Chapter twelve
Sitting in the waiting area of his parlour, Marcus tucked into his takeaway fish and chips.
Even though he’d left the door open while he ate, he knew the strong smell of salt and vinegar would linger. It would be the first thing he’d smell when he opened up in the morning, cutting straight through the coconut shampoo and clean towels.
Right now, he didn’t care.
He was ravenous. It was his first proper meal of the day, after surviving on peanuts, a banana, and far too much pride.
Looking around as he ate, he was glad he’d stayed late to give Ruff to Regal a deep clean.
He’d unknowingly let his standards slip this week after getting behind with everything.
His business might have been possible to run as a one-man band when he’d first opened, but there was no way of maintaining its success without help.
He needed Georgina back.
Sooner rather than later.
Christine had been a godsend earlier, texting everyone who’d come to the meeting at the pub and rallying them to be more hands-on in the run-up to the competition. Finally, Marcus could take a breath, knowing every aspect of the event was being shared out.
Not dropped.
Shared.
There was a difference, apparently.
He looked down at his fish supper and frowned. Considering how hungry he’d been when he’d ordered the large portion, he’d barely managed half of it.
Maybe his stomach had shrunk.
Or maybe his appetite had disappeared somewhere between Rowan walking out of the parlour and Marcus pretending he was fine.
A light tap on the doorframe made him jolt.
He looked up, and saw the last face he had expected to see at Ruff to Regal again that day.
Rowan stood in the doorway, one hand raised, holding what looked like a white paper napkin.
‘Truce?’
Marcus fought the urge to stand up and close the door in his face.
Mainly because Atlas stood at Rowan’s side, and also because, despite everything, Marcus desperately wanted to hear what Rowan had come to say.
He placed the chip fork down. ‘Come in.’
The smell of Rowan’s aftershave drifted in first, cutting through the fish and vinegar and making Marcus’s stomach do something far too dramatic for a man sitting beside a half-eaten cod.
Rowan entered slowly, letting Atlas choose his own pace.
After what had happened the last time he’d been here, Marcus expected hesitation. Stiffness. Refusal.
Instead, Atlas stepped across the threshold after only a few seconds.
Marcus’s chest lifted. He tried not to beam too obviously, but failed.
Rowan noticed. Of course he did.
For a moment, his guarded expression softened as he looked down at Atlas, then back at Marcus. ‘I think you were right.’
Marcus swallowed. ‘About what?’
‘It was a setback.’ Rowan’s gaze held his. ‘Not the end of his progress.’
Marcus nodded once, not trusting himself to answer immediately.
Atlas sniffed the air, then moved towards the waiting-area chairs. His nose dipped near Marcus’s abandoned fish and chips, and Marcus laughed despite himself.
‘Ah. So it might be the fish that’s made him brave.’
Rowan’s mouth twitched. ‘Possibly.’
The tiny flicker of humour eased something in Marcus, but only slightly.
Rowan looked at the floor, then back at him. ‘I left things badly.’ Marcus stayed quiet. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did,’ Rowan continued. ‘Not here. Not in your workplace. Not in front of a customer.’ His throat moved. ‘And not after you were trying to help.’
Marcus stared at him, taken aback.
He had not imagined Rowan incapable of apology, exactly, but he had not expected one so direct. So exposed.
Rowan’s fingers tightened around Atlas’s lead. ‘I’m sorry.’
The words settled between them.
Marcus looked down at his fish and chips, then back at Rowan. His first instinct was to make a joke. To smooth it over. To let Rowan off the hook because tension made him itch.
But he was tired. Too tired to sparkle over something that had hurt.
‘I’m sorry too,’ Marcus said. ‘For snapping.’ Rowan nodded, but Marcus held up a hand before he could speak. ‘I’m not sorry for what I said, though.’
Rowan went still.
Marcus forced himself to continue. ‘You do keep stepping close and then backing away. And I don’t know where that leaves me.’
The silence that followed felt heavier than the scent of vinegar in the room.
Atlas sat beside Rowan’s leg, calm but watchful.
Rowan looked down at him, then back at Marcus. ‘I don’t know where it leaves me either.’
That was not an answer. But it was honest. And somehow, that made Marcus’s chest ache more than an answer would have done.
Rowan glanced at the chair opposite him. ‘Can I sit?’
Marcus nodded.
Rowan sat carefully, Atlas settling at his feet. For a few seconds, neither man spoke. The parlour around them felt too quiet, too intimate, the soft evening light catching the damp shine of the freshly cleaned floor.
