Macarons at Midnight (11 page)

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Henry said with a snort. “Force of nature” was about the nicest words he could think of to describe most of Trixie’s friends.

“She
was
nice. Right?”

“Poppy? I think you’re mistaking nice for her hitting on you. She’s just a bit less obvious about it than the little girls would’ve been.”

He looked surprised. “That was flirting?”

“That was flirting.” Henry chuckled.

“Did that bother you? When she hit on me?” Tristan asked.

Henry decided to be honest. “Yeah. It did a little. I mean, I don’t have the right to be bothered. Not yet. But I got annoyed.”

“Can I confess something?”

“What?”

Tristan reached across the table and brushed his thumb across Henry’s hand. Henry shivered from the tiny contact. One of the first touches they’d shared that had been purposeful. Leading. “It bothered me when she flirted with you too. Especially when I still thought you might be interested.”

Henry nearly choked on the sip of wine he’d taken. “Interested? In a woman? Not since I was fifteen. Probably not even then. I just tried to make it happen.”

“Me too. I think I was even younger than that, though. I remember watching the girls with my mates and thinking, ‘What are they looking at?’ Now, Robbie Carson from the local college’s rugby team. That I understood.” Tristan mock swooned. “He even had a
car
.”

Henry found himself wishing he could’ve seen sweet, prepubescent Tristan. Of course, then he’d have been one of the boys at the college, and that would’ve been on the very side of wrong. Probably best to wait until now to meet.

Tristan took a big bite of his garlic bread. “So, I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“What on earth does Honeyfly mean? Where did you get it?”

“That’s an easy one.” Henry grinned. “You want the whole story? It’s actually kinda dumb.”

“Of course I want to hear it now,” he said. “I doubt it’s dumb.”

“I promise.” Henry shook his head, wondering for the millionth time why he’d decided to give his bakery such a cutesy name. Not exactly impressive to the boys.
Here goes nothing.
“So, when I was a kid. It’s a little embarrassing. But my mom had hired an au pair to watch Trixie and me. She used to take us to the park, right? And sometimes we’d bring picnics, and of course the flies would want to get into it. And Petra, the au pair, she was great with us, but she was still learning English too, so one day when I saw a bee, I asked what it was. She couldn’t remember the word. All she could think of was that they were like flies, but with honey. I swear, I walked around calling bees ‘honeyflies’ for at least a year after that. It kind of stuck.” Henry shrugged.

Tristan chuckled. “That’s adorable.”

“Please don’t call me adorable.”

“Why?”

“Adorable is for people you have zero intention of sleeping with. Ever.” The second it came out of his mouth, Henry felt a jolt of panic.
Why did I just say that? He’s going to run away now. Nobody says that on a first date.
Henry waited for Tristan to bolt. He didn’t.

“Cheeky” was all Henry got in return. Well, that and a sly grin.

“What?”

“I take it back. You’re definitely not adorable.”

Henry nearly choked on his bite of salad.
Say something. Now. Talk.
“Um, so, Tristan.”
Yes, that’s his name. Good work. Excellent observation.
“Where exactly are you from?”

“England?”

Henry chuckled. “Yes. I got that part, thanks. I’m trying to place your exact accent.”

“Ah, that’d be Yorkshire.” Henry loved the way he said that. “Small town in North Yorkshire, to be exact. I’m quite sure you’ve never heard of it.”

Henry decided then and there that he needed to spend more time in Yorkshire. “Yorkshire. That’s the accent. I should’ve recognized it.”

“Please don’t say
Downton Abbey
,” Tristan muttered. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that since I moved here.”

“
Secret Garden
. It was my favorite movie when I was a kid.” Tristan stared at him blankly, like he’d never heard of it. “Lemme guess.
Bend it like Beckham
was your favorite?”

“Guilty.” Tristan leaned forward and took a long swallow of his wine. Henry wondered if he was nervous. He hoped he didn’t make him nervous. “Well, that and every superhero film ever. I’ll watch them all, even if they’re pants.”

“So, New York? How’d that happen?”

“I came here for work. Like I said.”

“It has to be a big change from a small town.”

“It is. Like, I lived in London for four years, just about, but even London never felt like this. Maybe because I was in school for most of it and spent a lot of my time on campus.”

“Probably. It’s hard to be somewhere like this on your own. Daunting.”

“Yeah.”

T
HEY
WERE
quiet for a little while after that. Henry hoped he hadn’t inadvertently ruined the night by grilling his date. It didn’t feel like that, though. Tristan seemed happy and calm. Just quiet. He finally put his fork down.

“You know what?” he asked. He looked almost thoughtful.

“What?” Henry wondered what could possibly be about to happen.

