Page 36 of Only Ever You

Both of his parents had the same sparkles in their eyes that weren’t because of the overhead spotlights, as if they knew something Bash didn’t.

The more and more he repeated the truth, the less convinced he was of it himself. “I told you, her boiler is dead, and her coming with me here was easier than her being in a cold flat for days by herself, maybe even until after Christmas, whilst she waited for it to be fixed.”

Those were totally acceptable reasons to invite a friend to a family Christmas that wasn’t her own. He was a friend saving a friend from a festive season of loneliness.Yes, that was it.

Michèle had a gleaming look in her eye that made Bash want to back away slowly. “What’s that look for?” he dared to ask, already regretting his choice.

“We’ve been living in this house since you went off to university,” she said, dusting non-existent flour off of the countertop, “and you have never once brought a lady home to see us.”

A lady?

“It’s just Faye.” Michèle raised an eyebrow and Bash stuttered, “Not that she’s not a?—”

“Is she single?” His mother set her hand on her hip whilst Arthur stifled a chuckle.

“Maman,” Bash drawled. Where was the nearest wall? He was going to throw his head against it.

“Well?” Michèlepressed. That raised brow … It’d been a weapon ever since Bash was a boy and he couldn’t get away from its power even now.

“Yes … ” He dug his hands deeper into his chino pockets as if it would help him escape this conversation. “She is.”

“Idéal.?*”His mother raised her oven gloves with such exuberance, she narrowly missed throwing them over her shoulder.

Arthur flinched to protect his custard.

“Maman,” Bash whined as he watched her wander to a cupboard, “don’t get ideas. If she was interested in me then she would’ve said something a long time ago.” He didn’t think of how he should’ve lowered his voice, given thatshewas right above them.

No, he thought of how they’d woken the other morning, with his hard-on pressed up against her and her trying to run away from him. He’d been embarrassed and she’d mercifully tried to make him feel better, but there’d been no indication in anything she’d said or done that said Fayewantedthat kind of attention from him. So he’d apologised and bowed out with as much nonchalance as he could muster, which had been difficult, given how little blood there’d been in his brain at the time.

Thankfully, the sound of Faye’s footsteps travelled down the stairs and cut off this debate.

“Um … hello?” She called out.

“Just follow the smell of food,” Bash called back. Faye’s blonde head popped around the door behind him a second later.

“Sorry,” she said, her eyes bouncing around the spacious kitchen for the first time. A smile crept up in the corners of Bash’s lips that he didn’t wipe away as she took in his family and their home – not that Faye noticed. “I wanted to get rid of the feeling that I was still in the car from my skin.”

“That’s alright,ma chérie?*.” Michèle ushered her in with a rolling gesture of her bracelet adorned wrists. “Come in and eat. Croissants are fresh from the oven.”

Faye, tugging down the sleeves of her loose jumper over her hands, tiptoed in and took a seat on one of the bar stools at the island next to where Bash stood. She’d changed her clothes fromjogging bottoms to what Bash supposed were thick, winter leggings, and pulled some fluffy socks onto her feet.

With his parents most likely watching his every move around her, he didn’t let his gaze trail over her for more than a second, or his lungs fill too much with the decadently floral scent of her perfume. He adored her like this; the casual yet still pretty outfits which said she felt comfortable enough to let her hair down in his parent’s home –which she had done.

“RememberMaman, Faye is a baker,” he said as she reached for a still-warm croissant from the oven tray.

Faye’s eyes widened on him and then across at Michèle. “Oh, no.” Her refusal somehow sounded innocent, and the dust of pink rising in her cheeks was full of self-doubt. “I make doughnuts, that’s all.”

“Nonsense,” Michèle argued with a smile. “Sébastien tells us all about your café. You are the best doughnut baker in London!” Both points were objectively true.

“Well … I … ”

Bash tilted forwards as he peered at Faye, the top of her head barely making it to his shoulder. Shewasblushing.

“Thank you,” she said, plucking a croissant in a hesitant, half-committed way. “Though I’m sure that’s not true.”

Michèle's lips parted again and Bash placed his hand on the tip of Faye’s spine. “Try it,” he said before his mother could make her curl into herself any further, nodding at the pastry she played with between her fingers.

He watched her rip off an end and place it in her mouth, and he had to divert his mind from thinking of other things as her lips moved, like he was often forced to.

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