Page 48 of Strawberry Kisses

Chapter Twenty-One

Connor

According to every romcom I’ve ever seen, waking up in bed next to your best friend after you hooked up the night before was supposed to be a terrifying experience. So bad that you both had to scream and then have an awkward conversation where you denied everything and pretended to be just friends.

I wasn’t sure if I’d been completely expecting things to play out like that with Patrick since we’d woken up cuddled up together perfectly fine after the night before. However we’d now introduced sex into the equation, and we all knew sex was the problem in situations like this.

Except… it didn’t happen. I woke up half on top of Patrick, like yesterday morning, with my face buried in his chest. I’d taken one deep breath, put my arm around his waist, and realised I never wanted to move again. I just wanted to stay there forever like a very large koala. Patrick had eventually stirred and pulled me into a tight hug, and we’d exchanged lazy kisses until we heard other people pottering around and figured it was time to get up.

We’d taken our time, talking quietly as we found clothes, and I debated which top to wear. I eventually settled on a soft, comfortable T-shirt in pale grey. It reminded me of Patrick’s eyes. I almost wanted to steal Patrick’s hoodie to go with it since it looked so big and snuggly, and I knew it would smell amazing, but I thought that would probably cross a line.

Besides that was the ultimate sign of banging, and I wasn’t sure my beloved would appreciate me showing up to breakfast with his family in his clothes. I was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure they all knew what we’d been doing anyway, especially given Aoife’s previous comments, but I didn’t want to rub it in their faces.

Plus, Patrick put the hoodie on before I’d even had a chance to grab it.

When we finally got downstairs, we found Aoife, John, and Mary in the kitchen, chatting away over mugs of tea. Aoife was looking at something in the oven while John sat in a chair at the small kitchen table chopping mushrooms and tomatoes while surrounded by three eager looking terriers. I had to admit that Mary looked slightly worse for wear, clutching her mug to her chest and looking like she’d rather be in bed. She looked like I’d felt after my twenty-third birthday when I’d drunk nearly two-thirds of a bottle of vodka. That had been messy. I didn’t think Mary had had that much to drink before Patrick and I had sneaked out, but since we’d missed the rest of the party, I had no idea what had happened while we’d been gone.

“Good morning, boys,” Aoife said as she stood, shooting us a grin. She looked considerably more awake and alive than her daughter. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, we did. Thanks,” Patrick offered, tucking himself into the corner and putting his arm around my waist. “Did you?”

“Not bad at all, considering I only got about four hours.” She shook her head and laughed. “I know I said we weren’t going to stay up late, but when you get to talking, sometimes you just can’t help it. And I haven’t seen your Auntie Lydia in nearly two years. We had a lot to catch up on.”

“You talk every week on the phone for at least an hour,” John said with a laugh.

“Well, there’s some things you just can’t talk about on the phone. I didn’t see you complaining while you were drinking God knows what with Brian and Smiffy.”

“It was just sloe gin, nothing fancy.”

“Jesus Christ, John. That sloe gin of yours is flammable. Are you sure you should be drinking it at your age?” Aoife teased, scooping the sliced tomatoes off the board in front of him into a bowl.

“I’ve been drinking it for forty years. It ain’t killed me yet.”

“And it better not. I want a card from the Queen for our diamond wedding anniversary. You’ve gotta do another ten years yet.”

“Lord help me,” John said with a fond smile. Aoife just rolled her eyes. They were adorable to watch, and I loved the fact that they were clearly still hopelessly in love with each other even after fifty years.

“Do you want a hand, Mum?” Patrick asked from behind me.

“No thanks, love. I’ll be just fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to do everything yourself.”

“You’re a sweet boy,” Aoife said, “but this is my kitchen, and it’s not like it’s a lot of trouble to cook breakfast. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me poking around in your kitchen.”

“Oh God no,” I said with a laugh before I could stop myself. “You should see him at work. He hates when someone goes into his kitchen without asking.” I tilted my head to look up at Patrick. “Do you remember that time Aaron popped into your kitchen to ‘borrow’ a pair of scissors and some oranges? I thought you were straight up going to murder him.”

“Patrick? Commit murder?” Mary asked, somewhat groggily. “It’s gotta have been bad.”

“They were my scissors,” Patrick grumbled. “He had six pairs of his own. I know because I made Ben buy them for him because he kept losing them. They’ve never been the same since.”

“That doesn’t sound like much,” Mary said.

“Oh wait, it gets worse.” I grinned. “Aaron took a whole tray of oranges that Patrick had bought specifically to use in a chocolate and orange mousse, and in the process of taking them he knocked over two trays of mini pavlova nests and a whole cheesecake. Splat, all over the floor. An hour before service. On a Sunday.”

Mary winced. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Did you know that when Patrick gets mad, like proper apoplectic, he doesn’t say anything? Not at first. He just gets this look in his eye that would give even the hardiest serial killer a run for his money, and then it’s like watching a volcano explode in slow motion. You almost want to run away, but you can’t bring yourself to move, even though you know you might get burned. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aaron look so contrite in his life.”

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