Page 40 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

“I might be.”

“Good. Tell him about the roof. See if he has some other ideas.”

Oliver bristled, but tried not to let Rose see it. He knew what she meant by other ideas. “Sure, Rosie.”

He left her and trekked throughout the house, heading for the kitchen, trying to get excited to his date with Jesse.

Jesse.

Jesse had been on the estate for three weeks, and every day it got harder and harder for Oliver to keep his feelings in check, even as old insecurities made themselves known again, waiting in the wings. Was Jesse interested in him only to pass his time in the country? Was it simply forced proximity? Even if it wasn’t, even if Jesse was interested in him, what if he didn’t live up to the memory of who he used to be?

Despite those concerns, he wanted to explore whatever was happening between the two of them. He wanted to spend more time together. He wanted to fill in the gaps of the last ten years, to learn everything he could.

As he got closer to the kitchen, an acrid smell hit his nostrils and his footsteps picked up speed, morphing from excitement into alarm.

Oliver pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jesse was hunched over the open oven door, smoke billowing as he pulled out some type of scorched meat. He tossed the pan on the stove and harshly shut the oven door. Jesse’s oven mitted hands fell to his side, and he threw back his head with a groan. “I can’t cook.”

Oliver bit back a smile and crossed the kitchen. He moved behind Jesse and lightly rested his hand against the other man’s lower back. Reaching around him, Oliver turned off the oven. “Why would you ask to cook me dinner if you didn’t know how to cook?”

Jesse leaned in closer, his head lolling to lightly knock against the top of Oliver’s head. Oliver was acutely reminded that ten years ago, his head would have fallen on Oliver’s shoulder, instead. He was also reminded of how affectionate Jesse could be, how even now, all these years later, he communicated through touch. “I wanted to impress you.”

“Yes, a fire would have been impressive.” He could feel Jesse smile atop the crown of his head. “We could have gone out, you know.”

Jesse began to clean up his mess, and Oliver missed his warmth. He dumped the pan into the sink. “Yes, but that’s not at all romantic.”

Oliver laughed, even as a blush threatened to spread across his face. “How have you been surviving the last few weeks?”

Jesse turned away from the sink to Oliver with an embarrassed look on his face. “Rose? And takeaway? I think the family who owns the chippy feels bad for me. They keep sending me off with more than I ordered.”

“Of course they do,” Oliver said as he playfully rolled his eyes. He rummaged through the refrigerator. “Let’s see what we have here.”

He pulled out some leftover chicken from the night before and set off to see what vegetables he had on hand to make a simple stir fry. Oliver directed Jesse towards a small cupboard. “I trust you can operate a rice cooker?”

“Questionable at best,” he replied, heading towards the other end of the kitchen. He pulled out the appliance and wandered around, looking for a plug as Oliver made his way to the pantry in search of the rice.

From within the pantry, he could hear Jesse muttering to himself about whether he should put in the water before the rice or after, and Oliver suppressed his laughter. The pantry was an absolute disaster, cans and miscellaneous boxes of food stacked and stored away at random, but he knew he had recently bought a new bag of rice. It had to be in there somewhere.

In the middle of his search, he felt more than heard Jesse enter the pantry behind him. “You know, I thought you’d have a dog. I was bummed to show up and see that wasn’t the case.”

Jesse was so close that Oliver could almost feel his chest as he inhaled against Oliver's back. It took him too long to reply, his nervous system firing on all cylinders, but eventually he was able to mutter out a response. “Sorry to disappoint. Why did you think I’d have one?”

“Well, you used to have one, and so does every other posh English person I’ve ever met. It’s honestly disconcerting how obsessed you all are.”

Oliver glared over his shoulder. “Firstly, I’m not posh.” He grabbed the formerly elusive bag of rice from the shelf and turned around, shoving it at Jesse’s chest. “Secondly, ‘The more I learn about people, the more I like my dog.’”

Jesse grinned as he took the bag of rice and left the pantry. “Firstly, you are absolutely posh, Mr. Lives on a Fancy Shmancy Estate. And secondly, Twain belongs to the Yanks.”

Oliver chopped vegetables, preparing for dinner while Jesse sat on the counter beside him, doing nothing but asking Oliver every random question that popped into his head. “Do you still draw? I’ve seen your paintings throughout the house, but I haven’t actually seen you, you know, being artsy.”

“How do you know those are mine?” Jesse leveled him a look, clearly unamused, and Oliver relented. “Not since uni.” Oliver thought he’d leave it there. That the explanation was good enough, but Jesse was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a proper answer. “It’s a little frivolous, don’t you think? Painting when there’s so much work to be done, when this place is hemorrhaging cash every single day with no end in sight?”

Jesse’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think it’s frivolous. I think you’re an artist. You’re meant to be creating, Oliver. That’s who you are.”

It was a gut punch. He hadn’t seen himself as an artist in a long time.

“I do miss it. I really do. But I’m scared to pick it back up again. What if I’ve forgotten how to create?”