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It still is raining. I open the security door at the bottom of the stairs into a truly foul morning. It’s unlikely to be a white Christmas this year. It’ll be its usual freezing cold and grey. But it shouldn’t be raining like this. It’s supposed to always rain in Glasgow, not here. Dry and cold. Edinburgh is dry and cold, it’s the rule. Everyone knows it. I pull up the hood of jacket and hurry along the cobbled street until I cross out of Dean Village, then cave and take shelter in a doorway and call an Uber.
Ben’s influence. He used to tease me about getting taxis even when I had my own car sitting in a garage. A very nice car, thank you very much. But driving in the city is never a pleasure and parking is a nightmare, so I only really use it for day trips. And now I can’t remember when I last took one.
My Uber turns up. My driver greets me, and we have a pleasant chat on the short drive to the shop. I thank him, tip him through the app, and still end up getting soaked just going from the Uber to the shop door. I drop my keys twice, trying to get the door open, and regret not picking my gloves up from the hall table.
The chime of the bells as I open the door always makes me smile, as does the lingering odour of cinnamon, vanilla and almonds. It’s not usually warm inhere in the mornings, but it’s so cold outside today that it feels warm. I lift the section of the counter that gives me access to the staff area and go into the large kitchen. Once I’ve hung my dripping jacket on a hook, I set about switching on the ovens, and then I wash my hands, put on my apron and set about making the macarons.
I always keep the most popular flavours in stock, strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, coffee — all the usual flavours. But I’m always running some kind of extra flavours. It’s no surprise that this week the theme is Christmas. Even I’m not so much of a Scrooge that I’d refuse to enter into the spirit of the season, especially one that makes people buy more desserts.
Today’s special flavours are peppermint, cranberry and orange, gingerbread spice, and two very experimental ones — a chocolate and frankincense mix and a lemon and myrrh. Those will either be gone in an hour, or else Ben, Joss and I will be eating them for the next week. It’s a tough one to gauge. I mix the basic batter quickly and carefully, then set about flavouring the shells. Grinding the resin in the mortar and pestle ensures that the flavours are fresh and they layer in an almost smoky, earthy scent to the kitchen that makes me feel almost festive.
The repetitive task helps to soothe me, and I find I’m thinking about last night more and more as the day progresses. I had thought Ben was happy with our status quo. If he didn’t tell me he wasn’t, I’m not sure what that says about our relationship and can only hope it’s improved a little after last night. I take a break while the first batch is baking and the second batch rests in the filled shells. I check my phone. Josshas sent me a video of her waking Ben up with a blow-job. I smile at the sight of his smile and the way she looks at me through the camera, punishing me for leaving them. The caption reads “Later,” so at least I have something to look forward to.
A timer dings, and I take the first batch out of the over and leave them to cool, then slide the second bath in. I’ll start the third batch soon and at least I’ve more than caught up now on the ones I should have baked last night before Jocelyn sent that text.
My breath hitches as I remember when our eyes met at the station. The worry that had me twisted up inside. And then Ben and all his insecurities. I swallow down the raw pain that I still remember feeling. The fear that everything we have always been together was based on a lie, on him giving up something he didn’t truly want to. And I know that last night I let him do what he wanted, but I’m not sure how often I’d want that. I didn’t hate it, it’s just not who I am. Should I be willing to change for him? For either of them? Women’s magazines (I only ever read the ones Joss leaves in the flat, honest) are always full of articles about how you shouldn’t need to change for someone else — but compromise is important, isn’t it?
The alarm on my phone goes off, reminding me it’s only an hour until the shop opens. I should have the fillings made already. I need to stop daydreaming, get my head in the game, and focus. Even if it’s selfish. But it’s work. I need to work. Except I don’t and… I scream internally. All the messy and complicated considerations of long-term relationships are suddenly and unexpectedly drowning me. Focus, Matt. Macarons.
All the spaces inside the glass counter were filled with ten minutes to spare. Amazing what a good unhealthy dose of stress about your long-term relationships does to your productivity. Although it was touch and go for a while whether it was going to stop me from accomplishing anything at all today, but I’m glad my overly competitive side came to the fore.
