“Come on,” he said, taking Luca’s hand and wiping the moisture from his eye. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
Luca stopped him, pulling on his hand. “The food can wait a moment.”
Once Luca’s lips covered his own, Zac couldn’t agree more.
One Winter Night by Ellie Thomas
Chapter 1
London, February 1818
William Grant opened his front door and entered the narrow house on Henrietta Street. He was instantly grateful for the darkness and quiet, a respite from the lively nighttime bustle of Drury Lane. Even after many years of working as a professional musician, Will still felt that rush of exhilaration mixed with exhaustion after a concert.
Without needing any light to guide him, Will shrugged off his hat and coat, throwing them over the banister. He went through to the parlour and lit a lamp, putting down his violin case before he knelt to rake the banked down fire and add fresh coals.
Will smiled to himself as he performed the simple domestic task.
I must be getting old, preferring to sit quietly by the fire. I could be carousing around the corner in a Covent Garden tavern if I so chose.
Yet the invitation from Luc, a fellow violinist more than a decade Will’s junior, had been a mere courtesy. Luc was dashing off to meet the handsome actor who had captured and held his heart.
Young love, Will thought indulgently as he watched the flames catching the coals.Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with love of a more mature vintage. I, for one, am certainly not complaining.
Martin Dunne, Will’s companion of seventeen years standing, might be dining elsewhere, but his presence remained. The precise arrangement of the furniture and careful ordering of the possessions they had chosen together put Martin’s stamp on the room.
A quick glance revealed that there was no scatter of sheet music on the floor or chairs.
I could have sworn I left my music lying around.
Before dashing off, Will had promised himself that he would put away the stray sheets on his return.
Martin must have organised them for me, Will thought with a rueful grin as he thought of his partner grumbling under his breath at Will’s habitual untidiness. After so many years together, Will knew that Martin’s complaints were a mere matter of form.
Will’s creative chaos countered Martin’s tendency to rigid order.
Will tried to be considerate, and mostly, he succeeded. But when preparing for a performance, he got so caught up in his thoughts and feelings about the piece he was about to play that he invariably left some musical detritus littering their parlour.
I’m lucky that Martin doesn’t really mind.
Tidying up after Will was one of the many ways in which Martin showed his unswerving devotion and the care that made their house a home. Will was warmed by the idea of Martin’s steady kindness as much as the freshly blazing fire.
As always, his emotions needed an outlet, to be expressed through music.
He dismissed the notion of sitting by the fire with a glass of wine.
I’ll hold off until Martin comes home and then we can indulge together.
Impatiently, he unbuttoned his waistcoat, and loosened his cravat before removing his violin from the case. Earlier, he had played to an audience for payment and to enhance his reputation, but now he craved a more personal connection.
Music, alongside Martin, remained his ultimate release.
Will tucked the violin under his chin and flicked throughhis mental catalogue of pieces.
Something joyful tonight,he decided.A paeon of gratitude.
He glanced around the comfortable room, testament to his and Martin’s lasting happiness and relative prosperity.
Not that we don’t have our arguments.
