“You didn’t go to pickleball then, since you’re still not dressed and back in bed,” he said, sitting himself back up and, at the same time, giving me a little wink.
“I was exhausted.” No lie. And I was not blushing. Everywhere.
“You were a chicken. We both need to somehow…you know. Figure out how to go back out in the real world and do normal stuff.”
And now he suddenly blushed too, like he’d said too much. Like I couldn’t feel how his heart was racing under that hoodie he was wearing. The whole bed vibrated. Or maybe that was me.
It was Ed’s top. Cal’s trousers. The socks I didn’t recognise, and there was definitely mud on the trousers and here he was in my bed and I should have said something.
I didn’t. Because, as usual, I had lost complete control over my mouth.
“Mary doesn’t mind,” he said, smiling sheepishly at me. “And don’t you start too, but the boys were telling me stuff and said she definitely promisedto haunt them. So if she minded us…” He swallowed. “Kissing. Then she would be tipping over furniture or something, wouldn’t she?”
How old was I? Five? Well, I was making him smile and had to cover my face with my hands, grunting out my usual, “Oliver,” sounding more like a smile than a sigh. Good.Good?
“She wouldn’t mind. How can she? She’s dead,” I said flatly.Get yourself under control, Peter!
“I know she is. But at the same time? I like that…you know. It’s not that big elephant in the room. She’s your wife. She’s dead. She’ll… She’s here. I can deal.”
“She…” I sat myself up, letting the duvet once again expose my chest. Soft hair. Some faint remains of muscle tone. I hadn’t worked out in ages. Not been on my bike or played…at anything. I used to be fit. For a granddad.
Weird. Now I was just…meh.
“You’re very handsome,” came out of his mouth, like he knew what I was thinking, hiding my bare skin behind my arms and a cup of tea. Apparently, this was now a thing I did. Hiding. What else was new?
“I have this plan here.” He looked very proud of himself, smiling knowingly. “It’s called Operation Make Peter Fall In Love With Me.”
I grunted.
“When I set out to complete a project, that’s what I do.”
So bloody confident. Where was the Oliver I knew and loved?
Loved? Oh, fuck off.
The floorboards above us creaked, and he burst out laughing.
“This operation of yours…” I had no idea what to do. What to say. This felt more like Operation Make Oliver Spill His Brain All Over Peter. Not good. Probably not ideal here.
“It’s what will happen anyway,” he mused, taking another sip from his cup.
Messy, messy boy.
“Your trousers are muddy. The bed is clean.”
“I would have changed, but you only have one shower, and apparently, I am way down the pecking order here.” He was still smiling. “I’m happy to wait. Football was…”
Another grunt from me. A startled look from him.
I was stuck here. I could either get up and go raise hell with my sons, demand a shower myself and…
Or I could sit here in bed and hopefully get away with taking him in like the work of art he…
Crap.
He smiled. And I had to smile too.
“See? It’s already working. I just have to sit here, and you go all funny. I love it.”
