Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Garrett
“How is this so salty, yet sweet at the same time?” Roman shoves another forkful of gammon into his mouth, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve once he’s done.
We’re sitting in the lounge, Roman crossed legged on the sofa facing me.
The fire roars, filling the room with a pleasant heat and the scent of burning wood.
Fairy lights twinkle in the tree, while outside, the wind has picked up, its howling tune seeping through the cracks in the aged walls of the cottage.
After our shower, Roman climbed into his favourite reindeer pyjamas, but was still chilly, so we decided not to sit at the kitchen counter, choosing instead the ambient warmth of the lounge and burning log fire.
I’d had my hesitations about today – not wanting him to catch a cold – but I don’t regret it.
How could I when every moment spent with Roman is like looking at the world through a new pair of glasses?
He quite literally (and now I sound like him!) lights up my life.
“The gammon was smoked by the butcher – that gives it the salty flavour,” I answer. “I slow cooked it in a mix of orange juice and honey, to coat it with that sticky sweetness.”
Roman pushes a carrot around his plate, swiping it through the thick gravy he doused his potatoes in. “It’s so good. I haven’t eaten a Christmas dinner like this in…” His eyes dart to the side like he’s looking for the answer somewhere in the ether. “Years. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
I sip at the spicy mulled wine in my mug before answering.
“My mum is an avid cook. Big, hearty meals were her go to. Indulgent cottage pies, rich, creamy curries, roasts with all the trimmings. I spent hours watching and helping her in the kitchen. Before…”
Roman hums under his breath.
“It’s their loss, you know?”
I quirk my head to the side in question.
“That you’re not in their life because they chose not to support you. They don’t get to see how incredible you are.”
Blood pools in my cheeks, and I run a hand over the back of my neck, at a loss for words.
I know we’ve had a good time together these past few days, but knowing he thinks that of me, thinks I’m incredible, fills me with this hope that maybe what we’ve been building here could exist back in the real world.
“Thank you,” I say, bringing my mug to my lips again, chuckling when Roman brings the carrot to his mouth, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he bares his teeth at it.
“You don’t have to eat that,” I say, pointing at the offending vegetable.
“You drank tea for me when you hate it, so the least I can do is eat this little orange abomination.”
Twisting in my seat, I put down my mug and remove my plate from my lap, leaving them both on the coffee table next to us.
“Roman, you never have to do anything you hate. Certainly not to please me. Now give me the carrot.”
He rolls his eyes, but holds the fork out, and I eat it in one bite, the sweet flavour bursting on my tongue. Faking a shudder, Roman smiles, his eyes crinkling with the action.
His lips are glossy from the sugary glaze of the gammon, and I cannot resist the desire to lean into him and lick the sweetness from his lips. Roman’s mouth falls open and he surges forward and steals a deep, tender kiss that I feel in every part of me.
Pulling away, his voice breathless, he asks. “What’s for pudding?”
“I’ll give you a clue. It has the word ‘dick’ in it.”
Boxing Day goes by in a blur of tangled limbs, rutting bodies and luxuriating kisses.
Far too many biscuits and even more mulled wine.
We eat the remainder of the spotted dick – a steamed sponge dessert with spices, raisins and a hearty dose of custard – while lazing on the bed.
We doze and we watch films and we dance in the kitchen like a lovesick couple.
We talk about our childhoods and our favourite books and places we’ve visited or want to visit.
We ask each other questions and we laugh at some of the answers.
But neither of us brings up what happens next.
We skirt around it with more kisses, more tea and more laughter.
Now, Roman is fast asleep. His body turned towards me and my legs over his the way he likes. He mumbles in his slumber – because he is seldom quiet – then nuzzles his face into my neck.
I stare out into the darkness, tiredness creeping in at the edges but sleep evading me.
When we started this thing between us, I knew our time together was limited.
And those first few days, I was fine with that.
I was okay leaving here and saying goodbye.
But the guy has stolen my heart and the thought of walking away physically hurts.
The idea of going home alone to that house I despise with its bare walls and sterile countertops, lacking the warmth and chaos that is uniquely Roman, makes the pain even worse.
Afraid that my whirring thoughts and restlessness will disturb the beautiful sleeping man next to me, I kiss Roman’s forehead and slowly lift myself off him, then crawl out the bed and tiptoe from the room, pulling the door shut behind me.
In the kitchen, the antique clock hanging above the back door ticks over to two am.
I pour a glass of water, then settle in the lounge at the small desk that I’ve been neglecting lately.
I read the last chapter I wrote to remind myself of where I left off, then let my fingers fly over the keys, DI Jack Snipers’ story taking shape.
I’ve often thought I put a lot of myself into my characters, but right now, Jack is being far braver with his feelings than I’ve been.
“You’ve changed my life, Blaine,” Jack admits, reaching out to wipe the tears that fall down his boyfriend’s face.
“Never in a million years did I think a young, popular superstar would fall for a grumpy, old city detective, but you did. You changed everything.” Blaine reaches up to wrap a hand around Jack’s wrist, turning his face to kiss Jack’s palm.
“I would risk everything to keep you safe and see you smile,” Jack says. “My job, my reputation, all of it.” It’s dark in the apartment, the two of them standing in the debris of yet another break-in at the reality TV star’s home. The stalker growing more brazen by the day.
“When I find this guy, I will end him.” Jack leans forward and kisses Blaine’s lips, tasting the salt of his tears mixed with the subtle vanilla of the cookies Blaine was eating in the car before they walked into this mess.
“And then I will take you away from here, pup. We’ll start over somewhere new and all of this will be behind us. ”
“I want that,” Blaine rasps.
“I love you, Blaine. I’m never letting you go.”
Sitting back in my chair, I fold my arms over my stomach and re-read my words. They came so easily to Jack – to me – and just like that, the crime drama I set out to write crossed the boundary into a romance. If only I had the words to get my own happily ever after.
I read the chapter again and again, a growing sense of urgency pushing me to my feet.
I need Roman to know how I feel. I need him to know that before him, I was lonely and miserable.
Not even the job I love and am incredibly proud of was bringing me happiness anymore.
Not the sort of happiness that makes you want to sing from the top of your lungs, or jump out of bed and take on the day with renewed energy.
Not like the happiness that courses through me every time Roman smiles my way.
I need him to know that in these few short days together, he’s made me happier than I’ve ever been. His presence and his smile and his god-awful taste in tea have made my life brighter, my heart fuller and my words plentiful.
I need him to know that when I think of going home, all I can think of is him. Because if a home is the place you go to for comfort, the place you’re most at ease and safe, then he is my home.
I need him to know all of that and so much more.
Switching off the lights as I exit the room, I walk into the bedroom to the sound of his gentle snores. Lifting the duvet, I climb beneath.
Roman immediately shuffles closer like he’s drawn to my presence, flings an arm over my stomach and moves his head to share my pillow.
In the room’s darkness, I can’t see his face, but I can picture it. His lightly parted lips, his fluttering eyelids, the groove that appears along his forehead when he’s frowning, deep in a dream.
Breathing in his scent, I close my eyes, relaxing into the mattress. In a few short hours, it’ll be morning and I’ll tell Roman how I feel.
I fall asleep hoping he feels the same.