Page 66 of Strawberry Kisses

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Patrick

ConnorFancy dinner at mine tonight? You don’t need to bring anything just come over about six <3 <3 xxx

I stared at the message for the fifth time in ten minutes, a nervous lump rising in my throat. Sure, it was just a dinner invitation, nothing Connor and I hadn’t done a thousand times, but somehow it felt like more. This was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. Now I just had to take it. And that was more terrifying than I’d imagined.

Aaron and I had talked about it at length, and I’d rewritten my list—on my phone this time so nobody would find it—and I’d thought over and over about what I wanted to say. I just had to say it.

A tiny part of me wanted to back out and tell Connor I was busy, but that would be cowardly of me, and Connor would immediately know something was wrong. I wouldn’t put it past him to bring dinner to my house, so I sent back an affirmative and focused on getting through the next few hours. I needed to shower and feed The President, and I should probably do a load of washing while I thought about it. I looked at the clock on my phone, which said 3:27. I could fill the time. I just needed not to think about what might happen later.

That proved to be impossible.

Connor was on my mind from the second I stepped onto the stairs to go and shower. I thought about the way his fingers brushed against my skin when he stripped me naked, the way he always made me feel safe and needed, and the cheeky, wanting smile he always wore when he seduced me. I wondered if that would happen later tonight. If everything went well, would we end up tangled together in Connor’s bed while he made love to me. It was what I wanted more than anything. Even just a few days without his touch was driving me insane.

As soon as I walked into the bathroom and pulled off my grotty T-shirt and joggers, my dick started to perk up. My mind was supplying fantasy after fantasy, each one more delicious than the last. My skin felt like it was burning as I climbed into the bath and flicked the shower on, hoping a sharp blast of cold water would help. It did, but I wasn’t sure my neighbours were going to thank me for screaming.

By sheer force of will, I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon without thinking about Connor. I did washing; I read some recipe books; I fed the cat, who grumbled at me loudly for daring to let his bowl get even half-empty; and I even convinced myself to dig the duster out and do some housework, even though it was a task I absolutely loathed. By the time it got to half five, I was practically bouncing with nerves. I threw on the nicest T-shirt I had and my fancy jeans, the ones I’d worn at the party that Connor had loved, and asked Whiskey to wish me luck as I headed out the door. I got a rather sarcastic meow in response.

The drive seemed to take an eon, rather than the normal fifteen minutes. Traffic seemed to have slowed to a crawl, even when it was moving, and every set of traffic lights hit red when I approached. It was almost like the universe was trying to keep me from Connor. Or maybe it was trying to drag out the anticipation so it would be all the sweeter at the end. Either way I wasn’t impressed. I had the air conditioning turned all the way up, even though it was cloudy and overcast, because my body seemed to be burning up from the inside out. I just had to hope I wasn’t too sweaty and disgusting when I reached Connor’s. I’d never been so nervous in my entire life.

When I finally pulled the car into a visitor’s spot, I turned off the engine with shaking hands and took a deep breath. “You can do this,” I muttered to myself. “You just have to tell him how you feel. Be honest.” I snorted derisively. “Sounds easy enough, but it’s really fucking hard. Okay, okay, I can do this.”

I hoped none of the building’s other residents were watching me as I muttered my way up to the front door of the building and pulled out my key for the inner door. Connor had given it to me because the buzzer in his flat was unreliable, and it was easier than me calling him every time I arrived so he could come down and let me in. At the time, I hadn’t thought of it as a serious gesture, just something to make his life easier, but now, as I looked down at the little bronze-coloured key in my hand, I saw more: trust, openness, friendship, affection, and maybe even love. Whether that was platonic love or romantic love was another question, but it was love all the same. You didn’t just give someone the key to your building and a separate one to your flat without reason. And it wasn’t as if Connor had pets for me to take care of or plants for me to water while he was away. He’d given me these keys because he wanted me in his life and because he loved me.

It was the smallest of gestures, and it had taken me years to fully realise what it meant, but now I had, and all I could do was marvel at the significance.

Maybe it was just a set of keys. Or maybe it was a sign of something much larger than either of us had ever realised.

I opened the inner door and headed straight for the stairs, climbing them as fast as I could. Connor lived on the third floor, in number eleven, which was on the left side of the building, off by itself. When I reached his front door, I paused, wondering whether I should knock. But Connor always hated that. Every time I knocked, he told me to walk straight in.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Hello? It’s me.”

“Come in. I’m in the living room,” Connor called. His voice was slightly muffled, and when I stepped into the flat, I realised why. At the end of the short corridor, past the two tiny bedrooms and the bathroom on the left, the door to the living room was pushed almost closed. I closed the front door behind me, slipped my shoes off, and walked towards the other door. My heart was pounding so loudly it sounded like a steam train. I felt like it was about to burst out of my chest.

I pushed the door and it swung open gently with a soft creak. I took a step forward and then gasped. “Holy shit.”

The living room curtains were closed, and the furniture was pushed back to clear a space on the floor in the middle of the room. The gentle glow of early evening sunlight filtered through the curtains and mixed with the light of what seemed to be thousands of fairy lights strung across the curtain rail and hanging from the top of shelving units by the little hooks Connor used to hand garlands of baubles at Christmas. Connor sat on an old fleecy blanket in the middle of the floor, looking up at me with a nervous smile. He was wearing ripped skinny jeans and a loose, white, off-the-shoulder top, and his make-up was almost understated. The shimmer of highlighter on his cheeks caught the light, making his skin glow. He looked stunning—like some celestial deity gracing me with its presence.

Around him on the blanket was a huge selection of food—everything from bags of the Thai Sweet Chilli Sensations we both loved, to little pots and picky bits from Marks and Spencer’s antipasti section, to a fresh baguette and some cheese. And on the left-hand side, in a clear space, was a large chocolate cake with artfully sliced strawberries arranged on top.

“Surprise!” Connor said, waving his hands and giving me a nervous chuckle. “I, er, may have gone a bit overboard.” He took a deep breath and rearranged himself, kneeling up and putting his hands in his lap. He looked so earnest and adorable that I just wanted to sweep him into my arms and kiss him senseless. But he clearly had something he wanted to say, and so did I.

“Patrick, I…” he paused. “Wait, do you want to sit down? Shit,” Connor laughed then pointed at a space on the floor that was clearly meant for me. “Sit down. It feels weird talking to you all the way over there.”

I laughed, feeling the tension in my chest ease. “Sure.” Taking a couple of steps, I lowered myself into the space just opposite Connor. This felt so much more like us. Even if it still felt more like a dream than a real situation. This was a grand gesture straight out of Hollywood, and I couldn’t believe it was happening to someone like me.

I wasn’t anybody special. I was just some bloke.

Except maybe to Connor. Maybe to him I was someone else, that special someone so many romance novels promised us was out there.

“Okay, so… Shit, this was so much easier in my head,” Connor said.

“If it helps, it was easier in mine too.” I reached out, and he interlaced our fingers together in mid-air.

“Shit… Okay… Patrick Evans, I have been in love with you since about thirty minutes after I first laid eyes on you, when you handed me a plate of panna cotta and told me you thought my make-up looked pretty. You sounded so sincere, like you actually meant it, instead of teasing me. Then you gave me this smile, and God, you just… you melted my heart, and for the first time in my life, I felt seen.”

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