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“Oh!” I’d forgotten about all this but gratefully accepted the crumpled pile of papers and envelopes and shoved it under the desk.
“And Imogen owes you for last month. You had a large booking, and they forgot to include it. That needs chasing.”
“Noted.” I grabbed a piece of paper, scribbled it down.
“And I won’t accept any more of you hogging guests and stealing my tips. It’s unacceptable.”
“Not my fault that our guests like me more than you,” I sassed.
“I take all that back then.” He grinned. “You’ve got crumbs on your tie.”
He laughed all the way back to the door while I brushed myself down and did what Finn had said. I stood tall. And then?
Then the day, strangely, went on.
At lunchtime, I sat in the canteen with a bowl of soup and struggled to get even a spoonful into my mouth. It took a lot out of me to sit down and eat. By the time I clocked out, I couldn’t even stomach the thought of the cereal bar in my bag and ran home, exhausted and drained, and half panicked because I didn’t have a key. I hated that I had to press the buzzer and hoped Ben was there to let me in.
Which he was, in a hoodie covered in flour.
“I’m baking,” he explained, looking slightly terrified. “You need a key.”
“I can smell it. And a key might be useful.”
“Yeah.”
It was funny. Benjamin Desjardins was a completely different person at home. He lost all that tough exterior and hardness and the scowl on his face smoothed out.
“Need a hug?” I asked, smiling carefully.
He didn’t reply and instead just grabbed me, held me tight to his chest and…fuck me. He sniffed my hair!
“You okay?” he asked quietly as he let me go.
“Yeah. Is this a thing now? That we hug?”
“Do you mind?” He looked a little bewildered.
“No.” I honestly didn’t. “Are there rules around this hugging thing? I mean, you did mention a contract last time. That was rather…worrying.”
I threw my bag on the floor and kicked off my trainers. Feeling a little shaky, I made a beeline for the kitchen and grabbed an apple.
“Agreement.” He was following me and kept talking. “And…hugs. I mean, we’re friends. We hug when we meet. Is a hug goodbye something you would find acceptable?”
He was snarking right back at me, and all I could do was smile. Take a bite out of my apple.
“I’ll make you a tea,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen table, where his laptop was open next to a notebook full of barely legible scribbles randomly placed on the paper, not even following the lines. I leaned closer and squinted at them.
“I can’t read your handwriting at all. What’smadra grav?”
“Ah, that. Yeah. Too sweet. Tried it and it sucked.”
“Okay?”
He shrugged. “I’m dyslexic and write like a preschooler. It wasn’t always this bad. I was really good at school when I was younger. Then I got more into sports and…yeah. It’s Madeira gravy, by the way. And it’s no good. I’m going to go with something tarter.”
“Okay.” I tended to say that a lot, it seemed. “I haven’t eaten much today,” I admitted.
He smiled. “That I can fix. I made bread. And Mark buys this ham that is out of this world, so I’m going to make you the mother of all ham sandwiches.”
