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He threw me a side-eye. “You’re, like, quite old, Rob. It’s not as if you need anyone’s endorsement. Watermelons will still love and respect you in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
We walked a little farther.
“Wow, this man you’ve found must be bloody special.” Bless him, not a trace of bitterness, only genuine astonishment.
“He is. And he wants me to be out, so we can be together as a couple. You know, restaurants and friends and dinners. Actually, I’m thinking of bringing him to the May charity ball.”
We’d reached the edge of the estate’s formal gardens, where the likes of me could go no further. I knew Toby’s simple routine so well. The earl’s older children would be home from school soon, and Toby and Orlando would prepare supper together. Later tonight, all his chores done, Toby would head on back to the tiny cottage he shared with his boyfriend, where the curtains on his routine were drawn and the details became vague.
Although I’d had a few days of sharing my home with Evan, I was a mere amateur at living alongside someone else. Perhaps Toby and Noah cooked dinner together or watched television. Washed the dishes side by side at the kitchen sink, sharing snippets of news from each other’s day. Maybe when the weather was fine, they enjoyed an evening stroll through the estate.
I’d never even spent a night in bed with Toby, never even seen him fully naked. But now I imagined him sleeping soundly, pulled into Noah’s embrace, peacefully sharing the same air as one day of ordinary, conjoined bliss whispered seamlessly into another.
Evan was offering me all of that, if I could only reach out and grab it.
“You should do that, Rob,” Toby answered shyly, his eyes tracking the little boy as he squatted to marvel at the simple beauty of a shiny green leaf. “You’d be amongst friends.”
CHAPTER 15
Evan and I weren’t earning acceptance of each other’s individualities; we were offering it freely. As I learned his shape, he was learning mine; we were testing our edges, seeking out the smooth curves and sharp corners, working out how we fit. And as two whole beings making up a couple, not making promises to bend to fit someone else. Evan immersed himself in his work, as he’d always done. Sometimes, that spilled over and curtailed our time together. Just as my herd disturbed most of our mornings in bed.
As long as, at the end of a tiring day, he found time to rest his head on my shoulder or I warmed my toes in his lap, then life was good. My other whole was uncompromising, serious, and dedicated. And I loved him for it.
Anyway, it’s not like I sat around pining. I had a serious business of my own to run, a place on the Rossingley Arms darts team to uphold, village cricket matches to win. We weren’t in each other’s pockets, not unless we were home alone together (and then we weren’t out of them), and that suited the both of us perfectly. Two wholes.
Which was why his short text message, pinging through as I battled my bowtie in the bathroom mirror, was neither unexpected nor cause for consternation. It was simply life.
Go on without me. I’ll join you there. I’m running late in theatre with a difficult case. PS Rest assured; I’ll be making it up to you later (-;
All the same, I hoped tonight he wasn’t too tardy. He was my courage, wrapped in a sturdy body and a commanding voice. My solid foundation I hadn’t known I needed. My reason for stepping out of the shadows after all this time.
“Lovely to meet you, handsome stranger,” said Freddie cheerfully, as I made my way along the receiving line, “But what have you done with my old pal Rob Langford?”
I grinned at him with a flush of pleasure. No one was immune to flattery, not even a grumpy farmer like me. I was fashionably late myself, having needed one last manly chat with Watermelons before I left.
Pulling me into a hug, Freddie abandoned his welcome post and hissed in my ear, “What the fuck are you doing here? You never turn up!”
“Thought I’d come and see what all the fuss was about.” I straightened my silk bow tie. “How do I look?”
I could have rented the whole ensemble, but Evan attended these kinds of events every now and then, and I planned on being at his side, so I took the plunge and bought one. By the time the old queen in the gentleman’s outfitters in Bristol had finished with me, I scarcely recognised myself. Already a few folks from the village—the vicar and some landowners to the east of the estate—had done a double take, then thrown me a polite wave.
Stepping back a pace, Freddie swept a critical, expert eye over my tux, then, nodding his approval, let out a low whistle. “Even Watermelons wouldn’t recognise you. Whoever he is, he’s a very lucky man.”
A glass of bubbly was thrust into my hand and very well received. I took a sip, then glanced towards the door before my eyes flitted to my watch, not missed by Freddie’s sharp gaze. “Oh my god, he’s…you’ve…he’s coming tonight, isn’t he? The mystery man?”
I gave a quick nod. “Yes, he is. He’s my plus one; I’m expecting him any minute.”
Another hand raised in greeting—this time from the president of the southern farmer’s cooperative. And a clap on the back from one of my father’s old muckers. I took a bigger sip and sucked in a deep breath, wishing I could loosen a couple of buttons of my shirt. In a few minutes from now, I’d be greeting Evan in public, in front of plenty of people who knew me… or thought they knew me, anyhow… and introducing him as my…my what? Partner? Friend? Boyfriend? Fuck knew. Maybe I’d let Evan do his own introductions. He was perfectly capable.
A silent Freddie was staring at me as if I’d grown a spare head. “Does this mean…fuck me, Rob. Are you...um…does this mean you’re finally declaring your hand?”
Another curt nod. More like throwing the whole deck of cards up in the air and seeing where they landed. Rossingley was a tight knit community. Just as a butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazon affected weather systems half a world away, a farmer like me introducing his boyfriend in the Duchamps-Avery drawing room would be echoed all around the Rossingley Arms by tomorrow lunchtime.
“Do I need to check if the DJ has the soundtrack to Les Misérables? Shall I ask Lucien if he has an old dartboard hidden away somewhere?”
I shook my head with a laugh. “No. We…um…he’s not exactly what you had in mind. He prefers a night in with a good book to the pub.”
