Heart (15 page)

“What for? You can use the bathroom here. Stay awhile and rest. You’ll need it if you’re going to get through today.”

“It’s not that. I need to get my washing so I can do it at work.”

“Oh.” Seb was silent a moment. He looked tired and rough, and Dex could almost see the effort it took him to think coherently. “How about you grab a shower and a cuppa here, then you go to work while I fetch the washing from your place?”

“You want to go to my place?” Dex wasn’t sure about that. He kept his room clean and tidy, and his dirty clothes were stacked in one of Bernie’s big linen bags by the door, but glancing around Seb’s sleek, polished flat, he wasn’t sure he wanted him to see the sparse reality of his life at the hostel.

“I’ve been there before, Dex. I know what it’s like.”

Dex sat up again. Somehow, his head had dropped back to Seb’s chest. “What? Why did you go there?”

“Last time I lived in London, my head chef used to donate leftovers to the homeless shelters around the city. I took some food there once.”

Dex clambered off the couch, stumbling over the too-long legs of his borrowed tracksuit bottoms. He didn’t have much in his life to be proud of, but it bothered him that Seb knew just how lowly he was. “Where did I put my clothes?”

“Over there.”

Seb inclined his head toward the coffee table. Dex frowned. He didn’t remember putting them there. “I need to go.”

Seb didn’t argue, and he didn’t reiterate his offer to go to the hostel either. He watched Dex scramble around for his things with an unreadable expression on his face, and when Dex emerged from the bathroom dressed in his own clothes, he met him by the front door with a travel mug of hot, sweet tea.

“See you later.”

Dex ran home, changed his clothes, and dragged his bag of washing up the road to the restaurant. His detour had made him later than usual, and after loading his things into the machine, he was just in time for his literacy lesson.

He usually enjoyed his sessions with Mel. Reading was hard, and writing near on impossible, but he could see with his own eyes he was making progress. Not today, though. Today, the words on the page seemed to blur into a migraine-inducing riddle. Mel lost patience in the end and sent him back to the kitchen an hour early.

After setting up the dishwasher—a habit he’d yet to break—Dex wandered over to the dessert section, noting Seb and the Chelsea Bun dough they’d made the day before had yet to appear. He retrieved Seb’s weekly planner and flicked through until he came to the right day, but aside from the words “bun” and “lunch,” he could decipher little from the handwritten plans for the day.

He rubbed his belly. The headache was fading, but his insides still felt empty and raw, like he was hungry, or sick, or both.

“Morning.”

Seb dumped a big plastic box down on the counter. Dex jumped but found himself distracted by the ball of Chelsea Bun dough billowing over the sides of a glass bowl. “That’s huge.”

Seb smirked, though Dex could see his eyes were drawn and weary. “Amazing, eh? Give me a minute to get a brew, and I’ll show you how to punch it down.”

Punch it down?

Seb ambled off to the bar and reappeared a few minutes later with two mugs of tea. He passed Dex one, along with a bag of sweets and a paper-wrapped package from his box of tricks. “Cheese and Marmite. Pink shrimps and fried eggs.”

Dex’s mouth watered. He felt like death, but cheese and Marmite? Food of the gods, and no one made it better than Seb. “What have you got?”

“Jam sarnies and cola bottles. Don’t let me eat them all before lunch. I’m going to need the sugar this afternoon. Pass me that bloody dough. Let’s get this over with.”

Dex stuffed half a sandwich in his mouth and watched, fascinated, as Seb knocked the air out of the dough with his fists and turned it out onto the floured counter. By the time it was stuffed with spiced raisins and rolled into spiraled buns, it didn’t look anything like the gloopy mess Dex had walked into the previous afternoon.

Seb wrapped them in cling film. “Right. They just need to proof on top of the steamer for an hour, then they can go in the oven. Do you know what cake you’re making today?”

Dex picked up the baking tray loaded with the buns. “Lemon drizzle.”

“You’ve got the recipe squared away?”

“Think so.”

“Okay. Good. I’ve got to pop out for a while. I’ll be back before service starts. If you need anything, ask Rick.”

