AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I chuckled. “I bet you’ve used that line a few times.”
“Charles,” he warned, “We do not joke about fleur de sel.”
“Okay.”
Feeling faintly ridiculous, I closed my eyes then parted my lips, as if about to receive a communion wafer. A second later, the tip of Florian’s finger landed on my tongue, transferring a flake of salt onto it before brushing along my bottom lip as he withdrew. My face heated as I endeavoured to focus on the clean, crisp flavour.
“The fleur de sel is the purest of all the salts,” Florian murmured, his seductive low accent sending playful silver sparks fluttering across my shuttered eyelids. “The rarest too, that’s why we call it white gold. Let it melt on your tongue; there is no bitterness, it is sweeter, lighter than the gros sel.” He paused a beat. “And real experts swear they can taste bananas.”
I snorted again and opened my eyes to find Florian’s sea-green ones twinkling back at me.
“You made that last bit up, didn’t you?”
“Peut être.” Perhaps. “But I like to see you smile.”
We were ready to eat, so I pushed the paperwork to one side and Florian called to his grandfather. Florian had been way too distracting for me to do anything other than skim-read the takeover bid, and I’d drunk too much wine to concentrate anyhow. On the face of it, it seemed like a standard offer. I hadn’t heard of Selco, but I had plenty of resources at my disposal to find out about them. Buying up smaller businesses was my speciality after all.
“If you like, I’ll take this away for a couple of days and examine it properly for you? It’s… um… kind of my job, to be honest.”
“Mon dieu, yes, please.” Florian beamed. “I have another copy anyhow, and the more people looking at it the better.”
Dinner passed pleasantly enough. Like most old folk, Papi enjoyed reminiscing and we were both happy to indulge him. Me because I didn’t have a lot of conversation to offer—four months in a psychiatric hospital had that effect on a man’s social skills, and Florian because, despite what he’d said earlier, it was clear he adored his grandfather. He humoured him, teased him, fussed over him and took the piss out of him. And did I mention the food was sublime? Simple, tasty, homecooked perfection. Even my feeble appetite had been whetted.
When the time came around for me to leave, Papi had already shuffled off up to bed and I’d helped Florian with the washing up. I’d declined any more alcohol; added to my meds it would have tipped me into doing something unseemly, like asking him if I could stay the night. I had the distinct impression he’d say yes, an impression solidified when we had a moment’s hesitation at the door. As I reached in for a parting handshake, Florian pulled me closer. His warm palm lingered on my lower back, fingers dipping to the waistband of my trousers. Soft lips brushed first one cheek and then the other.
“It’s a pity you have to leave so early, Charles.”
Silver and green danced arm in arm behind my eyes. “Early? It’s past midnight!”
“Which means the night is still young. So your point is what, exactly?”
Stepping back, he gave me the playful schoolboy smile, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. As he gently propositioned me, I wondered how those lips would feel pressed onto mine, realising with a jolt it wasn’t the first time this evening that thought had wandered through my head.
“My point is, Florian, that tonight has been so wonderful I’m scared of spoiling it. But I’m immensely flattered.”
“And not gay.”
He pouted; a look I was pretty sure he must have practiced in the mirror and knew it’s effect. I shook my head. “No, I’m not gay.”
The fingers at my back slipped a few teasing millimetres lower, reminding me they were there. Inches apart, I felt his breath, warm on my face. “Bi, maybe? Come on, give a boy some hope, Charles.”
Twenty years ago, I’d have answered with a confident yes. Back in those heady days, drunk on weed, absinthe, and youth, I’d kissed plenty of young men. Ten years ago, however, I’d have scoffed, not having the time to notice women, never mind tangle with my own sex. Yet tonight, mesmerised by the curve of Florian’s full lips and the amused tilt of his head, I decided the adjective was a useful hook upon which to hang my feelings for him.
“Yes, I’m probably bisexual, Florian. But seriously out of practice.”
CHAPTER 10
FLORIAN
We did the clothing routine and the weather thing, the goldfinches greeted us with an upbeat morning ditty, and then Groundhog Day took an unexpected swerve.
“Who was that chap here last night?”
“Charles. He’s an Englishman staying in the village for the summer.”
An extra wrinkle appeared in Papi’s brow. “That’s right. Charles. I’ve met him before, haven’t I?”
“Yes, in the street outside the supermarket.”
