Page 2 of Strawberry Kisses

In the back of my mind, I knew the party meant I would finally have to tell my family I was gay. I was dreading it, which meant I’d put it off for ages. If I didn’t tell them before the party, I knew my mum, in the most well-meaning way, would spend the whole weekend dropping hints about having a girlfriend and why I shouldn’t use work as an excuse not to meet someone. All of my sisters, except one, were married with kids, and Mum seemed to have given up on Mary. I knew she just wanted me to be happy, but her comments weren’t helpful.

I sighed. I really should have told them years ago. Now I had no choice but to do it over Skype… a week before the biggest family event in years.

A crash and the sound of shouting distracted me.

“What the fuck is this fucking bowl doing here?”

I sighed, shaking my head at the sound of Aaron’s raised voice.

“Maybe if you hadn’t fucking left it there, you wouldn’t have fucking knocked it, dickhead!” That was Josh, Aaron’s sous-chef.

“I didn’t fucking leave it there! Why the fuck would I leave it there? We’re on fucking clean down.”

“Don’t be a wanker, Aaron.”

“Fuck off!”

I shook my head because those two idiots had been at each other’s throats for four years, and nothing seemed to change. It was like putting two volatile chemicals in a room and expecting them not to explode.

Ben described it as too much ego in one space. I had to agree. Their fighting had put a few new staff members off until they realised that their anger was very rarely aimed at anyone except each other.

There was silence for a moment, but it was loaded. I knew exactly what was coming.

“Fucking wanker. I can’t fucking cope with him. I fucking swear, Pads, I’m gonna fucking quit.” I looked up from my diary to see Josh leaning on the wall that made up the other side of the kitchen door, bristling with anger. His chef’s whites were covered in stains, and his dark eyes glittered. Josh came into my kitchen threatening to quit at least once a week, so this wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“No, you’re not,” I said, putting my knives and boards in a pile to take down to the pot-wash. “You’re just letting him get to you again. You like working here.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“Then why are you still here? It’s been four years. You’re good enough to go somewhere else.” Josh grumbled under his breath, and I gave him a half-smile. “It’s because you like working here, and you don’t actually hate Aaron. If you did, you’d have decked him by now.”

“I might fucking do that. It would make me feel better,” he said, but he looked slightly less angry now. Like the wind had gone out of his sails. I grabbed a plate off the side that had a few bits of brownie on them.

“No, it won’t.” I held out the plate. “Have some brownie and go calm down. Aaron’ll clean up.”

“Can you do that?” Josh grinned.

“What? Send you home?” I smiled knowingly.

“Yeah. You know he’ll be fucking pissed at you.”

“Aaron has never raised his voice at me in four and a half years, and he’s not going to start now.” I was the only person Aaron had never yelled at. I’d known him too long. It was the same with Ben. Aaron had tried it once, and I’d made it absolutely clear that if he tried it again, he would be without a pastry chef. I may have been quiet and reserved, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him walk all over me, especially not in my own kitchen. After that, Aaron had apologised, and he’d never raised his voice at me again. Instead, I’d become the person he vented to and his voice of reason. If I told Aaron he was wrong, he usually accepted it. Usually.

“Cheers, Patrick. You’re a star.” Josh took the plate and wandered off towards the kitchen door, probably to go smoke and calm down. I gave it ten minutes before Aaron was in here grumbling, but in all honesty, I didn’t actually mind. Besides, it was nice to have someone to talk to while I cleaned the kitchen. I shook my head, trying to turn my thoughts back to the week ahead and grabbed a pen. I wanted to get a head start on my planning before Aaron’s inevitable arrival.

Since it was Sunday, there was no evening service, which meant movie night with my favourite person in the whole world: Connor.

We’d been best friends since we’d first met three years ago, and now I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Connor was one of those people who lit up every room he entered with his exuberant energy and radiant smile. Sometimes I wondered why he wanted to be my friend, since we were the exact opposite in so many ways, and yet, we just seemed to work together. We’d fallen into an odd friendship and had gotten closer over the years.

Now we spent every Sunday evening, at the very least, together—making dinner, watching films, and chatting for hours. It was always the best part of my week.

Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

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