Cake at Midnight

by Jessie L. Star

  ‘Three minutes past midnight.’

  I snorted, losing all claim to sultriness in an instant. ‘Of course it is.’

  It felt strange knowing Theo’d been awake while I’d slept for a few hours beside him, but not bad strange. It was quite a cosy scene, actually, both wildly different and yet similar to our other nights together.

  ‘Were you working?’ I asked.

  ‘Just sending a few emails.’

  I nodded as if this made sense to me, when it patently didn’t, and then, knowing it was the right thing to do, forced myself to ask, ‘D’you want me to leave you to it?’

  He gave me a look and then tipped up my chin, pressing a deep kiss to my lips. My whole body thrilled from it, a fizz of happiness and desire. A reciprocated crush was a million times better than an unreciprocated one.

  ‘Good answer,’ I said breathlessly when he pulled away.

  A corner of his mouth kicked up and, throwing his phone onto the coffee table, he drew me on top of him.

  My hair fell forward as I propped myself above him, and Theo pushed it back, tangling his fingers through it.

  ‘I’m glad you moved here,’ I murmured.

  ‘Me, too.’

  His coat was rucked between us and we pulled and kicked at it as we kissed again, until there was no impediment to the feel of each other.

  The feathering of his chest hair rasped against my breasts and stomach in this position and I rocked myself over it until Theo ripped his mouth from mine and tipped his head back, his eyes closed.

  ‘Jesus, Giovanna.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, all innocence. ‘This?’

  And I lowered myself again, ensuring I rubbed myself against the length of him now straining up between us.

  He let out a hiss and I grinned.

  Bending my head to kiss at his pecs, I breathed in his warm scent and continued to explore his body, my fingers trailing across his hard lines.

  Theo was usually so controlled and steady that it gave me a thrill to make his hands clench and his chest rise and fall unsteadily, to hear him whisper his PG-rated curses as I got creative with where I pressed my lips.

  Eventually, however, he breathed my name again, sounding almost desperate and I sat up and guided him into me.

  I moved languidly atop him. I didn’t feel like I was play-acting at being a sex goddess, I felt like I was one. Theo certainly made me feel worshipped, as he gazed up at me, smiling as I climaxed and then gathering me to him as he rode out his own.

  In the glowy aftermath I wondered how I’d got so lucky, how remarkable it was that, different as we were, Theo and I had found this compatibility, and also – how hungry I was.

  ‘Did you have dinner?’ I asked, suddenly energised, and felt Theo’s lips spread into a smile where they rested against my temple.

  ‘Is that a euphemism?’

  I giggled, a proper giggle like there was nothing but air in my head. Zoë would’ve been horrified. ‘No, actual dinner, because I just realised I didn’t and all this exertion has made me hungry. Oh!’ I sat up, filled with sudden purpose. ‘We could have a midnight feast!’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Theo sat up as well, reaching for his underwear. ‘Although I hope you’re not expecting to find ingredients for said feast in my fridge because I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.’

  ‘You’re an eat-outer, aren’t you? Someone who eats out at restaurants a lot, I mean. I thought you would be. How lucky that I live just across the hall, I’ve got heaps of bits and pieces. What takes your fancy? Omelette? Toasted cheese sandwich? Some variation on a full English depending on what I’ve got in the fridge?’ With impeccable timing, his stomach rumbled, and I laughed. ‘All of the above?’

  He bent and kissed my shoulder, easy as you like. ‘Lady’s choice.’

  ‘Some variation on a full English it is, then.’

  In the excitement of planning what to eat, always one of my favourite things to do, I’d momentarily forgotten my stark nakedness. As I went to rise from the couch, however, and felt chills in all sorts of unusual places, I looked around quickly to see if I could spot my clothes.

  ‘Here.’ Having pulled his boxer briefs up as he stood, Theo picked up his coat and draped it around my shoulders, the heavy material swamping me. Apparently unfazed by his own lack of attire – perhaps an inheritance from his mother? – he helped me roll up the sleeves and fastened a couple of the buttons.

