by Lily Morton
The microwave dings, and, using a tea towel, I grab my food and head into the lounge to eat on the sofa. Clarence jumps up next to me and gazes at me imploringly as if he hasn’t eaten for a decade. I feed him a bit of lasagne and he licks my cheek affectionately afterwards.
Even here I can see my additions. Front and centre is the peony picture that Zeb bought me from the Cotswolds. I’d carried it here, blithely insisting that his place was a better backdrop for it. I’d worried that I was overstepping but he immediately hung it in pride of place over the fireplace, and he had a smile on his face the whole time.
Other bits of me are also here in the new bright cushions on the sofa, the painting I picked out when we were in Paris for the weekend, my trainers lying abandoned under a chair, and the pile of books on the coffee table. He’ll grumble about them, but he won’t be able to hide the smile. It’s as if he loves these signs that I live here as much as I do.
I still with my fork halfway to my mouth. I think I actually do live here now. I calculate quickly how long it’s been since I’ve stayed in my flat, and I can’t remember. I think it was a few weeks ago.
I’ve been back to check on Charlie regularly. I’ll always worry about him and his health, but he patently doesn’t want fussing over and on my last visit he was talking about sharing a flat with Misha. My lip twitches. That should be interesting.
Then I frown. It’s alright me thinking it’s okay to stay here, but is it with Zeb? Is he just being polite and unable to hurt my feelings enough to demand that I fuck off back to my own house? I look down at my supper and smile and shake my head. He knew I was coming back here.
When I’ve finished my food and put the pots away, I wander into the bedroom. It’s lit by the light of the moon and the streetlights outside, and the huge window is open, letting in the sounds of people moving through the yard outside.
I smile at the sight of Zeb. He’s asleep, which is hardly surprising as he’s been working all hours himself. He bought a house a few months ago with the aim of flipping it. I’d been surprised because as much as he loved his dad, he always seemed to shy away from any hint that he’s anything like him. I’d also been amazed by the fact that he was doing most of the work himself.
But he’s his father’s son, and he knew a lot more about it than I’d realised, and he’s thrived these last few months. He sends me off with a kiss to work before he zips off to the house, accompanied by Clarence with his head out of the truck window. Yes, Zeb now drives a dusty old truck and he dresses in disreputable old jeans and T-shirts as he goes to spend his day pulling up floors and demolishing walls. He comes home dirty and happy and it bloody suits him so much.
He promoted Felix to manager and hired someone to help him out when he bought the house, and the agency is thriving. Felix says he misses taking the piss out of him, but Zeb told me that Felix was always better at the job than him. I sometimes miss seeing Zeb in those sexy suits, but I like even more the lack of stress in his face and the way he glows these days.
Clarence huffs and jumps up onto the bed, curling into the corner of Zeb’s legs and settling down happily. I smirk. When we first got him, Zeb had sternly laid down the law on where the dog could go, which didn’t seem to be many places apart from his basket. However, Clarence is cunning and gradually circumvented Zeb’s rules until there weren’t many left.
I’d known that the dog had won when I came home and found him sitting by the side of the bath barking so that Zeb would throw water at him. The mess in the room clearly indicated a power shift that abides to this day.
Stripping off my clothes, I head for the shower and enjoy the cool water streaming down my body. Eventually clean, refreshed, and feeling as if I could sleep for a year, I pad back into the bedroom. Zeb has shifted position to accommodate The Dog Who Should Not Be There and is now lying on his side. His hair, which is longer than it’s ever been, is a tousled mess and his full lips are slightly parted.
I stare at him in the soft light from the bathroom, feeling so much love push through me. I love him so much. Every day it gets deeper, rooted as it is now in the reality of Zeb rather than the glamorous view I’d previously had of him.
I love his grumpiness in the morning and his inability to ask anyone’s advice to the extent that he won’t ask for directions, which had led us on an hour-long tour of Falmouth once. I love the way his nose wrinkles when he’s reading the paper and the way he looks at me with laughter and so much love in those bright blue eyes.
I know that this is it for me. He is it. My person. And that will never change. I’m a man who knows his mind and heart, and they’re as full of Zebadiah Evans as they always will be.
The light catches on a piece of paper on his bedside table and I idly look at it, returning to look more closely when I see my name. I hold it up to the bathroom light and read it. Then I read it again. And again. And then I look at him and smile because it’s so Zeb that I want to laugh out loud and smother him in kisses. It’s a list in his neat writing and the subject is me moving in with him. It reads like a careful summary of all the reasons why he wants me to live with him, and I read them carefully again, feeling warmth spread through my stomach and chest.