‘You were right about something else,’ Rowan said eventually.
Marcus lifted his brows. ‘Careful. I may get used to hearing that.’
This time, Rowan did smile. Briefly. Sadly.
‘Blaming myself isn’t loyalty.’
Marcus’s breath caught.
Rowan looked at Atlas. ‘It just feels like the only thing I have left to give him.’
Marcus’s throat tightened.
There it was.
Not the whole story. Not yet. But another door opening, just a crack.
He put the food aside.
‘Maybe what he needs from you isn’t guilt,’ Marcus said softly. ‘Maybe he just needs you to keep showing up.’
Rowan’s eyes lifted to his.
‘And what about you?’ he asked.
Marcus’s pulse gave one hard thud. ‘What about me?’
Rowan’s voice lowered. ‘Do you need me to keep showing up too?’
Marcus had no joke ready for that. No bright answer. No glittering deflection. Only the truth, sitting warm and terrifying in his chest.
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I think I do.’
Rowan’s eyes flicked from left to right as if he was digesting what Marcus had just said. He finally nodded.
Wanting to cut through the heavy tension weighing heavily between them, Marcus pointed down at his uneaten fish. ‘Is Atlas allowed some?’
Rowan huffed a laugh. ‘I don’t know about Atlas, but I wouldn’t mind a bite. I’ve not been able to eat all day since...’
Marcus nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’ He offered the half-finished fish supper to Rowan. ‘It’s still warm.’
Rowan took it with one hand, wrapping the other around the wooden fork Marcus was still holding. Marcus felt invisible electricity pass from hand to hand.
Marcus watched silently as Rowan ate from the fork that had been in his own mouth moments before.
The act was so ordinary, yet so intimate.
When Rowan had eaten his fill, he placed the leftovers on the floor for Atlas.
Marcus expected him to jump on the food and demolish it in seconds, but Atlas was statue still, waiting for the command.
Rowan glanced up at Marcus. ‘He shouldn’t really have anything, he’s already eaten, and I keep him on a strict diet, but I’d say he’s had a win tonight, so this can be his reward.’
Rowan flicked his fingers and pointed at the food and Atlas ate with great reserve, that Marcus hadn’t expected.
Standing up, Rowan unclipped Atlas’s lead and placed it on a chair. He put his hands on his hips and strode around the parlour. ‘Wow, you really did a great job cleaning up.’ He pointed to an area free of furniture. ‘What’s missing from there?’
Marcus stood up as well and walked over to where Rowan was pointing.
‘This is where I’m going to put the quiet zone for the nervous dogs, away from the other dogs waiting for their appointments.
I just need to cordon it off with furniture from my last premises that’s currently stored in the tearoom. ’
‘Then why don’t we do it now. I’ll help you set it up.’
Marcus looked across to Rowan, a smile creeping over his lips. ‘Okay.’
They carried the random soft, unique pieces of furniture back from the tearoom, a buzz of excitement in the air. Marcus felt like a teenager again, as they worked out between them, which was the best layout.
When they finally agreed, they stood back and admired their handywork. ‘I like it,’ Marcus said, ‘what next?’
‘Huh?’
‘I haven’t felt this invigorated in weeks, so while I’m on a high, I need to accomplish something else.’
‘What about finalising the competition notes.’
Marcus lifted a finger. ‘Perfect.’
Marcus opened the drawer below the counter and fished out a folder, looking around for a place to open it.
‘On your grooming table,’ Rowan pointed out.
Marcus nodded, and pulled out all the pages he’d been putting off reading through, all the important stuff that needed focus and plenty of brain power.
Rowan glanced at the pages and then looked at Rowan. ‘I can see why these are still on your to-do list.’
Marcus shrugged with a grimace.
AN HOUR LATER, MARCUS sighed with relief as he filed the last paper back into the folder.
‘Oh my gosh, you don’t know what a relief it is to get through that.’ He turned to look at Rowan, his eyes looking deep into his. ‘Thank you so much.’
Rowan stared right back. ‘It’s my pleasure. It’s the least I could do.’
The way Rowan’s husky voice dropped down an octave sent the hairs on the back of Marcus’s neck on end. Without thinking, he leaned forward, and softly kissed Rowan’s full lips, before pulling back quickly, his breath catching in his throat.
He felt as though he was falling into Rowan’s dark brown eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
Rowan shook his head, his voice low and soft. ‘No. Don’t apologise. I want this... That’s the problem.’
Marcus’s breath caught.