  ‘Should we go to yours, or–’ he started to ask, but I shook my head.

  ‘And miss out on trying all your shiny appliances? Not a chance! I’ve had my eye on those for ages. Give me a couple of seconds and I’ll return with provisions.’

  He caught at a fold of his coat as I went to rush off, tugging me back to him for another quick kiss and then releasing me with a lopsided smile. There was nothing lopsided about my grin in return, a grin that stayed cheerfully in place as I practically skipped across the hallway to gather the ingredients for a witching-hour breakfast.

  I was so giddy that each item I pulled from my fridge seemed to take on extra importance. I even hugged a tomato, thinking to myself that, when I’d bought it, I had no idea I was going to have sex with Theo – twice! How could so much have changed in just the lifespan of a tomato in my fridge?

  Returning, I saw that Theo had set his small table with heavy-looking silverware and on a little plate in the centre he’d put . . .

  ‘Is that one of my roses?’ I asked, releasing my armful of produce onto the counter and staring at the tiny sugar decoration in question.

  ‘Yeah, I found it under the couch a couple of days ago.’

  What he didn’t say, but what I heard loud and clear anyway was: And I kept it.

  I knew what we had wasn’t destined to be an enduring romance – we’d both made it clear we were just enjoying each other’s company while we got the rest of our lives sorted out – but that didn’t mean I didn’t continue to sneak little looks at the soft pink rose, inordinately pleased with what it represented.

  Theo, now in his grey trackie dacks and white T-shirt evening attire, was a good sous chef and obediently cut thick slabs of sourdough and stirred pan contents as directed. I, meanwhile, leapt about exclaiming over the quality and cleanliness of everything from his saucepans to his toaster, finding an excuse to use every gadget I could and thoroughly enjoying myself in the process. With our powers combined, it wasn’t long before we were sitting down to a hearty meal of scrambled eggs, grilled herbed tomatoes and smashed avocado on toast.

  Already warm in his heavy coat, I became warmer still, literally flushed with my success as I watched Theo savour every mouthful. There were few things I enjoyed more than feeding an appreciative audience.

  Obviously feeling my gaze on him, Theo looked up as he finished his meal and then smirked and reached over to smooth out a bit of the coat collar that had folded in against my neck. ‘That’s a very Leventis look you’re wearing right now,’ he said and I don’t know which of us was more surprised at his willingness to make a joke about such a touchy subject. Good food really could work wonders.

  Curling my legs under me, I flapped my arms to show how huge his coat was on me and laughed. ‘I don’t think I’m brave enough to get into a “who wore it better?” situation with Philomena.’

  ‘No contest,’ he said, ‘it’s you.’ His expression remained bright for a moment, then he sighed and leant back in his chair and it was almost as if I could see some of the weight from the previous evening settling back over him. ‘You should know,’ he said, clearly having to force himself to say the words, ‘you’re in one of the photos being thrown around from the unveiling. I should’ve told you before.’

  ‘No, I know,’ I said gently, ‘someone at work showed me.’ I hurried to explain that Maya was so keen on small details she was practically a microscope and that nobody else I knew seemed to have spotted me, but it didn’t seem to make him feel better about it. ‘Are you worried that people at AHC will start gossipi
ng again?’ I asked as grim lines settled into his face.

  ‘They’re never not gossiping, but that’s not– I didn’t want my family issues to affect you. It was selfish of me to take you to the unveiling.’

  The sex had been good – more than good, it’d been fantastic – but a benefit to it other than the obvious became apparent as, with the barriers to physical contact down, I didn’t hesitate to place a hand over his, giving his fist a squeeze.

  ‘It hasn’t affected me,’ I reassured him. He seemed unconvinced, so I sought for a way to lighten the mood. ‘Have you ever considered just blasting your heavy metal music any time someone tries to bring up your family? Like as a way to get your shouting and teeth-gnashing out there without actually having to do any of it yourself?’

