Page 36 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“I did.” Arlo gave a sheepish smile. “But nothing came up for Danboro.”
Lucian picked the teapot up and pointed to the print with the name emblazoned underneath.
“Ah.”
“Quite.”
Lucian poured the tea and emptied the biscuits on to a plate. “No milk, I’m afraid, because it’s turned to yogurt.”
“No problem.”
They drank in silence for a couple of minutes, perched on either end of the couch, nestling their tea on their knees.
Lucian dunked a biscuit, missing the vital moment to take it out before the soggy end slopped back into the mug.Fuck. Perhaps he’s not noticed.Lucian glanced up through his lashes; Arlo was staring into his tea. The silence stretched out, growing more painful by the second. Maybe he shouldn’t have rushed for the door, maybe he shouldn’t have called out for Arlo, maybe he—
“Nice teapot.”
“What?” Lucian jumped, dragged out from his thoughts of all the things he maybe, absolutely, shouldn’t be doing. “Teapot? Nice? No, it’s hideous. I can only think my sister, whose many little Danebury empires include merchandizing, was being ironic when she commissioned them. But the visitors love them, and are quite happy to shell out the dosh, so who am I to pour scorn when I can pour tea? Care for another?”
Arlo put his mug down. “Thank you, but no. It’s gross. The Creek water tastes better. I don’t think even letting your cookie — excuse me, your biscuit — melt into it would improve the taste.”
Lucian opened his mouth before clamping it closed again. Arlo’s face was deadpan, but he couldn’t hide the mischief in the depths of his bright hazel eyes. Lucian laughed, the off color comment and the shine in those gorgeous eyes fracturing the tension that had bound them both.
“I’ve got beer.”
“Then why didn’t you say?”
Lucian dumped the tea in the kitchenette and popped the caps on a couple of bottles, ice cold from the refrigerator, and slumped on the couch. His gaze slid to Arlo, who was slouching, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. A friend… regret rippled through Lucian before he pushed it down. Yet perhaps it was a friend he needed more than…
“So tell me about Danebury Manor. I’ve never met a guy who grew up in a castle.”
“It’s a manor, if you don’t mind, not a castle,” he said with a huff before he grinned. “It’s been in the family for hundreds of years. I know it’s not ordinary, but to me it’s always been home first, and Danebury Manor second. This time of year is when it’s at its best, when all the trees are turning from green to gold.” Like your eyes. He swallowed the words as he swallowed his beer.
“Everything will be in full swing, getting ready for Autumn at Danebury. It’s a wonderful event, and I’m in charge of dressing the house in seasonal flowers, just as I am for Springtime at Danebury and Christmas at Danebury. Or at least I was.” His shoulders slumped.
“Lucian, why are you here? I mean, really? With all this…” Arlo waved towards the wall of photos, “why would you want to leave?”
Arlo’s words were gentle, caressing, and reached into his heart. Lucian looked away. Arlo had no right to ask him, not like that, not when they were just friends. Yet why not tell him? Hadn’t Arlo confided in him about Tony, so why not do the same? It was what friends did, and he had nothing to be ashamed of, even if so often it didn’t feel like that.
Lucian pushed his glasses further up his nose, holding them in place for a few silent seconds, before releasing them to begin their slow slip down.
“It was a perfect storm,” he said, staring at the half drunk bottled beer as though he didn’t know how it had gotten into his hand. “Or that’s how my brother described it. That, or the unholy trinity.
“I had a boyfriend. The Shit Formally Known as Miles. Or that’s how I think of him now. We were together — supposedly — for almost two years, and he was horrible to me for most of that time. Not that I could ever see it. My family warned me about him, so did my friends — the few who hung around after he drove the others off.”
Falling silent, he stared at his bottle. Somehow, most of the label lay shredded on his knees. He glanced up at Arlo’s gentle scrutiny. No judgement, no criticism, just a kind of quiet understanding. But of course, hadn’t Arlo been there, hadn’t he gotten the T-shirt?
Sucking in a breath, he readied himself to tell his story.
“I’ve never been the most confident person, and Miles was older than me by quite a few years. I think the thing that attracted me most to him was his supreme self confidence. It was like he knew all the answers to life. It was only later I realized his confidence was arrogance and narcissism, but by then he’d chipped away at my limited self-belief. I questioned everything about myself, and every answer I came up with left me feeling like I wasn’t good enough. Sub par is how he referred to me, and that was when he was being kind — not that he was ever that. Mostly, though, he called me a moron.”
“Jesus. What a piece of work.”
Lucian shrugged. “We finished a few weeks before I came out here. I hadn’t seen or heard from him for a while, which wasn’t unusual, but then I got sent a photo—”
“Oh. Right—”
“Wrong. No, it wasn’t him with another guy, which is what you’re thinking. In a strange way, I’d have preferred that. No, it was a photo of a picture perfect tropical beach, along with a message telling me not to book a flight.”
