Page 23 of Tattoos and Tiaras
I slouched in the booth and let out a pained groan. “I’ve promised to make Perry a meal tonight, and I’ve no idea what I’m going to cook.” I couldn’t keep the panic out of my voice. It had been years since I’d last cooked a meal for anyone, well one that didn’t consist of sausage rolls and hot dogs, the normal things Ben liked me to make for him. Cooking for another adult and one I might not want to accidently poison with bad cooking.
Mouse sat forward, drumming his fingers on the table. “You looking to impress Perry?”
“Impress, not send home with food poisoning, that is the general hope.” I leant forward, resting my elbows on the table, a serious offense in my mother’s eyes. I would be lying if I said I didn’t get a slight thrill at breaking one of her commandments even after all these years.
“Charlie.” Mouse called the waitress over. “Do you have a spare pen and some paper handy?”
“Hope you’re not planning on drawing dick pictures again and sticking them in all the menus. Poor Mrs Harper still opens the menu like she’s half expecting to be attacked.”
Mouse’s cackle sounded almost evil in its joy. “Nah. not this time. Got to write out a recipe for Cully.”
Charlie shook her head in commiseration at me. She pulled a pad of paper from her apron and ripped a few sheets off and handed them to Mouse. “I find one rude drawing, Mitchell, and you are banned for a month.”
Mouse nodded absently, his pen scribbling fast. “Now you’re going to need to pop to the shops for some groceries, but I can promise you anyone with half a brain can cook this, and it will look like you’re Gordon fucking Ramsey. Well worth the pain of having to face the supermarket.”
“What is it?” I leant over the table trying to get a better look, but it was almost impossible to decipher Mouse's writing from this angle.
“It’s my proper posh chicken bake, or Dijon Chicken to the uncultured. Nice and easy one pan dish, throw in a few spuds, and you have a whole meal and make sure you get the nice bacon for it. Here.” Mouse slid the recipe over to me, and it didn’t look too complicated.
“I might be able to make this and not burn the house down.” That earned me a small chuckle from Mouse and a worried look from Rhys.
“Did you want us to come around and help?” Rhys asked.
“Nope. I was the one who decided that I needed to show off to Perry. Don’t know what the hell got into me.”
“Perry. Or that’s who you’re hoping will get into you if you impress him enough,” Mouse answered.
I tried to hide my answering smirk behind my hand, but both just laughed, catching me out.
Chapter Nine
Cullen said six thirty, so of course I started to walk down at six. I admit I was excited to see him again. Now that we’d put a cessation to the hostilities, I was eager to be clear in my intentions. His foolish claim that no Dom would be interested in him was a far cry from the truth. Cullen was a talented, handsome man and a precious sub that I desperately wanted to claim.
Gods, even just saying that in my head sounded so he-man, but it was the truth. The thought of Cullen finding someone else filled me with a sense of dread; he was the man I had wanted for months. I refused to call it pining, especially when I spent half the time switching between adoration and frustration.
Actually, it did feel suspiciously a little like pining.
I hadn’t bothered to drive. Cullen's place was barely a five-minute walk down the hill, and it was a perfect late summer evening. It wouldn’t be long now before the weather grew colder, and the air around town would fill with the smell of woodsmoke. I was looking forward to the change of season. Autumn was my favourite time of year. The changing colours in the leaves andthe chill in the air reminded me of family bonfires, and Mum exasperated that all her neatly raked piles of leaves would end up scattered around the grounds again.
I stopped at the start of the lane that meandered its way down to Cullen’s surgery and home and looked at the village in the late afternoon early evening light. It looked remarkably like something from an Arthur Ransome book, with its thatched roofs and whitewashed walls set against the rugged coastline.
Moving to Tewsbury had been a smart move. Manchester was exciting, and I never lacked for clients, but I was starting to worry that platinum princesses and princes and their £300 cut and blow dries were going to be the end of me. The grind of the nine till nine most weekdays left me little time or energy to go attend munches or even attend the weekends at Crimson House. I hadn’t written in months, and I worried that Lord Lamprey and his dashing valet Ross wouldn’t get their final novel.
I chuckled to myself thinking about how Cullen would react if he knew I wrote the Lusty Lord Lamprey novels. I’d overheard Cullen at the pub telling Cal he had just finished the second book and was hoping to get the weekend to read the third one. It had been sorely tempting to tell him there and then that I was James Saint Laurent, but I’d chickened out.
Cullen’s cottage came into view. It was such a pretty place with its thick ivy climbing on one wall and its lattice windows and smoke billowing out from one of them.
Wait. What the hell?!
The side gate was open, and I sprinted down towards the door Cullen used for his private residence. It was open, and Cullen stood there wildly flapping a dishcloth as smoke drifted out from behind him and a small black kitten wound its way around Cullen’s ankles, completely unperturbed by the events going on around him.
“It’s a simple recipe anyone can cook. Right. Anyone but me.” Cullen muttered to himself, not realising I was standing close by.
“Cullen, what happened?” I stepped closer and could see a dark smudge across Cullen’s nose.
“Oh, blast it. I was hoping to have this mess cleaned up before you got here. I’m burning my house down and running late. Yes, my evening has gone swimmingly.” Cullen huffed, leaning his weight against the doorframe.
“Are you okay?” I moved in closer, lifting Cullen’s chin with my fingers to see his face. Apart from a soot smudge on his nose, he seemed fine, but I was still concerned.
