“What’s wrong?” Oliver followed his line of sight but couldn’t seem to spot the problem.
“Nothing,” Ed mumbled and took a sip of his coffee.
Oh God, he needed this.
Bitter warmth hit his tongue and he sighed, contented for a moment.
“That good, eh?” Oliver’s eyes danced with amusement.
“You have no idea.” Ed took another sip, eyes closing for a moment as he drank. The scrape of a plate on the table had him looking down to see two bacon sandwiches sat in front of him, brown sauce standing next to it, along with a glass of water and a packet of ibuprofen. Ed didn’t know which to tackle first. “Thank you,” he said, looking up to find Oliver watching him, expression unreadable for once. “You really are a lifesaver.”
Oliver smiled, shrugging one shoulder. “I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself when you looked so pitiful.” His cheeks were flushed pink, whether from the heat of the kitchen or something else, Ed couldn’t tell. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.
Not when the answer to his hangover was laid out on the table for him.
FED, WATERED, and caffeinated, Ed felt a hundred times better and sat back with a sigh, patting his stomach. “That was great. Just what I needed.” He glanced over to where Oliver now sat next to him, nursing a coffee of his own. Feeling more human now, he asked the question he probably should’ve asked before now.
“How’s Betty?” Guilt gnawed at him. He’d meant to check in before now, but time kind of got away from him, as it usually did when he got lost in work. “Is the whiteboard helping?”
“She’s good, thanks.” He screwed up his nose a little. “She was a bit embarrassed about the whole thing, but I told her you wouldn’t think any less of her.”
“No, of course not.” Ed made a mental note to pop round sooner rather than later.
Oliver smiled like Ed’s answer was what he’d been hoping for. “And yeah, the whiteboard works a treat, thanks. Betty’s also started writing things on there that she wants to do, or buy, in case she forgets later.”
“Perfect.” Ed felt a curl of pleasure at being able to help. “Tell me to mind my own business, but I was curious after looking at Betty’s photos the other day. Where’s your mum?” It had to be lack of sleep that made him ask such a personal question. Then an awful thought occurred to him and he tried to back track until Oliver held up his hand, chuckling.
“Stop. She’s in New Zealand, visiting Claire. They’re coming back together for Christmas though.”
“Ahh.” So that’s what Betty had meant. Thank fuck. Ed couldn’t handle putting his foot in it like that with the remnants of a hangover.
“And before you ask or skirt around asking, my dad left when I was seventeen. We still see him, just not all that often.” He tapped his fingers on the table a minute before wrapping them around his mug again. “What about you?”
“My mum lives about fifteen minutes from here with her partner of ten years, Jack.” He took a sip of his coffee. This part still stung even after all these years. “My dad died almost thirteen years ago. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.” Oliver met his gaze and slid his hand across the table to squeeze Ed’s fingers. His grip was gentle yet firm, and Ed closed his eyes, letting Oliver’s touch soothe the part of him that ached. He hadn’t realised their fingers were slotted together, until he looked down and saw them.
Instinct was a funny thing.
This felt different to flirting. Intimate in a way Ed wasn’t expecting or looking for.
Reluctantly he drew his hand back and stood, taking his mug and plate with him. “Thanks for breakfast. I’m feeling much more human.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, wake myself up a bit, then crack on with some painting.”
Oliver frowned. “You sure you don’t want to go back to bed?” He licked his lips, and it was either Ed’s imagination or his gaze darkened. “I mean, you must be knackered, right?”
Ed blinked away the thoughts that Oliver and his bed threatened to conjure up and smiled. “A bit, but I want to get this place decorated and on the market.”
“Yeah, of course.” Oliver stood, breaking their connection, and the room suddenly felt a touch cooler. “I’ll get the dust sheets out if you want. Make a start while you shower.”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
“No problem.” Oliver left him in the kitchen, and Ed had the strangest feeling he’d messed up. But messed up what?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Oliver waited until he heard the shower turn on before softly banging his head against the hall wall and cursing under his breath. “Fuck.”
Should’ve left when he opened the door and gave you an out.
