“Because?”
“Because Charles swore you’d be perfect for me.”
2
Early the next day,I find out Iamperfect for last night’s new arrival. At least, I’m perfect according to the man who sent him to find me.
Charles Heppel tells me so from the pillow next to mine, which is a first. We didn’t share a bed the one and only time we hooked up. We didn’t even make it past the hallway of a house not far from this Kensington address. Ten years after that encounter, Charles smiles out of the phone my pillow props up.
“Dair actually came to find you?” His eyes crinkle in a reminder of Harry. His posh voice is another. “Didn’t you just want to hug him to death?”
Charles looks all kinds of cuddly himself in his own bed in rural Cornwall and exactly as happy as I remember after the one time I saved his bacon and ended up with minor injuries for my trouble. Those weren’t the carpet burns that earned my group-chat nickname—they came later that evening. He uses my real name this morning to share a PG-rated version of that story with his family.
“Vincent helped me find my way back to my parents’ place in Kensington after I got all turned around on the wrong side of theIsle of Dogs. Want to know the very worst part of getting lost that evening?”
For me, it was realising that if I do have a kink, it involves being taken care of like Charles took care of me after we got horizontal on his hallway carpet. He cleaned up the knuckles I scuffed while convincing a mugger to give his phone back. And that hallway was where he told me he was a preschool teacher, which meant he knew a brave boy when he saw one. He’d pressed a sticker featuring a bright red Muppet over my heart. Even now, I can feel him tap that sticker and hear him tell me what the printing on it promised.
I’ve been a very brave boy.
I’ve still got that sticker in my wallet, and I still think of Charles Heppel each time I see Elmo. Today, he’s just as child oriented—he aims this at his own son. “Adam, the very worst part of being lost on the Isle of Dogs was that I didn’t see a single puppy!”
I can’t help snorting. Neither can his husband, who is out of shot. His low chuckle means I scoop up the phone, settle back onto my own pillows, and grin up at the ceiling. I also give one of the welts on my chest a therapeutic itching.
“I didn’t save you.” I focus on the bare bulb dangling over my bed. This confession sounds as naked. “Can’t help thinking you saved me, mate.” Without Charles, I wouldn’t have had all those messages Harry summarised for me. Wouldn’t have woken this morning to even more messages waiting, so I can’t bear a grudge against Charles for adding one bad apple like Flynn to a barrel full of much better people.
I just need to be sure last night’s late arrival won’t turn out to be another wanker.
“I wanted to check what Alasdair told me.”
Charles confirms at least part of his story. “He definitely needs a house cleared. That’s the kind of business you run, isn’t it?”
“My cousin runs it. We mainly do removals.” Fuck Flynn for offering another option, then yanking it from me. And fuck him for making my cousin’s partnership offer feel about as wanted as another set of horse reins around my wrists. I was okay plodding along before I met him. Not exactly happy, but okay. “We clear houses too, so yeah, I could arrange a quote to take the whole lot, if he wanted.”
Charles nods. “That’s what makes you perfect for Dair, because he has a place full to the brim with stuff he needs to get rid of in a hurry. Who better than you to help him?” He confirms what last night’s gate-crasher told me by turning to his husband. “Hugo, Vincent is quite seriouslythemost helpful person. Like when he helped me find my way home, then got carpet burns after I thanked him by?—”
A hand covers his mouth to stop him speaking.
The gold of a wedding ring glints, and the phone gets jostled. Two faces share the screen next, and I have no idea how Charles ended up married to a vicar, but someone with biblical levels of patience speaks up.
“I don’t need to know any carpet-burn details, but thank you, Vincent.” Eyes that seem to stare into my soul somehow also manage to twinkle. “Anyone who helps my husband deserves a medal. And has my eternal gratitude.” The screen pixelates. This time, it steadies to show three faces mashed close together. “And our son’s gratitude. Isn’t that right, Adam?”
I’m sure he says more than that.
I don’t truly hear him.
I’m too busy watching Charles kiss his toddler son on the cheek first, then land a smacker on his holy husband, right on a scar that gives me another reminder of Harry.
That scar aside, I can’t help thinking I’m looking at…
What I can’t have.
I don’t mean that I ever wanted a family with Charles. We really were ships that passed in the night, but there’s no ignoring that I’m looking at a rock-solid unit. There’s also no ignoring that his son must have noticed me scratching my chest. Little Adam scratches his own as if it itches as badly, and that’s a timely reminder—I really do need to find some antihistamine ASAP.
“I’ve got things to do before work.” I check my watch. “And I’m already running late.” The heat in my chest rises all the way to my face. “But I did promise to meet Alasdair after I’m done for the day, and?—”
“Dair,” Charles corrects me gently. “That’s what he goes by. To his friends, anyway. He’s a cutie, isn’t he?”
He is. Was.I dunno. Last night, I still had too much red wine on board to trust my judgement. Frankly, after the last four months of shit decisions, I can’t trust myself at all. And I can’t let myself be swayed by another stranger asking for a favour, even if this one did tick all of my attraction boxes.
