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Jane Austen’s version of an accomplished lady, in fact.
A plate of scallops breaded with dukkah waited on the metal benchtop, ready to be grilled at the last minute, but it was the paper packet with its white label that caught Hayden’s eye. First Light wagyu beef tenderloin, and the sizzle of the filets on the steel was making his mouth water. That and the asparagus ready to go onto the barbecue with the scallops.
He was already tapping Julian on the shoulder when it registered. Scallops and First Light wagyu? To eat dinner at home? Alone?
Julian had excellent taste, though. Excellent, expensive taste.
Julian turned with a smile that lit up his electric-blue eyes, the chiseled cheekbones and the shine of his blonde hair, as always, making Hayden’s heart beat faster. And then the smile left his face as if it had never existed. “Hayden. Dear boy. This is a surprise. Thought you were working late. Did you text me?”
“Wanted to surprise you.” Hayden shifted the cat in his arms. The ginger tabby had been purring all along, and now, he decided to vocalize. The sound that had charmed Hayden at the shelter, full of chirps and varied tones. “With this,” Hayden added. “Cat. For you. Like you wanted.”
Julian stared at the animal, then said, “It’s not the best time. I’ve got friends coming, as you said you were working. How about tomorrow instead?”
“Oh.” Hayden was aware of the cat’s weight, dragging at him. The thing was still talking, probably about scallops. Hayden hadn’t had dinner yet—he hadn’t even thought of it—and his stomach was telling him it was past seven-thirty. He was starved, in fact, and he didn’t know when you fed cats. What if he was starving the cat, too? He had a bag of food in the car. Should he go get it? Clearly not.
He’d been right. It was too soon. Too much, and too soon. He’d been stupid.
“Babe?”
The sound came from behind them. From inside those ranch sliders.
It was one of those moments frozen in amber. Hayden turned, feeling like his head weighed twenty kilograms, and saw him. Tall, muscular, and fit as hell. Crisp dark hair, brown eyes, drop-dead handsome.
Hayden recognized him. First, because he was an actor on Courtney Place, New Zealand’s favorite soap. Well, New Zealand’s only soap, but who was counting. And second, because he was Julian’s ex, whose photo Julian had shown him early on, telling him how he’d burnt the physical copy and broken the frame for good measure. “Burnt the deep-blue cashmere/merino/silk jumper he bought me, too, the one that matched my eyes, and sold the skis, which was all mad,” he’d told Hayden. “But, heigh-ho, you know I have to have my drama, and I didn’t want any reminders of the possible love of my life. Totally forgetting about the glory of that fabric blend, of course. The skis, now, I could live without. So much effort. He was such a materialistic boy, though, and to be brutally honest, there wasn’t much happening under the looks. Whereas you, my darling, are all about what’s real, aren’t you? A wee bit earnest and boringly sincere, maybe, under your lovely looks, but then, you are a Kiwi.”
“You didn’t have to hang onto the reminders,” Hayden had said, pulling him close and ignoring the brittleness. “I’m here now, and I’m real. And boringly sincere.”
He was real, all right. Really stupid. All he could say was, “What? Oh. Are you—”
The bloke put an arm around Julian. “Mmm, lovely steaks. You said you had a surprise.” He yawned and added, “Lovely nap, too,” then asked Hayden, “I don’t know you, do I? Trevor Makiri-Jones. Julian’s partner.” He eyed the animal in Hayden’s arms. “D’you always travel with a cat? Odd.”
“But I’m—” Hayden started to say as the cold enveloped him.
Julian said, “I can explain.”
Trevor said, “Explain what?”
Hayden said, through the buzzing in his head, “I don’t know. That he’s been cheating on me? What’s the explanation for that?”
Julian didn’t say the “explaining” thing again, or maybe he’d never said it to Hayden, because he told Trevor, “We were taking a break, or that’s what you say now. What it really was, though, was breaking up. How did I know that you wouldn’t be buggering off again this time? That is your pattern, do admit.”
“Wait.” There was ice where Hayden’s blood should be, and more of that prickling buzz. In his arms. In his hands. He could still feel the cat, but that was the only thing anchoring him here. “You weren’t cheating on me. You were cheating on him. We’ve been together two and a half months,” he told Trevor. “It wasn’t a fling.”
I brought him a cat, he wanted to say, but that was stupid. Everybody could see the cat.
“So you see, I wasn’t cheating on you,” Julian told Trevor, still ignoring Hayden. “We were on a break. As noted.”
“Not three weeks ago, we weren’t,” Trevor said. “That’s not a bloody break, that’s overlap. And I’m sorry, but what the hell is the story with the cat?” He sneezed into his shoulder, then did it again. “I’m allergic, and I’m on the call sheet for tomorrow. Can’t be dashing and dangerous with a red nose, can I? Also, I clearly need to be breaking up, or at least having a fight, and whoever you are, toy boy, you’re in the way. Two and a half months isn’t a relationship. It’s a fling. Sorry. You’ve been flung.”
“No!” Julian said. “Don’t go.” Again, not to Hayden. “Give it a minute. Let’s discuss. And then make up, because you know you’ll want to make up. If it weren’t for breaking up and making up, we’d have no relationship at all. That’s our spice, and you know it.”
Hayden wanted to make a statement. A declaration. A denouncement, possibly. His vision was blurring, though, and he was drowning. He could never get angry at the right time. Why couldn’t he get angry? All he felt was humiliation. He said, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat, “Apparently I just got myself a cat. Either that, or it’s back to the shelter with him, but he’s an awesome cat. I’m pretty awesome, too. You’re missing out on me.”
“I’m sorry,” Julian said, not sounding nearly sorry enough. “But I told you—Trevor’s the love of my life. Look at him. Look at his life, then look at yours.”
“I’m a lawyer,” Hayden said, hearing how stupid it sounded.
“Looking at contracts for people with actual money? Really too dull for words, darling. And I meant an elegant cat, maybe a temperamental Siamese with some suggestion of pedigree, not some stripey ginger you got from the SPCA. You’re so middle class. Such a striver. Which is lovely, of course, but not for me. Stay,” he told Trevor. “I’ve made this fab dinner. Stay and eat it with me, and we’ll talk it out. I was vulnerable. I was hurting. You know how I am.”