  I could see that he appreciated my efforts to cheer him up and that he was making an effort in return as he said, ‘Worth a try, I suppose.’ He shook his head, a faint smirk on his lips. ‘I grew up hiding my music taste, actually. It was the sort of anti-establishment genre my family would’ve loved, so, just to spite them, I pretended I was into mainstream pop.’

  ‘Did they believe you?’ I asked, struggling to imagine Theo dancing along to Britney Spears . . . although, to be fair, metalcore wouldn’t have been my first guess for him, either.

  He shrugged. ‘I doubt it, but I don’t think they figured out what I was actually listening to, either. I used to have to sneak out to metal gigs, not because Philomena or Harvey wouldn’t have wanted me to go, but because they would have and I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.’

  ‘You rebelled by pretending not to rebel,’ I laughed. ‘That’s amazing.’

  He chuckled and loosened his fist so that his fingers interlaced with mine. ‘How about you? Any teenage rebellions I should know about?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said slowly, giving it some thought. ‘I mean, I had my fair share of flouncy, door-slamming moments, but my Great Aunt Aggie had this thing where she’d always say “respect and grace” and, any time I was a brat, odds were that my parents would quote that at me and we’d end up laughing. I’ve never been all that good at holding onto a bad mood, and my friends had some pretty dodgy stuff going on with their families back then, so that kind of put any of my teenage dramas into perspective. It’s hard to wail about how hard your life is when your best mates are scared to go home some evenings, you know?’

  I knew immediately I’d said too much and lifted my head to see that Theo was staring at me with an expression that told me just how transparent I’d been. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t explicitly named him, he knew I was talking about Dec.

  ‘I shouldn’t have told you that, please don’t say anything,’ I said quickly. ‘Dec’d hate– I mean, it’s not something that he’d want anyone at AHC to–’

  ‘No, of course not. I wouldn’t–’

  ‘No, I know, it’s just–’

  The mention of Dec threw us both off, making us stumble over our words. Awkward as it felt, however, I decided that while we were already in that space I should get something else out of the way as well.

  ‘I don’t rent,’ I blurted out, pulling my hand from his and bunching it into his coat.

  ‘Okay.’ He drew the word out, clearly trying to understand the significance of the topic switch.

  ‘Aggie, my great aunt, of “respect and grace” fame, owned her studio outright and left it to me in her will. I’m from Jarli, you know. Not around here. And I’m still only an apprentice so insurance and everything kills me . . . I mean, I get by, but I wouldn’t be able to afford to rent here now that–’ I stopped just before I said people like you live here. ‘It’s just that this–’ and I gestured at his expertly renovated flat, ‘–isn’t within my budget or, you know, my wildest dreams. Just so you know,’ I finished feebly as he continued to look confused.

  ‘I hope you don’t think that that would matter to me,’ he said after a couple of seconds had passed.

  ‘I know we’re not having expectations of each other, or anything,’ I said, realising too late that, of course, we weren’t anything to each other that required a deep and meaningful about our no doubt wildly divergent bank account balances. ‘But I didn’t want to be . . .’ I struggled to think of the right word, but then it came to me: ‘disingenuous.’

  To my surprise, the tension left Theo in a puff of laughter and he leant forward to put his hands on my shoulders. ‘Giovanna, I think that’s possibly the last word I would use to describe you.’

  He really was the master of saying something that, in and of itself, wasn’t praise, but which felt like it anyway.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. And then, unable to stop myself, added, ‘What would be the first?’

  ‘Sweet,’ he said, without hesitation.

  Yes, I’d been fishing for a compliment, but I hadn’t actually thought I’d reel one in and I blinked at him in surprise.

  ‘Not what you were expecting?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, feigning casualness even as I felt a cheerful burst of fireworks go off in my chest. ‘I mean, what about “daring”? Or “hilarious”? Or “stunning”?’

  He laughed and released me to collect our dirty plates. ‘You’re all those things,’ he agreed as he stood and headed for the kitchen, ‘but you asked me for the first word.’

