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‘Because he found us in the kitchen together?’
‘Yes.’
He’d leant forward and kissed the bruise. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too. But not about us. Not about this.’
It had been a tender moment following some of the most unrestrained sex he had ever known.
Owen took a bite of the sandwich, wishing he could repeat the tenderness and, locking intense eyes with Sally, he said again, ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, my love.’ Fleetingly, she touched his arm. ‘Are you feeling better this morning?’ She tilted an eyebrow at him.
‘Yes, yes, thanks.’ Owen answered, anxious again. What they’d done–what he’d done–no matter which way you looked at it, having sex with your best mate’s mum was wrong. He should regret it, but no matter how many times he told himself that, he simply didn’t. He only feared what might happen to his friendship, should George ever discover what he’d done.
Sally smiled at him, and said, ‘There’s a bottle of brown sauce in the cupboard if you want it.’
‘No, no… this is grand without, thanks,’ Owen answered through a mouthful of bacon and sliced white bread oozing with the salty fat.
Sally turned to George. ‘Is Millie coming down for breakfast?’
‘Hmm, what?’ George had obviously been enjoying his sandwich so deeply he’d drifted away inside his own head. ‘Yes, I’m sure she will, Mum, soon.’ He picked up another sandwich, took a large bite and mumbled, ‘She was working last night, and it’s still quite early. I expect she’s tired.’
They all looked at the kitchen clock, showing it was just gone eight a.m.
‘Well, I need to get the turkey on soon,’ Sally said, clearing away the debris left from frying bacon.
‘Can we do anything?’ Owen offered.
‘No lovie, I have it all under control. We did the spuds, carrots and parsnips last night.’
Owen frowned. He didn’t remember helping with the vegetables last night, but perhaps Sally had done them while he was taking a shower after… or maybe she was constructing some sort of alibi for the pair of them. He nodded as if to agree and took another bite out of his sandwich.
Sally smiled at him and edged him aside so she could get to the oven, adding, ‘There’s not much more than the sprouts and other greens to do this morning while the turkey is cooking.’
George choked on his third sandwich. ‘Yuck, sprouts. You know I hate them, Mum. Do we have to have them?’
‘You’ll eat them and like them, my boy. They’re good for you. Besides, it’s Christmas. The Brussels sprout is a traditional vegetable in the festive season. Isn’t that true, Owen?’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry, I suppose they are, but I’m not keen on them either.’
‘Thanks, Owen - I knew I could rely on you to back me up,’ George said.
‘Sorry,’ Owen said to Sally.
Smiling, she patted his arm gently. ‘Don’t be sorry, lovie. It’s good my son has a loyal friend, like you.’
They locked eyes. So much unsaid, so much would never be said. Owen sensed the tenderness and the tension between them, but hoped George was too engaged with his sandwich to notice.
‘Morning.’ Millie arrived, yawning and looking sleepily adorable, standing in the doorway in a pink fleece dressing gown.
George jumped to her side and took her hand. ‘Merry Christmas. Did you sleep well?’
They gazed at each other, tender longing fully on display. Young love, Owen thought and felt much older than his years. He flicked a glance at Sally and knew she was thinking something similar.
Millie’s fingers played with the front of George’s t-shirt as she murmured shyly, ‘Merry Christmas to you as well.’
He leant forward and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
