In fact, as Blay recalled that tenderness, he burst up from where he’d been sitting and marched around the apple tree—as if he had somewhere to go.
At that moment doors opened. Not the vestibule ones, however.
The library.
As he glanced over his shoulder, Saxton stepped out from the room. He looked like hell, and not just because, as fast a healer as the male was, he still had some residual jaw swelling thanks to Qhuinn’s attack.
Good one, Blay thought. Way to express disappointment in someone’s behavior: Let them fuck the shit out of you after they tried to strangle your ex.
Soooo classy.
“How are you?” Blay asked, and not in a social way.
It was a relief as Saxton came over. Looked him in the eye. Smiled a little like he was determined to make an effort.
“I’m exhausted. I’m hungry. I’m restless.”
“Would you like to eat with me?” Blay blurted. “I’m feeling exactly that way, too, and the only thing I can do anything about is the need for food.”
Saxton nodded and put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “That is a stellar idea.”
The pair of them ended up in the kitchen at the battered oak table, sitting side by side, facing out into the room. With a happy smile, Fritz immediately flipped into provide-sustenance mode and what do you know. Ten minutes later, the butler provided each of them with a bowl of steaming beef stew, as well as a crusty baguette to share, a bottle of red wine, and a stick of sweet butter on a little plate.
“I shall be back, my lords,” the butler said on a bow. And then he proceeded to shoo everyone else out of the place, from the doggen who were prepping vegetables to the ones who were polishing silver to the window cleaners in the alcove beyond.
As the flap door shut behind the last of the staff, Saxton said, “All we need is a candle and this would be a date.” The male leaned forward and ate with perfect manners. “Well, I suppose we would need a few other things, wouldn’t we.”
Blay glanced over as he put his cigarette out. Even with bags under those eyes and that mostly faded bruise on his neck, the attorney was something to look at.
Why the hell couldn’t he—
“Do not say you’re sorry again.” Saxton wiped his mouth and smiled. “It really isn’t necessary or appropriate.”
Sitting beside the guy, it seemed just as unlikely that they had broken up as it was that he had been with Qhuinn. Had any of the last couple of nights happened?
Well, duh. What had gone down with Qhuinn wouldn’t have if he and Sax were still together. That he was very clear on—it was one thing to jerk off in secret, and that was bad enough. The full bifta? NFW.
Shit, in spite of the fact that he and Saxton had split up, he still felt like he should confess the transgression…although if Qhuinn was right, Saxton had already moved on in one sense of the word.
As they ate in silence, Blay shook his head, even though he hadn’t been asked a question and there was no conversation. He just didn’t know what else to do. Sometimes the changes in life came at you so fast, and with such fury, there was no way to keep up with reality. It took time for things to sink in, the new equilibrium establishing itself only after some period of your brain sloshing back and forth against the walls of your head.
He was still in the slosh zone.
“Have you ever felt as though hours were more properly measured in years?” Saxton said.
“Or maybe decades. Yes. Absolutely.” Blay glanced over again. “I was actually just thinking that very same thing.”
“Such a morbid pair we are.”
“Maybe we should wear black.”
“Armbands?” Saxton prompted.
“Whole deal, head to toe.”
“Whatever shall I do with my flare for color?” Saxton flicked at his orange Hermès kerchief. “Then again, one can accessorize anything.”
“Certainly explains the theory behind dental grilles.”
“Pink plastic flamingos.”
“The Hello Kitty franchise.”
All at once, they both burst into laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, but the humor wasn’t the point. Breaking the ice was. Getting back to a new kind of normal was. Learning to relate in a different way was.
As things settled into chuckles, Blay put his arm around the male’s shoulders and gave him a quick hug. And it was nice that Saxton leaned in for a brief moment, accepting what was offered. It wasn’t that Blay thought that just because they’d sat down together, shared a meal, and had a laugh, all of a sudden everything was going to be smooth sailing. Not at all. It was awkward to think Saxton had been with someone else, and utterly incredible to know he’d done the same—especially given who it had been.
You didn’t downshift from being lovers for nearly a year to doing the pally-pally thing in the matter of a day or two.
You could, however, start forging a new path.
And put one foot after the other on it.
Saxton was always going to have a place in his heart. The relationship they’d shared had been the first one he’d had—not just with a male, but with anyone. And there had been a lot of good times, things he would carry with him as memories that were worth the brain space.
“Have you seen the back gardens?” Saxton asked as he offered the bread.
Blay broke off a piece and then passed the butter plate over as Saxton took a section for himself.
“They’re bad, aren’t they.”
“Remind me never to attempt to weed with a Cessna.”
“You don’t garden.”
“Well, if I ever do, then.” Saxton poured some wine in his glass. “Vino?”
“Please.”
And that was how it went. All the way from the stew through to the peach cobbler that miraculously appeared before them thanks to Fritz’s perfect timing. When the last bite had been taken and the final napkin swipe made, Blay leaned back against the built-in bench’s cushions and took a deep breath.
Which was about so much more than just a filled stomach.
“Well,” Saxton said, as he laid down his napkin beside his dessert plate, “I do believe I’m finally going to take that bath I talked about nights ago.”
Blay opened his mouth to point out that the salts the male preferred were still in his bathroom. He’d seen them in the cupboard when he’d taken his backup shaving cream out at nightfall.
Except…he wasn’t sure he should mention it. What if Saxton thought he was asking the male to come and bathe in his suite? Was it too much of a reminder of how things had changed—and why? What if—
“I have this new oil treatment I’m dying to try,” Saxton said as he slid out his side of the bench. “It finally arrived from overseas in today’s mail. I’ve been waiting for ages.”
“Sounds awesome.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Saxton resettled his jacket on his shoulders, pulled his cuffs into place, and then lifted his hand in a wave, striding out without any sign of complication or strain on his face.
Which was helpful, actually.
Folding his own napkin up, he placed it beside his plate, and as he scooted free of the table, he stretched his arms over his head and bent backward, his spine cracking in a good way.
The tension in him returned as soon as he stepped into the foyer again.
What the hell was going on with Layla?
Damn it, it wasn’t like he could call Qhuinn. The drama wasn’t his own, or anything he was connected to: When it came to that pregnancy, he was no different from the others in the house who had also seen and heard the show and were no doubt just as worried as he was—but had no right to emergent updates.
Too bad his now-full gut didn’t buy that. The thought of Qhuinn losing the young was enough to make him studiously consider the locations of the bathrooms. Just in case an evac order was issued by the back of his throat.