Then I grab his pen and scrawl something on the list before climbing into bed and wrapping my arms around my Zeb and our dog as the sounds of London outside my window lull me to sleep.
Zeb
I wake up to sunshine streaming through the window, the smell of fresh bread on the air from the bakery next door, and Jesse’s hair in my face. I edge back, pushing the silky strands out of my nose, and stare at him. He’s curled around me like I tried to escape in the night, and I inhale the scent of green tea that clings to his skin. His face is gilded by the sunshine and his mouth half open as he snores gently. I smile and shake my head before pressing a kiss to his forehead that’s gentle but no less passionate, as all my feelings seem to suffuse it.
I’m thankful that he sleeps on because he still looks tired with faint shadows showing under those ridiculously long eyelashes. He must have the morning off because his alarm never went off. I decide immediately to take the morning off too.
We haven’t seen much of each other this week, apart from an odd few minutes snatched here and there, mainly because of a case he’s been dealing with. I was right when I thought he’d be a good social worker. He’s passionate and committed and farsighted. His dad called him an old soul, and it’s true.
However, although he pays attention to other people’s needs, he ignores himself, and I’ve noticed signs of him wearing thin this week. And that’s what I consider to be my job. He’s mine in a way that few things ever have been. I love him deeply and beyond anything I knew I was capable of, and, as such, all my caretaking impulses are out in full force with him. I’ll therefore watch him a bit more closely this week, pamper him, and let him know he’s loved. He, as normal, will in turn watch me with a wry look in his pretty eyes and love me back.
I still sometimes can’t believe that he’s with me. This vibrant, funny man could have anyone, and he chose me. However, I trust more and more every day, and we feel real to me. Inevitable and strong.
He influences everything that’s good in my life now. He’s life and light and warmth and laughter. Even the fact that I’m flipping houses is down to him in a way. Having him love who I really am gave me the courage to be myself again. I don’t miss the agency and I’m going to make Felix a partner because I know that when I’ve finished this house, I’ll move on to another. I find it so satisfying to do up an old house and watch it come alive again.
I find it equally satisfying that I now stop working at the weekends and nights so we can be together. And we’ve used the time properly. We travel a lot, visiting all the places that I wanted to, and one shelf on the bookcase is dedicated to travel guides. Their bright colours make me smile every time I catch sight of them.
We still have that map that he crumpled up in the bookstore, and Jesse insists that we’ll visit
one day and find the remains of the ancient barrow. I’ve agreed because I think I’ll propose to him there. The thought doesn’t even raise an inch of freaked out in me now. Just a desire to make us permanent and absolute.
Maybe that’s because I’m finally happy and whole. I’m me. I’m Zeb Evans, not Eddie Evans’s son, and I feel free to embrace the good characteristics I got from my dad without thinking I’m going to succumb to his worst ones. I know I can be funny like him and that I can command people’s attention without having to then run off and marry seven people and rack up debts. Most of all, I know that by giving in and living my life fully, I’m not going to become him. I’m me, and I’m finally happy with that version because Jesse loves it.
I shrug and run my fingers through his silky hair. Then I ease quietly out of bed, shaking my head at Clarence who is perched on the end of the bed looking at me with bright eyes.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be,” I whisper as I step into my khaki shorts and pull on a navy T-shirt. I edge into the bathroom and clean my teeth quietly and then wander out to the lounge to grab his lead. I shake my head and tut as I kick my feet into Jesse’s trainers that are, as normal, lying abandoned on the floor. He’s like a very contained cyclone to live with.
“We’ll go and get him some breakfast,” I whisper to Clarence who dances about when he sees the lead. I clatter down the stairs and out into the early morning bustle of Neal’s Yard. When he’s had a wee outside, I put in our usual order at the bakery of some lemon curd doughnuts and the raisin loaf that Jesse loves, exchanging greetings with the lady behind the counter and answering questions about Jesse. I’ve lived here for ten years, and yet it’s Jesse who knows all the shopkeepers. I’ve often thought rather fancifully that he’s the bridge between the world and my insular tendencies. I can’t retreat behind my walls when he’s blown massive bloody holes in them.
I make my way through the office, laying Felix’s breakfast on his desk as I go. He’s standing unloading his bag onto the desk, and he grins widely. “It’s like having a very buff houseboy.”
“Thrilled as I am to have my whole existence reduced to my body and food-providing abilities, I’m going to have to pull myself away from your conversation.”
“Your loss.” He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. “Except that it really isn’t because I’ve just rolled out of an empty bed and yours is full of your young totty.”
“Felix, someone someday is going to take a whack at that equilibrium of yours. I can’t wait.”
