Page 32 of Strawberry Kisses

Patrick cleared his throat. “That’s fine. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

Aoife said something else, but I wasn’t listening. I was watching the perfect moment I’d almost had with Patrick disappear over the hills. He released my hands and rolled off me and out of bed with a muttered apology. His face was an interesting shade of deep pink as he reached for his suitcase, grabbing a handful of clothes.

I sat up, reaching out for him. “Babe, wait—”

“I’ll get dressed in the bathroom,” he said. “You take your time.” And then he was gone faster than a bolt of lightning.

I groaned and flopped down onto the mattress, my cock deflating sadly as I melodramatically contemplated the hideousness of my situation.

Twenty minutes later, after I’d pulled myself together and gotten dressed, I padded downstairs and into the kitchen. The large clock on the wall said it was nearly twenty to ten. I couldn’t believe Patrick and I had actually slept that late.

I felt a little bad since we were here to help with the party, and we’d ended up sleeping until after nine.

Aoife stood by the oven, pulling out a tray of sausages and crispy bacon, and my mouth watered at the delicious smells wafting through the kitchen. My stomach growled loudly, and I threw a hand over it as if hoping the sound would be somehow muffled, even though I was pretty sure everyone on the planet had just heard it grumbling.

“Morning!” Aoife said cheerfully when she saw me. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log. That bed is so comfy. Sorry we slept so late.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She gave me a fond smile. “Years of children and horses and I’m still up at the crack of dawn every day. I used to drive the kids crazy by turfing them out of bed at seven on the weekends.”

I chuckled. “I was the other way around. I used to wake my mum up by playing music at half seven so I could practice dancing. She eventually realised I wasn’t going to stop, so she bought me a portable CD player and some headphones so I wouldn’t disturb her. It made me light on my feet though.”

“That was nice she encouraged you.”

“It was, although we did have to have ground rules about where it was acceptable to dance. Living room, yes. Middle of Tesco, no.”

Aoife laughed as she grabbed a huge bag of bread rolls. “How long have you been dancing then?”

“Since I was three. My mum enrolled me in baby ballet because a friend of hers taught it, and she thought it would be good for me. It stuck.” I watched Aoife pull out a tub of Lurpak from the fridge. “Do you want a hand? I feel like I’m being terribly lazy just standing here watching you.”

“If you don’t mind. I’m just making a load of bacon and sausage baps for everyone. They’re just getting the last of the tables and everything all set up. The caterers are arriving at one and the guests about half two.” She smiled at me. “We’re starting early because most of us aren’t good with very late nights these days.” She shook her head fondly. “I can’t believe John is seventy. I still feel about your age.” Aoife sighed and shook her head. “Listen to me blathering on, now I do sound like an old woman. Lord, I’ve turned into my mother. Grab a knife out of that drawer, and let’s get these made. I’m assuming you’re okay with bacon and sausages? Patrick didn’t mention anything about allergies or you being veggie when I asked him.”

“I’m absolutely fine. In fact, I’ll probably eat at least one of each. Patrick says I have hollow legs,” I said with a laugh, digging a knife out of the drawer and starting to split and butter the rolls that Aoife put in front of me.

“I’m so happy for you and Patrick, you know. For such a long time he seemed so unhappy, and I always wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling me… but when he first mentioned you, he was so much brighter, and recently… well, I’m so glad he decided to tell us and let us meet you.”

There was an unspoken undercurrent to her words that made me pause. It was if she was worried about putting her foot in it or scaring me off.

“I’m glad too,” I said, not looking at her but wondering just how much I could say without dropping Patrick in it or making him uncomfortable. The last thing I wanted to do was betray his trust. “He was so nervous about telling you, but I think it’s because he loves you and he was worried. Even if he didn’t need to be. That’s the way Patrick is though. He cares so deeply, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“That’s my Patrick. Always putting others first,” Aoife said as she started to fill the buttered rolls, splitting sausages in half on the chopping board next to me. The smell made my stomach rumble again and she laughed, handing me one. “I think you’d better eat one now. You can test them. There’s ketchup and brown sauce on the side if you want.”

“Thanks.” I took the roll and bit into it, practically squeaking with happiness as I did. There was nothing that beat a sausage or bacon sandwich. Except maybe a bacon and sausage sandwich. What could I say? I liked meat. Honestly, I liked food in general. That was one amazing benefit to having a chef as a best-friend-slash-fake-boyfriend; you got lots of free food.

We continued making the rolls, chatting easily together about random little things, until the others came traipsing back into the house. They all made a beeline for the plates we’d piled high, and Aoife flicked on the kettle to start making cups of tea and coffee for everyone. Patrick and John were there as well as Cara and her husband and sons, plus Mary and another couple who Patrick introduced as his sister Imogen and her husband Tom. They had two boys with them, who I’d have guessed were in their early teens, but they took a couple of rolls in each hand and disappeared before I’d been introduced.

Patrick pressed a bacon roll covered in ketchup into my greedy paws and chuckled as I stuffed half of it into my mouth like some sort of giant hamster.

“You laugh, but I’m hungry.”

“There’s going to be loads of food later,” Patrick said, giving me a wry smile. “There’s a huge buffet and a pizza oven. And that’s without the enormous amount of cake and desserts. I think Da said something about ice cream as well, but he might have been joking.”

“That’s later though. This is now! I might waste away if I don’t eat now.”

“How many stomachs do you have?”

“Are you calling me a cow?”

“Of course not, and if I were, you’d be a very cute cow. The prettiest, glitteriest cow ever.”

“You know,” I said with a laugh, “I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be an insult or a compliment.”

“Compliment, obviously.” Patrick smiled indulgently at me, and I couldn’t resist leaning in. Our earlier awkwardness seemed to have dissipated, for which I was eternally fucking grateful. I wasn’t sure if I was pushing my luck, but I’d always been good at doing that. I pressed a quick kiss to Patrick’s surprised lips and grinned at him.

“Good, I’m glad. Otherwise, I’d have been sad.”

“I never want that,” Patrick said. “Ever.”

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