Page 35 of Only Ever You

* My god, what happened to your face?

* Ouch!

11

BASH

The annexe,as ever, was a touch on the cold side when Bash went to drop off his things, and the wintry spiced scent of a recently sprayed room mist battled with the obnoxious bowl of potpourri on the bench at the foot of the bed.

Not much had changed since he’d redesigned this bedroom a few years ago. The pale, natural woods and cream palette still flowed effortlessly into the rest of the house. Only, he hadn’t remembered sticking an olive tree by one of the windows when he’d been at the drawing board.

Maman.He sighed as he played with one of the leaves. It could only have been her. He wasn’t sure if he’d stopped blushing from what she’d said to him when they’d arrived.

“I had forgotten how beautiful she is,” she’d said in French, give or take a rough translation, and Bash contained his emerging smile. But then she added, “You would make beautiful children together.”

His stomach had clenched. The fact that Faye was his best friend knotted with a reminder ofyes,they would.Yet he couldn’t allow himself to daydream like that.

“Maman,” he’d tried to say without sounding irritated enough to alert Faye. “That’s not happening. Leave her alone.”

His warning had gone right over Michèle’s head. He knew there was an element of good-hearted teasing in what she’d said, but he’d think that as a medical professional she’d know better than to make comments on when a woman would want to – if ever – have kids. His protective feathers had ruffled.

“Why not? I want grandchildren, Sébastien. When will you ask for her hand?”

Ask for her hand?It wasn’t the nineteenth century anymore. Nor would he be buying his mother any more of those regency romances from off of her wish list.

“Youhavegrandchildren.”

“Well I would like more.Yours.”

As if he wasn’t wanting that badly enough for himself as it was, Bash didn’t need the added pressure of his family wanting it too.

Thankfully, Michèle dropped the topic after that brisk chat in the hallway where Faye’d stood by unawares. It would arise again, no doubt. It was just a matter of time.

Bash used the facilities of the half-bath and rinsed his face with a splash of cold water. Faye had been right with wanting to freshen up; driving for hours with the car’s heaters on full whack had put an oily film all over his skin that he’d have to save until tonight to wash off completely.

Where he’d be sleeping felt so far away from where Faye was. Even more so after he’d had one of his most pleasant sleeps ever right next to her only a few nights ago. Though he hadn’t meant to have woken up curled around her the way that he had.

It’d taken him a moment of shifting and yawning to realise justhowinvasive his closeness had been, and guilt-shaped daggers still pressed in his gut for not having better control over his body. Followed by shame-tipped knives for the fact that between the embarrassment, he’dlikedwaking up with Faye in his arms.

Bash padded through the house with freshened eyes thathadn’t returned here in months. With his schedule being so packed it was usually his parents who ventured to seehiminstead.

In the kitchen, Christmas music much like the jazz he’d witnessed atSamuel’strickled through the hidden wireless speakers, and Bash felt completely at home. Nostalgia worked like a drug to bring back memories of walking into their childhood living room on random nights, finding his parents dancing cheek to cheek to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.

His smile reached his eyes as he watched the mundaneness of them moving around one another now.

Arthur turned from stirring something remarkably custard-like at the stove. “Ah!” Bash didn’t let his laugh crack at the “get stuffed”text printed above a cartoon turkey on his father’s apron. “Where’s Faye?”

“Les croissants sont chauds.?*”Michèle’s oven glove clad hands removed a tray from the heating oven of the aga – because yes, they had one of those – and placed it on a trivet on the marble island.

Leaning his shoulder against the doorway, Bash glanced at the rest of the plates and serving bowls. When Michèle had said she’d prepared snacks, she’d really meant to have said abuffet. Faye and he had eaten lunch at a service station on their drive up, but looking at this marvellous spread made a hollow space in his stomach open up for more.

It was good to feel free to just eat and eat again when half a lifetime ago he might’ve cried looking at all of this in front of him.

“She’s just freshening up,” he answered right when he stepped further into the kitchen and eyed the array of pastries, crackers, cheeses, and fruits. A whole plate purely consisting of buttered bread. “You didn’t have to do all of this,Maman.”

Appreciation softened his voice, but his thanks was wafted away with the simple wave of an oven glove.

“And why exactlyisFaye here?” Arthur gently pried, thewooden spoon which he stirred getting slower and slower. Where he already knew this questioning was going to go made Bash’s stomach begin to twist. “Not that we aren’t excited to have her—” Another slow turn of that spoon as Michèle nodded in agreement. “We’re just … curious.”

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