It’s been a great day. Sales were through the roof and I had to take orders for many of the gift boxes I’ve been advertising to be collected tomorrow or on Christmas Eve as I couldn’t keep up with the demand. I messaged the group chat to ask whether they could come and give me a hand in the shop, but they didn’t even read the message and neither of them turned up. I could have phoned the flat if I’d really wanted to get hold of them, but I’m exhausted now and back to moping about last night’s events and my realisations that I’m constantly trying to prove myself to Ben and he doesn’t even appreciate it while he was thinking that I wasn’t allowing him to explore another side of our relationship. It’s good that we made some changes last night. I think.
Okay, I’m also jealous as hell thinking about what they might be getting up to without me.
I’ve closed and locked the door once the shop is shut, and am sitting in the kitchen waiting for the full cafetiere I’ve just poured to brew when there’s a knock on the front door. I push myself to my feet, regretting choosing a career that has me on my feet so much of the time. The knock sounds again, and I feel my mobile buzz in my pocket.
“Where are you?”
It’s Ben, but not on the group chat. Then a knock sounds on the back door and I push myself to my feel to open it, trying to avoid groaning as I do so. Isn’t that the first sign of growing old? And having two younger lovers, the thought of it is already an issue for me. Although I’m only thirty. Hardly ancient.
I pull open the door to find Ben standing there alone, his hands thrust deep in his pockets because he always forgets his gloves, his rain-slicked hair looking tousled, as if he’s run his hands through it far more often than usual. He’s far from his usual cocky self.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out as I step back to allow him to come in. But he doesn’t.
“Where’s Jocelyn? Is she out front?” I twist my head to see through the kitchen door, but then Ben’s words sink in and I spin back around to face him. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and I stare at him, cold prickling down my arms as I try to work out what’s going on. Is he… is he here to end things? Is Jocelyn already gone, or has he already broken up with her and I’m the last to know or—
“I should never have asked you to do that last night,” he says simply. “I know it’s not something you enjoy and I shouldn’t have—”
“Ben,” I whisper, taking a step towards him. I’m almost giddy with relief that this is what it’s about. Or at least I hope that’s all it’s about. He’s not looking at me. In fact, he’s keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor and everything about him screams out that he’s ashamed. And suddenly I realise that I would let him do that again right now if it’s what it took to make him happy. “Oh, Ben.”
I pull his hand from his pocket, wincing at how wet and cold he is, take his hand in mine and pull him into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Then I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me, and I kiss him. At first he holds back, his body tense until I whisper, “I will do what it takes to make you happy, Ben. I love you. Putting your needs first for once wasn’t a sacrifice, nor something that’ll make me turn away from you.”
He pulls his head back and we stare at each other, his face registering confusion, then finally acceptance. This time we both move together, our lips meeting as we kiss. It goes from sweet to passionate faster than I expect, and Ben pushes me backwards with his body until he backs me up against the freezer door. I can feel his cock pressing into mine which stirs in response. Our teeth clash as the kiss grows frenzied. Our tongues tangle and his fingers thread through my hair, pulling it in just the way I like it.
“I won’t ask for that again,” Ben says. And although I know he thinks this is what I want, perhaps last night I learnt something about myself.
“You can ask whenever you want, Ben,” I assure him. “I just… I won’t always say yes, but you can always ask. I don’t want you to be afraid to ask for exactly what you want.” I slide my hand inside his jacket, slip my fingers under his t-shirt and along the warm skin of his back.
“Can I watch?” A female voice asks at the same time a door clicks shut, and we turn to see Jocelyn standing against the closed door that leads into the shop itself. Her hands are full of many, many bags and a couple of rolls of wrapping paper. “I came to see if you stillneeded help, Matt. In the hope that you’d help me carry all this back to the flat. But it seems like you’re too busy. Don't let me interrupt. But, for what it’s worth, it’s good to see you like this.”
“Come here,” I say to her and she dumps the bags and strolls towards us smiling.
“Eww,” she says, when she touches Ben’s jacket. “Take it off.”
“My pleasure,” he says, pulling it off and hanging it on a hook, then his hands go to his belt and he unbuckles it, shrugging. “I’m pretty wet.”
“So am I,” Jocelyn smiles, and I can’t wait to have that mouth wrapped around my cock. Or to watch her wrap it around Ben’s while I watch. “Oh, wait!”