  I ducked into his hulking coat to hide just how thoroughly enchanted I was by his assessment of me. In the next moment, however, I realised that I shouldn’t just be sitting there like Lady Muck while Theo cleaned up, especially since I was the one who’d made his kitchen probably the messiest it’d ever been.

  As I rose to lend a hand, though, he waved me back. ‘You cooked,’ he said.

  ‘You helped.’

  ‘Earlier this evening I watched you smash half of your kitchenware.’

  I laughed. ‘Hardly half . . . but your point is a good one.’

  He started putting the kitchen to rights, his every move economical and sure, confident in this as he seemed to be in all things. Honestly, the more I got to know him, the less unusual it seemed that someone had given him a trophy in his mid-twenties; if ever there was a man MVP-ing his way through life, it was this one.

  Following this line of thought, I leant against the counter and asked, ‘What’s the Aver Award?’ When Theo looked surprised, I added, ‘I saw the trophy on your shelf.’

  ‘Right.’ He shut the dishwasher with a snap while – I was sure I wasn’t imagining it – avoiding my eye. ‘It’s an industry thing, an up-and-comer award that doesn’t mean anything outside of a very specific sector.’

  I rolled my eyes at his self-deprecation. ‘But as it’s in your sector it does mean something. You were the best up-and-comer a couple of years ago.’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  I reached over and poked him hard in the shoulder. ‘If this is how you accept kudos, I hate to think how you handle criticism.’

  His face cracked into a reluctant smile, as I’d hoped it would, and then he shrugged.

  ‘I was proud at the time. Winning the Aver was instrumental to me securing a promotion at my previous firm and being headhunted by AHC.’

  ‘But?’ I prompted, seeing that he was still looking unenthusiastic even as he listed the award’s advantages.

  ‘But it’s symbolic of a time I’d rather forget.’

  I waited to see whether he’d add to that and, when he didn’t, shook my head. ‘You’re a cryptic man, Theodore McKillop.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be.’

  I wasn’t sure I believed that; he had such a tight hold on himself that it seemed unlikely he wasn’t aware of precisely how much he was giving away. Still, I made an effort not to care. So much of his life had been public property that it made sense he’d want to keep some things to himself. Besides, no expectations.

  I suddenly realised just how gritty my eyes were and, checking the time on his microwave, saw that it was nearly two in the morning. Following my gaze, Theo did one final sweep of
his counter with a sponge and then placed it neatly to one side of the sink. It felt like a dismissal.

  ‘It’s late,’ I said, somewhat redundantly. ‘Should I . . . go?’

  There was a weighted beat of silence and then Theo replied, ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

  The panicky thoughts about what happened next, about whether this had been a one-time thing and I’d read him all wrong, evaporated in a rush.

  ‘So I won’t,’ I said, grinning as he walked over to me and looped his arms around my waist.

  ‘Good.’

  *

  ‘Guess whose entire batch of macarons were perfect today? And I don’t mean good or even excellent, I mean perfect.’

  All Theo’s life, people had accused him of never smiling, but, as her voice filled his ear down the phone line, he thought how his every contact with Giovanna proved them wrong.

  It was a Monday afternoon, nine days after he’d lifted her up onto her counter and finally allowed himself to kiss her. Their old witching hours, as Giovanna had called them, already felt like a thing of the past. They’d been together all evening, every evening they could after that first time; he’d continued to explore her, revelling in every flush and squirm he could coax from her, the pair of them only emerging from his bed so Giovanna could bustle around his kitchen, whipping up amazing meals seemingly out of nowhere. It seemed crazy to him now that he’d been able to content himself with only an hour or so of her company each night for those two weeks – it felt like such a waste.

  They’d exchanged numbers early on and he was already accustomed to the way Giovanna began calls as if they were halfway through a conversation. It was part of her openness, part of her unabashed nature to say whatever was in her head. It should’ve seemed childish, and if he’d been asked what he thought of such a trait before meeting her, he undoubtedly would’ve said it was the sort of thing that would get on his nerves, and yet in reality, he found himself charmed by it every time.