Page 43 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“But they’re your friends.”
“Yes, they are. But today’s your day. Do you really want to spend the day with them? If you do, we can go back.”
A wry smile curved Lucian’s lips.
“If you put it like that… Friends can be wearing, especially when they think they know what’s good for you and can’t resist telling you. It’s why I think flowers are often so much better company.”
“Better company than me?” The words flew from Arlo’s lips before he could catch them. It was Lucian who was supposed to have a lack of filter.
“Oh no, not you. You’re the only one I make an exception for, even if roses are more witty, and orchids more—”
“Okay, mister, you can quit with being a smart ass.” Arlo tried to sound stern and intimidating, but nailed down by Lucian’s wide-eyed gaze, he didn’t stand a hope in hell.
“I’d rather not quit, because it’s my only chance of ever being considered smart. Come on, let’s see what we can get to eat because I’m famished. Honestly, I could eat a scabby donkey.”
Arlo’s jaw dropped, the conjured image grossly fascinating. “Never saw that on any menu,” he muttered as he followed Lucian toward the food trucks.
All the local restaurants and coffee shops were showcasing their menus. There were the usual burgers, pizza, and tacos, but there were also Middle Eastern and Far Eastern foods.
“This isn’t the Jake’s Day offering I remember growing up.” Arlo stopped beside Lucian, who was inspecting the chalked menu next to a truck selling wraps of char-grilled skewered meat, but also hummus and falafels. “The most exotic thing you could get was a cheeseburger.”
“The good old days, eh?” Lucian insisted on paying for their food, Arlo being left to grumble when Lucian refused to take no for an answer.
Finding a shady patch of ground beneath a large tree, they ate in easy, companionable silence — or at least for a few moments.
“Oh, bollocks.” Lucian’s voice, loud, crystal clear, and as clipped as the haughtiest Lord in a BBC costume drama, drew undisguised interest from those nearest to them.
“It’s okay folks, he’s British.” Arlo smiled at the curious faces. Heads nodded and lips curved into smiles, and some rolled their eyes, as though the explanation said it all.
Arlo turned back to Lucian, who was picking pieces of falafel and pickled vegetables off the front of his formerly pristine white T-shirt. A blob of tahini sauce oozed its way down.
“Aren’t you a little old not to have learned to eat in public?”
Arlo kept his face straight as Lucian glowered up at him over the top of his glasses.
“Nanny was sacked because we caught her pilfering bottles of my father’s best Lafitte from the wine cellar before she could teach me. I really am awfully feral.” Lucian scooped the dripping tahini from his T-shirt, transferring more to the tip of his nose and the corners of his lips than into his mouth.
“How do you cope with dressing and washing? Do you need a caregiver? There must be somebody crazy enough to take the job.” Arlo bit into his own, more manageable, sandwich.
“Are you offering? I promise I’ll be a very compliant client.”
Arlo’s food lodged in his throat and he took a swig from the soda they’d bought to go with their food.
Taking care of Lucian… was he offering? Yes. No. No. You’ve got a lot of love to give… Francine’s words echoed in his head.
“This T-shirt is well and truly ruined. Honestly, I should have chosen something less messy.” Lucian bit into the wrap, managing at the same time to squirt yogurt sauce onto his chin. “Oh, god…” He put the wrap down and wiped his face, but only succeeded in smearing the mess all over his lips.
“Jeez, it’s like having lunch with a clumsy toddler.”
“Get used to it, because I’m convinced it’s hereditary. Dad was the same. If he could knock something over, or drop it, or spill food down his front, he did. He was a total klutz, as Mum always says, even worse than me if you can believe it. She says she thought it was adorable, and it was what made her fall in love with him.”
“Hereditary, eh? Come here.” Arlo put down his sandwich and picked up a spare napkin. Without thought, he leaned forward and wiped the mess from Lucian’s nose, cheek, chin. And lips.
His fingers slowed, then stopped, nothing separating his tingling fingertips from Lucian’s warm, pillowy lips, nothing except a scrap of thin tissue paper. The laughter and chatter in the park grew quieter, until it faded to nothing, leaving only the hard, racing beat of his heart and his ragged breath. What am I doing? But whatever it was, he was powerless to stop, as his fingers twitched into life, gently sweeping the napkin over Lucian’s lips.
Lucian’s hand came to rest on his. It was shaking, Arlo registered through the fog filling his head. Shaking, almost as much as his own hand. Taking the napkin from him, Lucian looked down at the thick white sauce, as if he didn’t know what it was or how it’d gotten there.
“Thank you.” His words were so quiet they were barely even a whisper; he looked up, and Arlo caught his breath.