Seb took his bandana off and tossed it on top of the microwave. His tone was friendly enough, but he didn’t look happy. Dex took the buns to the steamer and slid them into the warm space where the air leaked out. When he came back, Seb was still there, staring into space.

“Okay?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Apart from hanging out of my arse, at least. Hey, can I ask you something?”

Dex nodded and reached for the second half of his sandwich. He felt better already.

“What does gorjer mean?”

He dropped the sandwich like a stone. “What?”

“Gorjer. You kept muttering it in your sleep. Is it someone you know?”

Dex waited a moment for his tongue to detach from the roof of his mouth. He’d never talked in his sleep before, at least not that he knew of. He was pretty sure Braden would’ve beaten it out of him. “You’re a gorjer. I’m a Traveller.”

Seb stared at him, then shook his head and gathered some paperwork from the file he kept in the counter drawer. “See you in a bit.”

He disappeared, leaving Dex to finish the lunchtime prep alone, and when he came back just before service started, he remained pensive and quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Dex didn’t mind. Battling through a busy service with a raging hangover was hard enough without maintaining conversation, but when the lunch rush was over and it was time to clean up and get ready for dinner, the somber silence began to get under his skin. He was about ready to scream by the time Rick summoned him into the bar.

He crossed the kitchen in a world of his own and pushed open the bar door with little thought. A wall of noise hit him, and he looked up to see every soul he worked with, from cleaner to chef to waitress, staring at him, smiling, and singing a song he knew he should recognize.

The scene made little sense, and he didn’t even realize they were singing to him until Bernie appeared in front of him, brandishing a big blue cake with four lit candles on top.

“Happy birthday! Sorry it’s a bit late, sweetie. Make a wish!”

Mystified, Dex followed her prompt and blew out the candles. His colleagues treated him to a round of applause before they began to disperse, armed with slices of cake dispensed by Bernie.

Dex watched them go with wide eyes until he caught sight of Seb loitering at the back of the bar. He let Bernie hug him before he crossed the room and poked him in the ribs. “What the bloody hell was that?”

Unfazed, Seb chuckled. “I don’t remember much from last night, but I
do
remember that we missed your birthday. There’s no escape, Dex. Bernie makes everyone a cake, even me, the pastry chef…. Oh, don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

Seb folded his arms across his chest, and looked Dex in the eye with an expression that made his knees feel weak. “
That
look. You deserve a normal life, Dex. A life where your friends treat you right. Wind your neck in and let them.”

D
EX
FROWNED
.
“It’s not my birthday anymore. It’s not even close.”

“Shut your face.” Seb kept his attention on the big pot he had bubbling on the stove in his flat. “A bit of crappy cake does not a birthday make.”

“I’ll tell Bernie you called her cake crappy.”

“No, you won’t.”

Okay, Dex probably wouldn’t, but he still didn’t see why Seb was cooking him a special dinner two weeks after a birthday he’d never celebrated in the first place. Though he wasn’t about to complain about spending his day off in Seb’s nice, warm flat. “What are you cooking?”

“Beef cobbler. My mum still makes it for my birthday every year, even in Spain.”

“Spain?”

“Yeah. My parents retired out there a few years ago, but she still manages to get all the ingredients.”

“Do you miss your ma?”

Seb shot him a strange look. “Not really. I moved away when I was eighteen, so I’m used to seeing her just a few times a year.” Seb looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he held up the spoon for Dex to taste. “Like it?”

Of course he liked it. Seb was a magician. “Can I help?”

“Nope. You’re going to sit right there and let me look after you. No whinging.”

Seb’s attempt at stern was endearing, and ineffective given the humor lightening his gaze, but Dex stayed put all the same. He loved watching Seb cook. Often, he seemed to throw things together with little thought, but if Dex looked close enough, the tiny frown creasing his forehead or the tip of his tongue poking through his teeth gave him away.

“What did you eat on your last birthday?”

Some dirty john’s cock.
“Pot Noodle?”

Seb made one of those noises that reminded Dex of his mad old aunt and tipped the meat sauce he’d made into a chipped baking dish. Like most of Seb’s kitchen equipment, the dish was a girlie shade of pink. “Did your brother buy you that?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Of course he did. Wish I could chuck it out, but it’s the best dish I have.” Seb threw a handful of grated cheese into a sticky dough mix he was working by hand. “Pass me the chives from the fridge.”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to help.”

