A few minutes later, one of the butlers enters with a basket, and she collects it from him before presenting it to me. By the weight of it, there’s more than just a few pastries in it. I thank her and say my goodbyes, and leave with a reminder from Miriam about Christmas dinner and what time to come up to the house.
It’s still early but almost dark when I leave the house, another point that I’m finding hard to adjust to along with the weather. I hope a walk will help wake me up a little. I take a route down to the horses. They’re out in the fields, having a rest for a couple of months before I start getting them fit again for the new polo season. They were checked over when we got here, and I met thelocal vet Cole, who Gabriel assures me is the best in the county. Then they had their shoes removed and were turned out for a holiday. I can just about see them silhouetted against the indigo sky. They’re grazing quietly, having settled in well, adjusting to the climate better than me. Satisfied that they are all well, I turn and head towards where I now call home.
The job with Gabriel comes with a house, though I could choose not to stay here. As it’s in the grounds of the Hall and I’m close to my horses, it suits me very well, though. There are a group of four small stone houses, or cottages as Gabriel calls them. One is occupied by Kirsty, Gabriel’s head groom, and her wife Alexa. The others are currently empty, but Gabriel says he has plans for them when his equestrian centre is up and running. There’s also a range of accommodation on the estate for other staff, such as the other grooms and groundspeople. Jorge will stay there eventually, but right now he’s back in Argentina for a break as he won’t be needed until the horses come back into work.
I unpack the food Miriam gave me, and there’s a lot—cold meats, a large pie, bread and cheese, as well as enough mince pies to last me a week. I keep one out and open the bottle of red wine I also find in the basket. I take them into the lounge and sit down. I put on some music; Rachmaninoff suits my mood tonight. The cottage is comfortable, and I can’t complain, but it doesn’t help cure how lonely I feel right now. I miss Simon, his cute smile, how interested he is and the questions he asks. His body, definitely his body, and how it responds to me. I need to hear from him. I unlock my phone and send him a message.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SIMON
My phone buzzes in my pocket and a frisson of excitement runs through me. I know it’s from Andrés as we’ve been messaging each other multiple times a day for the last couple of weeks. But I don’t know what it’ll be about. It might be something about his day or a picture of Chispa and the other horses. Seeing them in the familiar English countryside has made me feel homesick in a way I’ve never felt before. Surely in order to feel homesick you need a home to miss, and that’s one thing I don’t have. I’ve been travelling, learning from the best chefs and saving for the last few years, and in that time I’ve never felt the pull of home as much as I do now. I only have a couple more weeks left to work on my contract. I can make it. What I don’t know yet is what I’m going to do when I get there. One of my friends from college, who I’ve been in touch with, is settled, married, and expecting a baby, so I can’t stay with him. I haven’t heard back from the other one yet, and time is running out. I glance at the clock. There’s only an hour left of my shift, but it must be early morning over in England. Instead of giving in to the temptationof reading Andrés’ message, I’ll delay it. Edge myself a little that it might be something rude—dirty talk or a dick pic. We’ve shared a few of those too. As I start putting away the equipment the washers have cleaned and dried, I laugh to myself. It could quite easily be the answer to my question yesterday and his for today. Since Christmas we’ve been playing a long distance version of getting to know you. It started as an idea I had when he messaged me on Christmas Eve and I could tell he was feeling low. We take it in turns to ask each other questions and then we answer them too. We’ve been through all the usual stuff like favourite colours, movies, books, holiday destinations. We’ve done first memories and any pets, and now we’ve started on more esoteric subjects, or rather I have, as my question yesterday was, “Would you rather travel backwards or forwards in time, but you can’t change anything that happens to people?” I do want to know the answer, but equally—okay, maybe a bit more than that—I want it to be a spicy message. I want to hear how hard Andrés is just thinking about me. If it isn’t that then I’m going to try to get one out of him. Just the thought raises my cock into a semi. I try to focus on the rest of my shift but it’s not working. I’m as horny as hell. I was fine not having sex for months until Andrés walked into my kitchen with his ridiculous request and an offer of a hookup. But the last few weeks since he left I’ve spent half my time aroused. I’ve had more than a few fantasies of him walking into the kitchen and railing me against the units.
“You alright, chef?” Stefan asks, and I realise I’ve been standing with a colander in my hand for several minutes just staring into space.
“Yeah, sure, glad to get this shift done with, though,” I say quickly, and turn away hoping my face hasn’t gone beet red. Once everyone has gone, I’m the last to turn out the lights, and Iwalk quickly towards my room. As soon as I’m through the door I give in and take my phone out. I see there are three messages from Andrés.
Message one.
Andrés: Hey, cutie, that’s a good one. Backwards, because there are loads of people I’d like to have met. Also, I want to make the future, not just know it. What about you?
I laugh. That’s a pretty sweet answer, and I hope the future he wants to make includes me. I message him my answer. It’s sadder than his.
Simon: Backwards. I would have liked to have come out to my parents before they died.
It was something I never got a chance to do. I was just discovering my sexuality at the time, and I was planning to tell them on my next break from college. It was something they never knew about me, an important part of who I am, and I find it painful that they didn’t get a chance to learn it. I have no doubt that they would have been supportive and that hurts just as much. I rub my chest, easing the ache that always appears when I think about them.
Message two.
Andrés: My turn. Would you survive a zombie apocalypse?
He makes me laugh, which helps dispel the black cloud that had descended from messaging about my parents.
Simon: I have pretty good knife skills, so I could certainly chop them up. But I’m not sure I’d want them to get that close. I’d have to learn how to throw them, so I think my chances are about even. What about you?
I turn to the next and final message, and meanwhile I see that Andrés has seen my replies. I already know it’s a picture but I want to see it properly.
Message three.
Andrés: Dreamed of you and woke up like this.
I open the message so I can see the full picture. It’s a selfie. Andrés is reclining on a bed, naked. He’s got his customary and very sexy smirk, probably as he knows the effect his picture will have on me. His dick is hard, jutting out of his nest of black hair. He looks delicious.
Simon: Mmm I could lick you all over. Are you still waiting for me?
I wait, and instead of seeing the dancing dots of a reply, my phone rings.
“Hey,” I say when I answer it.
“Hey, cutie.” Something releases in my chest when I hear his voice. He sounds real in a way that messages don’t, and I take a deep breath before I can speak.
“It’s good to hear you,” I croak
“Yes it is.” I hear his breathing down the phone as if he’s struggling as much as me. I try to keep it light.
“Great photo,” I say and he laughs. It sounds like relief and I feel it too; we’ve got through the first few moments.
“In answer to your question... No. A hot shower, my hand, and thoughts of you took care of that.” I can’t help laughing out loud, pleased he added that he was thinking of me.
