“I love this sweater, you look amazing in it. It matches your eyes and makes your cute freckles stand out.”
“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” he says a little breathlessly and cups my face. “Thank you.”
Okay, maybe etiquette lesson number whatever—pay someone a compliment—has helped, but it was genuine and easy. He’s so fucking gorgeous. Suddenly a beeping sound erupts and he peelshimself out of my arms and goes to the kitchen. I follow him through and watch him turn off the oven timer.
“Something smells delicious,” I say and he chews on his bottom lip, suddenly looking a little nervous.
“It's been a long time since I’ve cooked for anyone, so I hope it’ll be okay.”
“If it tastes half as good as it smells, it’ll be perfect.” I try to reassure him and he relaxes his shoulders a little. I guess we’re both feeling a bit nervous about tonight. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Can you open the wine and take it through?” He gestures to a bottle of wine on the table and I pick it up—a rioja from the Gran Amor vineyard, I’m impressed. It's a great wine, but not that easy to get hold of in the UK, and not cheap either. I uncork it and carry it through to the small dining area of the living room. The table is set beautifully, with candles in the centre, which I light, and soft music playing in the background. It looks very romantic, and I’m touched that Charley went to the trouble, and very glad I didn’t turn up in riding clothes.
He carries through a couple of dishes and places them on the table, smiling when he sees I’ve lit the candles. He disappears and returns with another couple of dishes and then gestures for me to sit.
“This all looks lovely.” I take my seat and spread out the napkin.
“Help yourself.” He still looks nervous so I dish up the steak, some rosemary potatoes, green beans, button mushrooms, and peppercorn sauce. It really is good, very well cooked. The steak is just how I like it, so he must have remembered, which means more to me than everything else.
Conversation is stilted, though, as if we’re both on a blind date and are trying too hard. I look over at him as I take a sip of wine. He looks just as awkward as me, which is ridiculous, he’s my best and oldest friend. Screw this, I need to break the tension.
“I have a confession,” I say and he lifts his head, his eyes a little wary. “I wasn’t sure if this was a date or not.” I lean forward and whisper, “Is it?”
He presses his lips together as if he’s trying to hold something in, then the corners of his mouth start twitching and his shoulders shake. The tension bursts like a bubble as he snorts with laughter.
“I was asking myself the exact same thing. I wanted to make it nice, and I wanted some special food, so I asked Simon to give me some ideas. And good wine, so again Simon suggested what I should get. Then it led to the candles and music.” He looks around the room. “I got a bit carried away, didn’t I? Sorry.”
I reach across the table and take his hand.
“Don’t apologise. I’m touched that you did all this for me. I’m really enjoying being wined and dined. But we seem to have forgotten that we can just be us.”
He interlaces our fingers.
“I know, everything’s the same but also all different and I’m not sure how we navigate that.”
“Together. We can do it together,” I say and he gives my hand a squeeze.
“Yes we can.” He releases my hand and picks up his fork. “Let’s be normal again. Tell me about the horses today. Which ones did you ride?”
I spend the next few minutes recounting which horses were doing well, the ones that might be ready this season. We have a few brood mares who are ready to foal too. I’m not planning on creating a stud, but I like to breed from some of the good polo mares like Silver Heather. As we talk I relax more, and it feels like old times when all we had to do was discuss horses and not worry about the future. It’s been a long time since that was a luxury, though we didn’t realise it then.
“How’s Pete? Did you go and see him?” I ask as Charley starts to clear the plates. I jump up to help him, pleased that he doesn’t wave me off from doing my share.
“He’s much the same, as usual, you know how he is. Here’s something I haven’t told you, though. He told me, back when I came out to him—which was the non-event of the century—that he’s gay.”
“Pete? Really?” That’s a surprise, not because I didn’t think it was possible, it’s just that I think of Pete as a mechanic. Which doesn’t mean to say he can’t have a partner or relationship, but I’ve just never thought of him that way.
“Yeah, that was my reaction too. He says he doesn’t have the time or inclination to be involved with anyone, but I do sometimes wonder if he would like some companionship. He can’t go on forever, he’ll want to retire at some point. I hate to see him lonely.”
“You going to start matchmaking?” I tease, and Charley grins and shrugs.
“A gentle nudge wouldn’t hurt, I suppose.”
Once we’ve washed the dishes, we take the rest of the wine through to the living room to finish. I haven’t seen the roomsince helping him unload the furniture from Manchester, but it already looks different. It seems crazy to think that was just a week ago. He’s started to add his own touches. A throw, and cushions... A couple of new pictures hang on the wall, and there are a few photos on the mantelpiece. There’s a photo of a young couple holding a baby, and it takes me a minute to realise it must be his parents. There’s one of Pete. A great action shot of Charley on Silver Heather, he must have been around sixteen at the time. Then there’s one of us both. It was taken that last summer, a few weeks before I ruined everything. I have my arm flung around Charley’s shoulder and we’re both smiling at the camera.
“I love that photo,” he says, coming to stand beside me. “I couldn’t look at it for a long time and had it hidden away. But now I want it to be seen. I want us to be seen.”
I put down my glass and cup my hands round his face. I look into his eyes, the colour of a Mediterranean sky in the early morning, full of promise and warmth.