“Don’t be an arse. Come on, I need to roll these scones out before the butter gets too warm.”

Dex was familiar with the science of ice-cold butter in baking. Seb had taught him to make pastry and recited a list of other recipes the theory applied to. He retrieved the chopped herbs from the fridge and obediently added them to Seb’s bowl.

A little while later, he sat back on his stool and rubbed his rounded abdomen. Of a list that was ever growing, beef cobbler was officially his new favorite food. Meat, gravy, and cheesy scones—life didn’t get much better than that.

Seb wouldn’t let him wash up. “Not today. It’s your day off. Relax.”

“It’s your day off too,” Dex grumbled.

“Bite me.”

If only
. Dex was glad Seb had his back to him. It had been nearly a week since he’d woken up in Seb’s arms, their bodies… their cocks… pressed together in a tangled pile of heat, but he’d thought of little else. Seb hadn’t mentioned it, but something had changed between them. The slight awkwardness that’d plagued them had faded away and been replaced with a casual affection that was almost easy.

Almost, because just the lightest touch from Seb—a shoulder squeeze, a brush of hands—was enough to light Dex on fire.

“Do you want pudding?”

“You’re not cooking anything else for me.”

Seb laughed. “Easy, mate. I brought home the leftover banoffee pie you made yesterday. Don’t tell me you don’t want any. I saw you eyeing it up last night.”

Dex let him have that one. Toffee, bananas, biscuits, and cream. Who wouldn’t want to eat that? “Okay, but let me get it. Please?”

Seb relented with an easy grin and ruffled Dex’s too-long hair. “Bring it in the living room. We can watch a DVD or something.”

Dex slid off his stool and busied himself retrieving the leftover pie from the fridge and serving a big slice onto the only plate he could find. He took the pie and two forks into the living room and found Seb sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, thumbing through a big leather book.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a picture of Ezra. Thought you might like to put a face to a name.”

Seb found the page he was looking for and beckoned Dex closer, gesturing for him to leave the pie on the table and take a seat in front of him. Dex hesitated only a moment before folding himself to sit between Seb’s bent legs, caged in his arms with his back to his chest. “That’s your brother?”

“Yep.” Seb swept Dex’s hair back from his face, and when Dex didn’t squirm, he rested his chin on his shoulder. “He’s two years older than me and two years younger than our sister, Kelly.”

Dex stared at the slightly older, less good-looking version of Seb. The man had lighter eyes and hair, and his face was free of Seb’s perpetual stubble. “Your sister who lives in London?”

“Farringdon. She was over here yesterday, actually. Can’t you see how clean this place is?”

“Your place is always clean,” Dex said absently, flicking through the pages of the photo album and taking in image after image of a smiling, happy family.

“Only because Kelly comes by and does all my housework when I’m at the restaurant. I’m having dinner with her next week. You should come.”

“Why?”

Seb huffed out a tiny, heated puff of air that made the hair on Dex’s neck stand on end. “Why not?”

Dex didn’t have an answer. Instead, he nestled closer to Seb’s chest and let the sound of his rich voice wash over him, lulling him into a sated and contented daze. In turn, Seb played with his hair and told him stories of family holidays in the south of France.

He perked up a little when Seb came to pictures of his old fudge shop in Padstow. He touched a faded picture of Seb’s whole family posing on the pavement by the rickety old sign. “Do you miss it?”

“The shop? No, not really. I only kept it going out of some misplaced obligation to my grandpa. I was all kinds of relieved when my dad told me he would’ve much preferred to see me living it up in the city than tied to a small-town shop all by myself. Besides, the rest of them turned their backs on it, so why not me?”

Dex nodded slowly. Seb had told him before that life in the shop bored him to tears, that he was lonely. He hadn’t seen it back when he’d first met Seb… first saw him drifting through the cobbled Cornish streets, weary and sticky from a day behind the fudge pan, but after watching him thrive in Rick’s busy kitchen, it all made perfect sense. “I’m glad you came.”

Seb rubbed his scruffy cheek against Dex. Stroked his face and brushed his thumb over his lips. “Came where, London?”