.
It was only a few inches. A reasonable amount of space for two people sitting on a sofa.
So why did it feel as though he’d just rejected him?
That wasn’t what he was doing. He was being sensible. He was giving Matt room. Giving himself room. After everything Callum had said, surely that was the right thing to do.
That’s all it is.
He almost believed it.
Then something on the screen made Matt laugh, not the polite chuckle he’d given Owen earlier, but a proper laugh, head tipped back, eyes bright, and his whole face opening with it. Owen turned towards him before he could stop himself.
For a moment, he just watched.
There was something about Matt when he forgot himself that Owen found impossible to resist.
A piece of popcorn had landed on the front of Matt’s shirt, and Owen reached over and brushed it away.
His fingers should have stopped there.
They didn’t. He let them drift upwards, brushing Matt’s shoulder before settling them against the side of his neck.
Warm skin. A pulse beneath his fingertips.
Matt’s laughter faded, and he turned to look at Owen.
Neither of them moved.
Owen could feel the question in Matt’s eyes. Not What are you doing?
Something more vulnerable.
Is this still okay?
Matt leaned into the touch, and the simple trust in that tiny gesture went straight through Owen.
For one suspended moment, Callum’s warning, his own promises of caution, all the sensible reasons he’d spent the past week constructing disappeared beneath something far more powerful.
There was only Matt.
Matt’s eyes. Matt’s warmth. The quiet acceptance in his expression that told Owen he didn’t need to explain why he was touching him.
Owen slid his thumb once across Matt’s cheekbone, the motion almost unconscious.
He wanted to kiss him.
God, he wanted to kiss him.
And that was precisely why he couldn’t.
Reality returned with brutal clarity, and he pulled his hand away.
The change in Matt’s expression was so slight that someone else might have missed it. A flicker of confusion. He bit gently at his lower lip, but the questions Owen anticipated never arrived. Then Matt turned back towards the screen.
“Sorry,” Owen murmured.
“Another apology.” Matt glanced at him. “What for this time?”
“For distracting you.”
“You weren’t.”
Owen nodded towards the television. “Watch the film.”
Matt did.
But Owen couldn’t settle again. He could feel the warmth of Matt beside him, could feel the small distance he’d deliberately placed between them, and suddenly it seemed less like sensible space and more like a barrier he’d built with his own hands.
Matt didn’t understand why it was there.
Owen wasn’t sure he understood it himself.
The patio door opened, and Owen looked up.
Jeff stood there, one hand still on the door frame. “Hey, neighbour.”
“Hey.” Something in Jeff’s expression killed Owen’s urge to smile. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Babs wanted to know whether you still need those extra chairs for the housewarming.”
“I thought she was bringing them.”
“She is. I’m just checking whether you need more.”
“Probably, yeah.”
Jeff nodded, but his attention had already shifted. His gaze moved from Matt to Owen and then to the space between them. It lingered on Owen’s hand, which was still hovering close to Matt’s shoulder, as though Owen’s body hadn’t caught up with his decision to pull away.
For some reason, Owen’s stomach turned.
Jeff cleared his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He started backing towards the patio.
“Jeff—”
But the door was already sliding closed.
For several seconds, neither Owen nor Matt spoke.
Matt finally turned towards him. “What was that about?”
Owen kept his eyes on the glass door through which Jeff had disappeared.
“I have no idea.”
The lie sounded weak even to his own ears. Jeff hadn’t walked in on anything.
So what did he see? Me touch Matt? Him leaning into me?
Except Owen knew it wasn’t that simple.
Matt waited. When Owen didn’t elaborate, he turned back towards the television, maintaining that new distance between them.
Owen felt the withdrawal immediately, and this time, he had no idea how to fix it without breaking the promise he’d made to himself.
He’d wanted to keep Matt safe.
Instead, he’d managed to make him wonder whether he was wanted.
And somehow, that felt worse.
Owen had just finished emptying the dishwasher when his phone buzzed.
Jeff: You available for a chat?
He frowned. Of course. Come round. I’ll put the coffee on.
Intriguing. Jeff wasn’t a text-first kind of guy.
Something was off.
And does it have anything to do with the other night?
He busied himself setting up the machine, then glanced at the clock. Matt was in the barn, on a video call with his supervisor. The dissertation was almost ready to be handed in. Owen had a bottle of champagne in the fridge for the occasion. Matt would pretend the celebration wasn’t necessary.
Owen intended ignoring him completely.
The final result and award wouldn’t be announced until late October or November, but Matt didn’t seem worried about the outcome.
Then he’ll need to find himself a proper job.
And that could take him anywhere.
The doorbell rang, and Owen went to let Jeff in.
Jeff held a large plastic container. “Babs has been baking. Apparently she made too much.”
“Of course she did.”
Jeff pushed the container towards him. “Chocolate cake.”
He grinned. “I was hoping for flapjacks.”
Jeff didn’t smile, and Owen’s grin died.
Oh God, what’s happened?
“Jeff?”
“Can we do this inside?”
The question was quiet enough to make Owen’s pulse jump.
“Sure, let’s go into the kitchen.”
Jeff followed without another word.
Owen carried the cake through and placed it on the worktop. He crossed to the serving hatch between the kitchen and dining room and without thinking about it, slid it closed.
Matt was too far away to hear them. Still, the action felt instinctive. A private conversation belonged behind a closed door.
When Owen turned back, Jeff was already pulling out a chair.
They sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. For several seconds, neither spoke.
Jeff wasn’t a man who struggled for words. He was usually the one who said what everyone else was thinking, often before they’d worked out how they felt about it themselves.
His silence was unsettling. Jeff was choosing his words. That worried him more than anything Jeff might say.
“Where’s Matt?” Jeff’s voice was way too quiet.
“He’s in the barn, talking to his tutor. Just last-minute stuff before he hands in the dissertation.” Owen frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Jeff didn’t answer immediately, and Owen felt the first real flicker of apprehension.
“What’s wrong?”
Jeff’s gaze slid past him towards the closed hatch, then back again.
His expression had changed since he’d walked through the door. The easy familiarity Owen had known since university had disappeared, replaced by something much more serious.
“How long?”
Owen frowned. The question made no sense. “How long what?”
Jeff held his gaze.
“You and Matt.”