“That sounded slightly bloodthirsty and extremely implausible. I’m like Teflon emotionally.” I stare at him because he wasn’t always like this and it hurts my heart to know why. He waves a hand at me as if dismissing the look on my face. “So, asked him to move in yet?”
I shake my head. “I’m trying to find the right words.”
“Actually, they’re quite easy. ‘Will you move in with me and be my boy toy until the end of days?’”
I roll my eyes as he laughs. “I made a list of arguments to persuade him.”
“Well, of course you did. Not that you’ll need it with him. He’s nauseatingly in love with you. What’s the matter?”
My face must show a horrified expression. “Oh shit, I left the list on the bedside table. Fuck. Maybe he’s seen it.”
He bites his lip. “Well, if he’s read it, at least you’ve managed to cut out the terrible middleman bit of having to use words. Out loud.”
“Fuck,” I say again and dart up the stairs, Clarence trotting along behind.
“Good luck,” he shouts after me.
I let myself into the flat and tiptoe towards the bedroom. “We’ll creep in and get it,” I whisper to Clarence at the door. “And he’ll never know.”
“Never know what?” comes a warm voice.
“Shit,” I mutter to Clarence, who is patently unconcerned as he sits down to lick his balls. I come cautiously round the door to find Jesse sitting up, leaning against the headboard with the green sheets in a puddle around his lap. His hair is falling over his face, his eyes glowing with humour.
“Well, good morning to you,” he purrs, lifting his arms up and stretching.
Unbidden, my eyes fall to his lap to see if I can get a glimpse of his dick, and then I remember my mission. I dart a quick look at the table and relax slightly when I see the paper still lying there.
“What are you staring at?” he murmurs.
“Nothing,” I say shiftily. “Just checking I haven’t lost my shopping list.”
“Oh, your list,” he says, biting his lip. “What’s on it?”
“Why are you interested?”
“Humour me.”
“Oh my God,” I sigh. “You’ve read it.” He bursts into laughter, giggling so hard that he falls into the sheets and writhes around. “You are such a twat,” I say, shoving him gently as I walk past him. He laughs even harder. “When did you read it?”
“Your shopping list? Last night. I really hope you don’t forget the bit about reminding me that you have a big wardrobe. Was that a euphemism?”
I shake my head but can’t help laughing. “Why does nothing ever go as I planned with you, Jesse?”
He straightens onto his knees, the sheets falling away. He glows in the light but as ever, he’s utterly unconcerned by his nakedness. “Maybe that’s a good thing,” he says softly, his expression serious and all trace of laughter gone. “Maybe that’s what you need.”
“You’re what I need,” I say quietly, reaching out to cup his face in my palms. “You’ll always be what I need.” I trace the arch of one eyebrow with my finger. “I want you to live with me, Jess. I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with you next to me. I want to laugh and talk late into the night the way we do. You’re my best friend, and I don’t know how that happened or what you see in me, but I want you to know that this is your home. Your safe place. Because you’re my safe place.”
He stares at me, his eyes looking liquid for a second. “When you go in, you’re really in, love,” he says faintly.
“So will you?”
“I wrote the answer on your list. I’m afraid I’ve messed up your bullet point system.”
I snatch up the paper, and scrawled across it in his messy handwriting is the word yes.
I swallow and look up at him as he nods his head furiously. “Of course I will. Zeb, I love you. I just want to be with you all the time. I can’t think of anything nicer than to be with you for the rest of my life.”
“And mine,” I whisper. “I love you, Jesse Reed.”
I hug him tight, loving the way he nestles into me so trustingly, loving the feel of him by my side in the way that I now have an inner certainty he always will be. I don’t doubt him anymore. I don’t think of the age gap or the future problems we’ll probably face. Of course they’ll come, but we’ll be ready for them.
All the things that kept me from him for years now seem like nothing, because all I see is him. This maddening, impulsive man who is merry and warm and somehow just simply the best man I’ve ever known.
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Thank You
My husband who’s my best friend and can always make me laugh. This is for reading all of my stories, and then laughing a lot harder at T J Klune’s books!
My boys. For being my pride and joy.
Hailey Turner. For all the laughs, encouragement, and wonderful friendship.
Edie Danford. For making me laugh every day and being such a wonderful friend. Also, for the Alexander Skarsgard pictures.
Leslie, Courtney, and everyone at LesCourt Author Services. I couldn’t do it without you.
The members of my Facebook reader’s group, Lily’s Snark Squad. I love my time spent in there.
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e reading, reviewing and promoting the books. Also, the readers who liven up my day with their messages and photos and book recommendations. I love being a part of this community, so thank you.
Lastly thanks to you, for taking a chance on this book. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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