Page 78 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
‘You and me both.’ He grinned. ‘Ow.’
‘Stop smiling if it hurts then, you big baby.’
‘No. And charming!’ He did it again, this time with no exclamation of pain.
‘Would you like a drink? I can put a paper straw in it for you.’
Gabe looked down at Bryan who had, despite his bed being right next to the sofa, instead climbed up on Gabe’s stomach and was sat, surveying the situation from this vantage point.
‘You know, I could get used to this, mate.’
‘What? Getting your nose plastered all over your face by a girl?
‘Technically, it was just the blood from inside my nose, and also technically it was the beach that did that. Not you.’
‘I was the catalyst.’
‘That is a fact I can’t argue with.’
* * *
An hour later, Gabe was asleep on my sofa, his dog sprawled out on his chest as I bustled happily about in the kitchen, preparing lasagne for dinner. I couldn’t remember the last time I made one of these, having dropped into the same habit as Gabe of buying already prepared ones. I’d forgotten just how fiddly they could be to make from scratch with all the different layers but I was actually finding it quite therapeutic. There was an order to cooking and baking that helped calm me. Do this, this and this in this order and you get this. All right, so it didn’t always turn out right and sometimes you got an inediblethatinstead of a deliciousthis. But generally.
I’d just finished the last layer when Gabe, looking slightly sleepy and lusciously rumpled, appeared at the doorway.
‘Hey.’
‘Oh, hi. Nice sleep?’
‘Yep. Thanks. You sure those were just paracetamol?’
I laughed. ‘Yes, I promise. Maybe you needed the rest.’ I thought back to the shadows I’d seen under his eyes when we’d first met. Shadows I recognised from looking in my own mirror. If this fake relationship meant that he cut back on his hours a bit and ate properly, helping shift the very real shadows from his eyes, then maybe it was worth it for that, as well as helping set his parents’ minds at rest.
‘Maybe.’ He shrugged, although I could tell from the hesitancy in that gesture that he was unwilling to fully accept that possibility. Yet, anyway. ‘That smells so good. Lasagne?’
‘Yes. That OK?’
‘More than OK.’ He was peering at the dish. ‘You made it all from scratch?’
‘Yes. I haven’t made one for ages though, so you’re a bit of a guinea pig. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Mind? No. I definitely don’t mind. Feel free to experiment like this on me all you want. God, I’m starving now. How long will it be?’ He suddenly stopped, his eyes wide. ‘That’s really rude. Sorry. For God’s sake don’t tell my mum I said that.’
I laughed at his sincerity. ‘I promise. It’s going to take a while to cook,’ I said, picking up the dish and sliding it in to the now pre-warmed oven. ‘There’s garlic bread and salad to go with it later, but here, try this in the meantime.’ I buttered a piece of bread and handed it over. He bit into it, making appreciative noises.
‘Don’t tell me you made this too?’
‘No, I got it up at the little bakery in the village. It’s rosemary and sea salt. I might have a go at making a loaf at some point but in the meantime, I’m more than happy to patronise that shop. Have you been in there? It’s full of such deliciousness!’
‘Is it bad if I tell you I haven’t?’
‘Not at all,’ I said, buttering him another slice. ‘Don’t fill up on that.’
‘Not a chance. It kind of is bad. I’ve lived here for three years and I’ve never set foot in most of the shops. I just never seem to find the time.’
‘I’m the last person you need to explain yourself to, Gabe.’
‘I know you get it, but it’s not the point, is it? I mean, I love this place and I should support the businesses here, otherwise it’ll just be a bunch of chains like everywhere else. Or rows of empty shops.’
