Jag nodded, not feeling as anxious about his snap decisions as he’d feared. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He wasn’t sure why he’d had a change of heart and hoped Michael wouldn’t pry for an explanation. It might have been the laughter or the incessant tickling or just a growing realisation that he really did trust Michael or a combination of all three things. Whatever it was, the thought of going up to Michael’s flat didn’t send waves of worry through him, the way it had a few minutes earlier.
“Really?”
Jag pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah.”
Michael’s eyes lit up as he grinned broadly. Then his grin faltered. “I hope I didn’t push you into it.”
“If it was a choice between coming upstairs and being tickled to death…” Jag made sure he was smiling as he spoke. “You didn’t push me into it,” he said, softening his voice. “Let’s go.”
They turned off the lights, folded up the picnic blanket, and carried that and the hamper upstairs, via a locked door. When they reached the top of the stairs, Jag noted there was an external door with a letterbox as well as the entrance that led into Michael’s flat.
“I haven’t tidied,” Michael said apologetically as he let them inside. His face was a little pinker than usual. Jag didn’t think he’d seen Michael blushed before; it was adorable.
“I’ve seen your office. I think I know what to expect.”
Once inside, with the door shut, Michael took the blanket from him and disappeared with it and the hamper. Jag stared around the living room. There were several overladen bookshelves, a cluttered coffee table, and a couple of threadbare sofas with equally worn blankets thrown over them. He wandered over to one of the bookshelves, which had framed photos lined up on one shelf. Some of them were of a much younger Michael and a significantly older couple. Michael’s parents, perhaps? They all looked happy, which made his chest ache with jealousy. Then there was one of Michael and another man, both grinning, both in tuxedos. He reached out to it, but Michael pushed it face down before he had a chance.
“I probably shouldn’t even have that photo there anymore,” Michael said sheepishly.
“It’s of you and Edward?”
“Yes.”
Jag frowned. “Why shouldn’t you have it out?” He gestured towards the photo. “May I?”
Michael nodded uncertainly. “One of the guys I dated previously thought it was creepy that I kept a photo of my dead husband on display,” he said as Jag picked it up and looked at it.
Michael and Edward looked so happy. Edward was a good-looking guy, with his dark, curly hair, Roman nose, strong jaw, and square chin. They were wearing roses in their buttonholes. Michael had referred to Edward as his partner, so he wasn’t sure they’d ever got married. He didn’t even know how long ago Edward had died. Michael might have lost him before gay marriage was legalised in the UK. He recalled that Michael had been Mac’s best man, so maybe the photograph had been taken at his wedding. Despite his curiosity, he decided not to ask in case it brought back sad memories.
“Why would it be creepy?” He set the photo back on the shelf, just as it had been before Michael had turned it face down.
“He decided it was a sign I wasn’t over Edward or ready to move on. We broke up soon after.”
Jag snorted. “What a jerk. Sounds as if you were better off without him.”
“He broke up with me,” Michael said quietly. He sighed. “Maybe he was right.” He touched Edward’s image. “Edward has been gone for a long time. Maybe I should put his photo away and do a better job of moving on.”
“I don’t think he was right.” Jag placed his hand on the small of Michael’s back. “You’ll always love Edward. One day, you’ll find someone else you want to settle down with, but that won’t change how you feel about Edward. You’ll just make room in your heart for someone else.”
“What if the guy I fall for doesn’t think the same way as you?”
“Anyone who asks you to stop loving Edward isn’t good enough for you.” Jag clenched his fists. “No one gets to tell you how to feel.” He wasn’t entirely sure he was talking about Michael anymore.
Michael turned and stared at him. “How old are you?” he asked in an awestruck tone.
Jag blinked. “Twenty. You already know that.”
“You sounded older than that just then,” Michael said. “Wiser.”
Jag laughed. “I’m not wise, just opinionated.” He rested his hands on Michael’s waist. “Edward will always be a huge part of your life. Anyone who expects otherwise is an idiot.”
Michael kissed him, softly at first, but as it dragged on, he pressed harder. He rested one hand of the small of Jag’s back and the other across his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“I promised you breakfast,” he said. “What do you fancy?”
Jag curled his mouth into a smirk. “Apart from you?”
