Page 21 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
Drawing Jake felt different from his usual work. More personal somehow, more revealing. Ru realised he was putting something of his own feelings into the sketch, not least his growing admiration for this complex man who seemed determined to present only his roughest edges to the world.
“There.” Ru sat back, examining his work critically. He’d captured, he thought, not just Jake’s physical appearance but something of his essence. The seriousness with which he approached his task, the gentleness that belied his strength.
“Can I see it?”
Ru felt a sudden flutter of nervousness. Would Jake recognise what Ru had seen in him? Would he be uncomfortable with that perception?
Ru turned the sketchbook around, watching for Jake’s reaction. Something flickered in Jake’s eyes; surprise, perhaps, or recognition.
“It’s just a quick study.”
“No,” Jake said, his voice different somehow. “It’s good.”
The simple acknowledgment sent a warm pulse through Ru’s chest. “You can have it, if you want.”
Jake hesitated, but then nodded. Ru carefully tore the page from his sketchbook and handed it over.
They returned to working on their arrangements, both of them silent. Ru glanced across from time to time, as the complex wreath took shape.
How could such big hands, hands that chopped wood and repaired machinery, perform such intricate work? Yet they were also the same hands that had warmed Ru’s cold fingers with gentle friction. Heat, sudden, hot, and impossible to ignore, unfurled in his belly. How would those hands feel on his body? Would they be rough and hard?—
“If you’re wondering, the answer’s no, I wasn’t a florist in a former life.”
“What?” Ru blinked, Jake’s words shoving him out of his very inappropriate but very delicious, daydream. “I can’t pretend I’m not surprised.”
“My parents taught me, just as their parents taught them. Goes back for generations. The tradition almost died out, but a small flame was kept alight in some of the remoter hamlets and farms. The older crafts are going through a revival now, though. Mainly due to incomers wanting to reconnect with the land and the ancient ways. They talk a lot of bollocks, half the time, but a revival’s a revival.”
“So, is this where you come from? I didn’t realise. And is this place your family home?”
Jake smirked. “The accent throw you, did it?” Jake barely glanced at Ru as his fingers continued their flawless, complex dance.
“Err…”
“Yes, I’m from these parts. No, this wasn’t the family home because no way would my parents have been able to afford a place like this. I left for the army when I was eighteen and had the piss taken out of me morning, noon, and night because my accent was thicker than clotted cream. So I worked on eradicating it because it was easier.”
“Easier than what?”
“Easier than landing my fist in the face of the next man who assumed I was as thick as pig shit because of the way I spoke.”
Ru picked up his bunched display to finish, the tips of his fingers sore from catching them on holly leaves. “Are your parents still living around here?” Next to him, Jake paused, just a beat, before refocusing on his work. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Ru said quietly.
“That’s okay. Both my parents are gone. Dad worked as a farm labourer and there was an accident. Mum had a heart attack a few years later, completely out of the blue. I was on tour both times. I’ve got a sister who’s a fair bit older than me, and she lives in South Africa. We’re not close. She left home when I was still a schoolboy, so I don’t really know her. I’ve not seen her in god knows how long.”
“So it’s just you?”
“How’s your arrangement coming?”
In other words, don’t ask anything more.“Nowhere near as well as your wreath.”
Jake leant in closer to examine Ru’s work. As their shoulders pressed together, Jake’s spicy, woodsmoke scent made it very difficult to focus.
“It’s good. Don’t do yourself down.” Jake smiled, the simple compliment warming Ru more than any fleece layer or crackling fire ever could.
They continued working, the kitchen table a production area for the Christmas greenery.
Ru created a few more small arrangements whilst Jake finished his wreath and started on a garland for the fireplace mantel. Their hands occasionally brushed as they reached for the same materials, each contact sending warm ripples up Ru’s arm. With a mumbled apology, Ru would send a glance Jake’sway, wondering if each seemingly accidental touch was affecting Jake as much as it was him, but the man was unreadable.
“I think we might need something else,” Ru said eventually, surveying their creations. “Lights, maybe? Candles? Something to add a bit of sparkle amongst all the green.”
