Chapter 34 #2
It wasn’t a comfortable thought, and he was still turning it over in his head when he got home that afternoon to find his dad sitting at the kitchen table.
“Hey.”
Dad looked up from his phone. “There you are.”
Matt dropped his bag by the door. “That sounds ominous. Even more so because you’ve got your serious face on.”
“I have several faces.”
Matt smirked. “Not according to Mum.”
His dad laughed, and the sound went a little way to easing some of the tension that had made its way into Matt’s shoulders.
“Why aren’t you in the city?”
Dad huffed. “Wow. You’re clearly not as observant as I thought. I’ve been cutting down my days at the office, trying to ease myself into retirement mode.” He got up. “Tea?”
“Please.” He filled the kettle, and Matt watched him for a moment. “Is everything okay?”
Dad twisted to gaze at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He went back to his task.
He bit his lip. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m your father. Being weird is part of the job. You don’t get to be a parent without it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “They make you sit a test first, just to check.”
Matt grinned.
Dad poured boiling water over the tea bag. “How are things with Owen?”
His tone was casual enough, but the question caught Matt off guard.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
Matt frowned. “Yeah. Fine. Why?”
“No reason.”
“Dad.”
His father shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the act of squeezing a tea bag. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
He arched his eyebrows. “You see me every day.”
“Not really. You’re this ghost who divides his time between lurking in the conservatory, working—or in Owen’s barn—or digging up Owen’s garden. We get to see you when you want feeding or laundry doing.” Dad placed the mug in front of him, then took the seat opposite.
“You just nailed it. I’ve been working. You know, the job you found for me?” Matt smiled. “Haven’t we already had this conversation?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“And the dissertation’s almost finished.”
“I know that too.”
He frowned. “Then what are you asking?”
His dad stared at him. “I suppose I’m asking whether you’re happy.”
Matt stared back, the question so unexpectedly direct that for a moment he didn’t know what to say.
What came to mind was Owen.
His smile when Matt arrived. The sound of his laughter. The way he’d once reached for Matt without even seeming to realise he was doing it. The memory of the island, of lying beside him and knowing, with a certainty that had frightened him at the time, that he wanted more than Owen had promised.
All those little pieces of Owen filled his mind, his days, his hopes.
“Yes.” The answer came easily. He meant it.
At least, he thought he did.
Dad studied him for another moment. “Good.”
Matt narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He let out a chuckle. “You got an A in that weirdness test, didn’t you?”
Dad laughed. “Maybe I’m just checking on my son.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Because I can.”
Matt shook his head, smiling.
“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”
Dad’s softly spoken words caught him some place deep.
Matt swallowed. “Yeah.”
“About anything.”
“I know.”
His dad nodded. “Good.”
Matt wrapped both hands around his mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.
If he wanted to talk, it would be about Owen, about the things that had changed without either of them acknowledging. The possibility he’d been reading more into Owen’s actions than was really there.
Except he couldn’t say any of that, not to Dad.
Not yet.
Besides, nothing was wrong. Because if there were a problem, Owen would tell him.
Wouldn’t he?
Matt pushed the thought away. He had enough to worry about with the dissertation.
Dad reached across the table and squeezed his forearm. “I’m proud of you, you know.”
Matt smiled. “I haven’t even handed it in yet.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He looked down at his tea, embarrassed by the warmth that spread through him. “Thanks.”
He wished he could tell his dad everything. Then common sense returned.
Yeah, not gonna happen.
If he needed to talk, there was always Eric, who’d listened to him through every crisis at university and after, and knew him well enough to hear what Matt wasn’t saying.
Matt took another sip of tea. The person he really wanted to talk to wasn’t Eric.
It was Owen.
He wanted to know whether he’d simply been projecting his own feelings onto a weekend that had meant no more to Owen than any of the other experiences they’d shared.
Most of all, he wanted Owen to tell him he hadn’t imagined any of it, that there was still something between them worth believing in.
Matt stared at the surface of his tea.
That wasn’t going to happen either.
Not because Owen wouldn’t answer, but because some small, frightened part of Matt was beginning to wonder what the answer might be.
By Friday, Matt had stopped looking for the things Owen wasn’t doing.
At least, that was what he told himself.
He no longer expected Owen to reach for him when he arrived, or to find some excuse to touch him as they moved around the house.
When they sat together, Owen was careful about the space between them.
When Matt announced it was time to leave, Owen smiled and said goodnight, but he no longer followed him to the gate or stood watching until Matt disappeared around the corner.
None of it was dramatic. That was what made it so difficult. There was nothing to confront, nothing to ask about without sounding ridiculous. Because how would that sound?
Why don’t you touch me as much as you used to?
He could hardly say that, especially when Owen was still kind, still interested… still there.
So Matt tried not to notice.
Epic fail.
They’d spent the afternoon going through the final changes to his dissertation, with Owen reading the conclusion while Matt hovered nearby, waiting for him to find some devastating flaw.
Instead, Owen had glanced up and said, “Okay, I’m no expert in this field, but I think you’re done.”
Matt stared at him. “That’s it?”
“I think so.”
“You’re not going to find something?”
Owen smirked. “I could invent something if you’d like.”
“No, thank you.”
“Then congratulations.”
The smile Owen gave him was warm enough to make Matt ache inside.
“Thanks.”
Owen closed the laptop. “You’ve worked bloody hard.”
Matt gazed at him for a moment. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He shook his head. “You did the work.”
“I know, but—”
“No.” He smiled. “I gave you a garden to work in and somewhere quiet to sit. The rest was all you.”
Matt’s mouth curved. “You did give me a pretty good office.”
He beamed. “I’ve been told it has excellent views.”
“It does.” Mostly of you by the pool, occasionally naked, always a temptation.
Owen’s smile lingered for a moment before he looked away. “So take the credit. You earned it.”
The room fell quiet.
Matt realised how much he’d missed this.
Sure, he missed the physical intensity they’d shared that had blown every conception he’d had about sex to nothing but dust.
But this, the quiet moments when Owen gazed at him as though there was nowhere else he needed to be…
This was gold.
Matt leaned forward, settling his hand on Owen’s arm. It wasn’t a decision, more like an instinct as he closed the small distance between them.
Owen met him halfway.
The kiss was warm, familiar enough to make Matt’s chest tighten. Owen’s hand came to the back of his neck, his thumb brushing beneath Matt’s ear, and for a few seconds everything he’d been worrying about disappeared.
There you are.
The thought came unbidden.
This was the Owen he’d been missing.
Matt deepened the kiss, allowing himself to relax into it, and Owen responded with the same quiet hunger that had always been there between them.
Then Owen pulled back, not abruptly enough to make it feel like rejection, but a deliberate movement nonetheless. His hand slipped from Matt’s neck.
Matt opened his eyes.
Owen smiled at him. “That was nice.”
Nice.
The word shouldn’t have mattered.
Fuck, it did.
“Yeah,” Matt managed to get out.
“I need to make sure I’ve got everything ready for the housewarming.”
Matt stared at him for a second before forcing a smile. “Right.”
Owen pulled out his phone and began talking about the food he’d planned on serving. Matt answered when he was supposed to.
Something had shifted.
Owen had wanted the kiss. Matt knew that. He’d felt it in the way Owen had held him, in the way he’d kissed him back.
And yet Owen had been the one to decide when it ended.
Matt stared down at his hands. Maybe that was all this was. A little caution. A little space. Maybe Owen didn’t want them falling back into the intensity they’d had before the island.
Except that wasn’t what Matt wanted.
And he wasn’t convinced it was what Owen wanted either.