Page 5 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
A clapped out car that wasn’t even remotely road worthy, he was lucky he hadn’t been pulled up by the police.If only I’d thought before I decided running away for Christmas was a good idea…But he was here, and as he glanced at the window, the outside sill banked up with the snow that was falling in a dense, heavy curtain, he’d have to make the most of it, even if grumpy and ever so slightly scary Jake was clearly regretting his offer.
Rummaging around in his bag, Ru pulled out a fresh set of clothes. A baggy, worn sweatshirt emblazoned with ‘PRIDE in London’ across the chest, the rainbow coloured words faded. Fresh jeans, too, and another pair of Converse. He’d packed in a hurry, sure, but why the hell hadn’t he brought his laptop? Ru saw it in his mind’s eye, sitting on the desk in his flat’s tiny spare room, which he used as an office.
He’d been distracted, bouncing around like a headless chicken, as he’d thrown clothing all over the bedroom, yet somehow only a few items appeared to have made it from drawer or wardrobe to bag. Plenty of socks and underwear, but other than that there were only one or two T-shirts, an old and threadbare hoodie, and one pair of tracksuit bottoms. He pulled those out and held them up high.
“Oh, god. Really?” Dark blue, and decorated with pink and glittery unicorns. “How the hell did they get in?” Ru groaned, and pushed them to the bottom of his bag. Much like his car, his holdall wasn’t anywhere near remotely equipped for his ill-thought out dash. He rummaged some more, relief flooding him as his fingers found his sketch pad and box of pencils. At least he’d had the presence of mind to bring those.
Dressed, Ru took time to take in the bedroom properly. The bumpy walls and low ceiling were painted in a soft off-white. A couple of moody looking landscapes, black and white except for a small patch of colour, decorated one of the walls. Ru took a closer look, his eye critical. Not prints but photographs, and they were good.
A tall wooden chest of drawers, and a wardrobe, stood against the opposite wall in one corner both of them polished, like the floor, to a deep golden honey. The thick mattress, which he already knew was comfortable, sat on a burnished iron bedstead. Ru ran his fingers over the cool metal. It was old, not a modern copy. Had Jake restored it? The idea of Jake’s musclesflexing as he polished the iron, hard concentration in his dark green eyes sent an unexpected shiver down Ru’s spine.
What the fuck, Ru Parker. What the actual fuck?
He shook his head hard. He was tired, he was stressed, Jake had rescued him and come to his aid, even if it was clear he’d only done so because there was no other option.
Ru went and stood by the window. Ice crystals had formed on the outside, delicate patterns spreading like frosty ferns across the glass. Despite his predicament, the sight made him smile. Maybe he could sketch them later. Shifting his gaze, he stared out over the snow covered landscape.
Trees and bushes were no more than lumps in the featureless whiteness, the still falling snow adding more, layer upon layer. Bobblecombe and the little cottage that waited for him would be waiting for a long time, because the wind beating against the window proved what Jake had said was right. There was no way he could even attempt to get to the village, let alone think about returning to London.
“How the hell did I get into this situation?” he whispered, his breath steaming the glass. It wasn’t his piece of crap car he was thinking about.
He knew, and so did everybody else. So many had asked if he was okay, was he all right, how was he coping, was there anything they could do to help. A few, a very small few, had been genuinely concerned, and had been angry on his behalf. He’d hugged them and their friendship tight, but most had been unable to hide the ravenous look in their eyes, which glinted with their hunger for gossip and scandal to be chewed and devoured like raw meat. And he’d provided them with a very, very juicy morsel.
Get away for Christmas and the New Year… Somewhere hot and sunny… Drink cocktails and sleep with unsuitable men… Stick your fingers up at him… Show him he doesn’t matter…
Him, the name his good friend Antonia refused to speak, out of solidarity. Perhaps a break in the sun would have been the better option.
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass. At least he wouldn’t have been stranded in the new ice age. Yet, getting drunk and getting fucked were the last things he’d wanted to do, but the idea of getting away for Christmas had taken hold. He’d discounted going to his parents, who now lived high in the hills of southern Spain, before the thought could fully form. They’d drown him with sympathy, when what he really wanted to do was breathe.
Antonia had looked at him as though he was mad when he made the suggestion.
The cottage at Bobblecombe, left to her by Great Aunty Whatsit. But there was no internet, she’d said with horror in her voice. Even worse, there was no Waitrose, only a tiny shop that didn’t sell anything remotely organic, and absolutely nowhere to get a decent soy latte. She’d visited just the once, and had no plans to go again. In the spring it’d be given a fresh coat of paint and a squirt of coffee bean aroma room fragrance, and put on the market. Nobody in their right mind would want to stay there in the depth of winter…
Well, he wasn’t in his right mind and it was exactly what was needed, he’d decided. Christmas. On his own. Zoning out from everything and everybody. Or that had been the plan, in as much as there had been one, and which was looking less and less likely.
Christmas. It was only, what, a week or so away, now? And here he was, stranded with an ill-tempered stranger, screwing up the guy’s plans for the festivities. Ru groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Would the weather even clear by then? Would he spend Christmas Day skulking in a corner, trying his hardest not to intrude?
What would Jake do for Christmas anyway? Did he even mark it? The farmhouse, not that he’d seen much of it, showed no signs of festive preparation. No wreath on the door, no cards, no tree, nothing to suggest the—ha, bloody ha—most wonderful time of the year was just around the corner. Perhaps Jake was one of those people who simply ignored Christmas altogether. Hadn’t that been what he himself had planned this year? Yet, despite everything, there was something fundamentally depressing about the idea of the occasion passing unmarked, like it was just any other winter’s day.
The loud thud of a door slamming shut dragged Ru from his gloomy thoughts. Jake came into view, trudging through the heavy snow, pulling some kind of sledge behind him. He was making his way to the stone barn to the side of the house, a smaller version of the one Ru had found shelter in.
Who was Jake Whitby? Was it wise to stay here? Jake might be a mad axe murder. Ru huffed out a laugh. Wise or not, staying was exactly what he was doing because he didn’t have any other choice. If the grumpy guy with the startling green eyes and rather nice muscles was a killer, wouldn’t he have dispatched him before now, and chopped him up into little pieces to—feed to the dog that bounded around the corner of the house, tail wagging, and barking? The dog launched itself at Jake, or as best it could from the deep snow, and Jake caught it in his arms before man and dog disappeared inside.
There had been no sign of a dog earlier. Ru didn’t mind because he liked dogs. He only hoped it didn’t bite because he’d been bitten too deep and too hard lately.
Leaving the room that was now his for however long the snow dictated, Ru closed the door and headed downstairs.
CHAPTER SIX
Jake steadied the log before lifting the heavy axe, making sure his grip was sure. Raising his arms, he stilled himself for a second before,chop, cleaving the wood in two.
Log after log, the pile growing. With each log splitting beneath the sharp, heavy blade, he grunted at the impact, his breath forming icy clouds. He didn’t need to be in the barn, he didn’t need to chop more logs, because he already had more than enough to feed the fire, and now he had even more. It was displacement activity, but the hard physical work helped to dissolve some of the tension that had been holding him tight since he’d had no choice but to tell Ru his only option was to stay. His shoulders stiffened again. He’d tried hard, really fucking hard, to not have to give the guy the only option neither of them wanted.
Ru’s car was as dead as the road kill that littered the narrow upland lanes and tracks, and good for nothing other than to be crushed in a scrapyard. Jake grunted. He’d been determined for it not to beat him, because he could fix anything, always could, had been known for it.
Or perhaps not everything.
Jake’s aim on the log missed, the blade skimming the edge and sending it rolling along the ground.