For one dizzying second, all he could hear was the soft hum of the fridge in the tearoom, Atlas’s steady breathing from the new quiet zone, and the thunder of his own pulse.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said, though perhaps he did. Perhaps he understood too well.
Rowan looked down, his hand tightening on the edge of the grooming table. ‘Wanting things makes them matter.’
Marcus’s chest ached at the roughness in his voice.
‘Yes,’ he said carefully. ‘That’s usually the point.’
Rowan gave the faintest huff, but there was no humour in it. ‘Not for me.’
The words sat between them, heavy and unfinished.
Marcus wanted to reach for him again. Wanted to smooth the worry from his brow, pull him closer, kiss him until that guarded expression cracked completely. But he had already spent too much of his life making himself easy for other people. Easy to laugh with. Easy to rely on. Easy to misunderstand.
He would not make himself easy to want and impossible to choose.
‘Rowan,’ he said softly, ‘I’m not asking you for perfect.’
Rowan’s eyes lifted to his.
‘I’m not asking you to have everything worked out,’ Marcus continued. ‘Good grief, look at me. I’ve got half-stripped wallpaper, a front door that looks like it’s been attacked by an angry badger, and a dog competition being held together by Christine’s text messages and Old Po’s cable ties.’
For the briefest second, Rowan’s mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Marcus held on to it.
‘But I can’t be something you punish yourself with,’ he said. ‘And I can’t be someone you step towards only when the room is quiet and then step away from the moment it starts feeling real.’
Rowan swallowed.
The silence stretched, but this time Marcus did not rush to fill it.
At last, Rowan said, ‘I don’t know how to do this.’
The honesty was so bare it made Marcus’s throat tighten.
‘Then don’t do all of it tonight.’
Rowan frowned slightly.
Marcus took a small step closer. ‘Do tonight. Do this minute. Do standing here with me and not running for the door because you felt something.’
Rowan’s gaze dropped to Marcus’s mouth.
Marcus forgot every sensible thought he had ever possessed.
‘And if that’s too much,’ he added, his voice barely above a whisper, ‘then say so.’
Rowan did not say so.
Instead, he reached for Marcus slowly, as if giving him every chance to move away. His fingers brushed Marcus’s wrist first, cautious and warm, then curled around his hand.
Marcus looked down at their joined hands.
Such a simple thing.
Such a devastating thing.
When he looked up again, Rowan was closer.
‘This minute,’ Rowan said.
Marcus’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. ‘This minute,’ he agreed.
Rowan kissed him.
Not like before. Not accidental. Not stolen by impulse and followed by panic.
This kiss was careful at first, almost questioning, but Marcus felt the restraint trembling beneath it. Rowan’s hand lifted to the side of his face, thumb grazing his cheek, and Marcus leaned into the touch before he could stop himself.
For once, he did not think about the appointment book, the dog competition, the paint peeling from his windows, or the smell of fish and chips lingering in the room.
There was only Rowan.
Warm. Real. Wanting him.
When Rowan finally drew back, he did not step away immediately.
That alone felt like progress.
Atlas gave a soft huff from the quiet zone, as if reminding them both that he was still there and possibly judging their timing.
Marcus let out a shaky laugh, resting his forehead briefly against Rowan’s.
‘He has opinions,’ he whispered.
‘Always,’ Rowan said.
His voice was still low, still rough, but there was something gentler in it now.
A few seconds later, Rowan eased back. Marcus let him, though every part of him wanted to hold on.
‘I should go,’ Rowan said. ‘He’s had enough for one night.’
Marcus nodded, even though disappointment pulled at him. ‘Of course.’
Rowan clipped Atlas’s lead back on, and the dog rose calmly, pausing to sniff the edge of the new quiet zone before returning to Rowan’s side.
At the door, Rowan stopped and looked back.
‘Marcus.’
‘Yes?’
Rowan’s fingers tightened once around the lead. ‘I’ll show up tomorrow.’
Marcus’s chest warmed.
It was not a promise of forever. Not even close.
But it was not nothing.
‘Good,’ Marcus said softly. ‘I’ll make room.’
Rowan held his gaze for a long moment, then stepped out into the evening with Atlas beside him.
Marcus stood in the doorway until they disappeared down the lane.
Behind him, Ruff to Regal was clean, quiet, and changed. The new calm space waited in the corner, made from old furniture and second chances.
Marcus looked at it and smiled.
For nervous dogs, he told himself.
For fresh starts.
And maybe, if Rowan was brave enough to keep showing up, for guarded hearts too.