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“Cookery books aren’t funny, although some of the recipes are just plain weird.”
“Yeah.”
Silence. I listened to him breathe.
“Are we okay?” I had to ask. Apologise again. Beg for us to start over.
“Of course we’re okay. You’re my Hugo. And…the…you know. If you need things, tell me. I mean…I’m not…we could…work on things.”
“You don’t want sex, and I don’t want it either. I don’t, honestly. I don’t want to ever get like this again. It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”
“No, it’s not, and neither are you. You’re just you, and I love who you are. I love that you wanted to…make me…I don’t know.”
“Sex is messy. You know how much I hate washing the sheets.”
“You love washing the sheets. And ironing them.”
He laughed. I did too. Things were fine. Good. Almost back to…whatever we were.
“Do you want anything to eat?” His voice sounded nearly normal now, not broken like it had before.
“Trust you to change the mood. We’re having a nice intimate moment here and now you want feeding?”
“Well,” he grunted, trying to get on top of me. Even the weight of him squashing me into the bed was comforting…for a few seconds before I couldn’t breathe. He got up and sat next to me. I rolled myself so I was sitting up too. I stroked his arm.
“Sorry about today,” I said.
“Nothing to be sorry about. It made us talk, didn’t it?”
Truth. Right there.
“I bought bread to make toast and, like, four different jams. I used to love toast with jam. I can’t even remember which jam was my favourite.”
“Toast it is then.” His voice was like a warm caress. And his smile…
“I love you,” I said. I didn’t care anymore. I was so incredibly in love with Benjamin Desjardins that it was slightly stupid. “I need to learn to look after you as well as you look after me. You’ve been so incredibly good with me, and I…I need to be that for you too. I want to. I want to look after you and love you and be with you, and do you know what the very best thing is?”
“No?” he asked with the most beautiful smile. I had to look down at my hands because it was too much.
“The best thing is when you come home and I get to hug you. When you smell of the outside and I’m all warm, and I get to heat you up, chase away the chill until you’re all snuggly and we hug, and I love that.”
“I love a good hug.”
“You give really good hugs,” I gushed.
“We both do.”
My cheeks flamed at his praise. “Toast?”
“Absolutely. Did you say you bought strawberry jam?”
“Yup. And apricot. And blueberry. I don’t like marmalade.”
“Nobody in their right mind likes marmalade.” He laughed. “Come on, boyfriend, let’s go have a snack then.”
“Tea?” I offered.
“You need to be up in a couple of hours. You sure you want tea?”
