“Obviously you two are going to get on like a house fire.” Frank shook his head. “Not sure if it’s a good idea, putting you in the same room.”
“Only one way to find out.” Emily pointed at the house. “You going to let us in, or do I have to cook out here? Can’t promise the ciabatta will be any good if I cook it on the hood.”
“All right, all right. Come on.” He glanced at her car. “You need help bringing everything in?”
“I’m not going to turn down the assistance of a strapping young boy.” She circled around to the boot. “Or his elderly friend.”
“Quiet, you.”
They unloaded the Mini, which took them two trips apiece. How she fit that much into a car that small mystified Frank; the boot was the size of, well, one of Brandon’s laced-up combat boots, and yet it somehow contained enough food to feed half of London. If she ever got a larger vehicle, she could probably open up a moving supermarket.
Brandon insisted on helping in the kitchen, but Frank persuaded him to go grab a shower first.
“So.” Emily eyed the empty staircase after Brandon had gone up. “He’s your . . . friend?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Mm-hmm. Isn’t he a little young for you?”
“He’s legal.” Frank shrugged. “And quite . . .” Experienced with things you and I wouldn’t wish on anyone else. “He’s mature.”
“Oh, sure, that’s a good match for you.” She sniggered. “But seriously, is he—I mean, does he know?”
“Of course he knows.” Frank barely managed to not snap. “Do you think I’d keep that from someone if I was seeing him?”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She arranged the implements she needed—a whole range of knives, a pile of bowls—moving quickly but without appearing hectic in the least. “He seems nice.”
“He is. And we’re in that weird phase where we’re kind of casual, but might be moving to kind of serious.”
She smiled. “Butterflies and all?”
Frank nodded and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah. Butterflies and snakes and fear and all.”
Her blue eyes were suddenly soft. “Try to be happy, Frank. You’re not alive to punish yourself.”
Try to be happy. Try to grow wings and fly. Same difference.
“I’m trying. He’s the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.”
She reached out and touched his shoulder. “That’s good enough for me.” She pulled back and gave him a couple of limes. “Wash your hands and then zest and juice those.”
They were happily working away when Brandon came back down, wearing jeans and a fresh US Army T-shirt, hair damp.
Frank waved him in. “Your turn. I’ll go get changed.”
Brandon took over, chopping courgettes while Emily was butterflying a pile of chicken breasts.
Frank hurried upstairs and went into the en suite for a very quick shower, the room still humid from Brandon’s shower. The quick clean-up reminded him of what they’d done, that delicious passiveness that Brandon had managed to get out of him, and that now lingered much more closely under the surface than before.
After all that shit in his past, all the things to be defensive about, only Andrew had taught him that that wasn’t actually a weakness, merely a complementary aspect of him—the flip side of all his strength, as Andrew had called it. They’d negotiated power and positions for most of their relationship, which had kept things interesting. Nothing anybody took for granted, nothing given. In that kind of framework, exploring what he wanted, what he could do, what he could accept being done to him, had been entirely safe. And then the illness had shattered the only safe space he’d ever known.
And now there was the possibility of having that safe space again. Brandon may have been young, but he was no kid. No child, anyway. He knew what he was doing. He provided Frank with that safe place for submission and surrender. He gave Frank hope that he could have everything he’d had with Andrew again.
The conversation with Raoul crept in from the back of Frank’s mind. When there’d been a problem with a john, one where those involved had felt compelled to bring Frank into it, where had he been? On his knees in his office with one of the other rentboys up his arse. He owed his guys better than that. While he could agree to be more discreet, to keep their relationship out of Market Garden, everyone already knew about it. How would that affect his interactions with the others? Would they still respect him? Would they still feel safe working there knowing that the boss had indulged in at least one of them?
Frank sighed and shut off the shower. Just once, it would be nice to have a relationship that was simple. His status prevented that from ever happening, but these additional complications were for the birds.
Frank finished drying himself off and got dressed again. At the bedroom door, he paused to collect himself, taking a deep breath and pushing back all the worries and fears that had him tied up in knots. Whatever the future held, tonight would be about food, hanging out with three of his best friends and his boyfriend, and not giving a fuck about anything else.