“The whole time we were in your kitchen, then last night, and since I got here tonight, I’ve been thinking something.”

“What were you thinking?”
Thudthud
. Henry’s heart clenched a little in his chest. He leaned closer.

“I’ve been thinking that I want to kiss you.”

Henry nearly choked again. Tristan had a way of catching him off guard. “Really? You want to kiss me?”

“Mmhmmm.”

Henry dropped his fork onto his plate. All thoughts of garlic bread and the dessert he’d planned for later flew out of his head. He stood and walked over to where Tristan was sitting. “Like, now?”

“I don’t know about you, but now works for me.”

Tristan put his hand in Henry’s. Henry pulled him up so he was looming over him. Henry looped his arms around Tristan’s wide shoulders.
Yes.
It hadn’t been very long, but Henry felt like he’d been waiting for this kiss for
ever
. At least since that first moment when he’d watched Tristan take an appreciative bite of his first macaron and lick his lips.
Damn.
Tristan leaned over and brushed his lips across Henry’s. It was soft at first, sweet, but like he knew what he was doing. It was good one of them did, because Henry’d pretty much forgotten everything he’d ever learned. Ever.

“You taste like wine,” Tristan murmured.

“So do you.”

Tristan didn’t talk anymore. Just rested his hands on Henry’s hips and leaned in for another kiss. They kissed for a long time, soft and deep and slow on the roof in the low-lit evening. It was exactly how Henry wanted to be kissed. Always. Tristan was amazing at it; he paid attention to Henry’s breath, the way his hands clutched at Tristan’s shoulders. He sank his tongue in gently at exactly the right time, drew back, and nipped at Henry’s lips when he needed a break. It was perfect.

“You’re… damn,” Tristan finally said. His breath bathed Henry’s mouth. “I should’ve known.”

“What?”

“Just. It’s you. I should’ve known kissing you would be like this.”

“Like what?” Henry didn’t know why he was talking when all he wanted to do was
kiss
more and longer and all damn night if he could.

Tristan rubbed his thumb across Henry’s cheekbone. Again. Perfect. “I think you know.”

He did. He wasn’t going to play coy. “Like we’ve been kissing forever.”

“Exactly. But like it never got old.”

Henry leaned in for another. He didn’t think he’d ever want to stop.

“How do you feel about dessert?” Henry asked against Tristan’s mouth.

Tristan raised one sandy eyebrow. “
Dessert
? Or are we talking sweets?”

“Well, that too, maybe.” Henry couldn’t help chuckling, even if it sounded breathy and crushy and a little ridiculous. “But I actually meant cake. Real cake with, like, ingredients.”
You just sounded so cool, it’s amazing he’s not already naked.
“Would you like some? Cake, that is? And then maybe dessert.”

Oh Jesus Christ.

“Always,” Tristan answered. “Lead the way to the cake. And the dessert.”

“So, um, I haven’t made it yet. I thought you could help me,” Henry said. He gave Tristan his best charming grin to make up for the lack of available cake and his blatant loss of any sort of suaveness.

“I’m hopeless at baking. I thought I told you that already.” Tristan’s sweet little face was twisted up and concerned, like he thought Henry would actually
care
if he were a good baker. Henry only cared that he was adorable and seemed like the sweetest, most sarcastic guy Henry had ever met. And the way he kissed.
Moan sigh.
There would have to be more kissing. Very soon.
Dessert
.
Tristan’s baking skills were nowhere near the top of his care list. Henry could bake enough for the both of them.

T
RISTAN
SAT
on the thick stone slab counter in Henry’s very posh kitchen in his huge, posh flat. He wondered if it was going to become some sort of tradition with them, Tristan watching Henry bake, salivating over gorgeous smells and a beautiful man. That would be quite alright with him, thanks.

Tristan already liked it in Henry’s flat. Sure, it was a bit intimidating, so grown-up and decorated in a casual, comfortable, masculine way. But still, very grown-up. Henry didn’t have posters left over from uni, or some leftover sofa his friend’s mom’s aunt didn’t want after she got rid of all her vintage florals. It all looked
so
much like him. Three walls were this color between green and blue, pale but still noticeable, and his sofa brought out colors in the huge exposed-brick wall that went all the way along the far end of the massive room. His floors were wooden and pale, and the windows went from knee high all the way to the ceiling, which had to be close to ten feet. Tristan could imagine how beautiful they’d be in the morning, letting in lots of light through the long, gauzy white curtains Henry’d hung.

“You think you’d be able to manage the apples?” Henry asked.

Tristan was skeptical, but he didn’t want to look like an incompetent mum’s little baby. “What exactly would I need to do with them?”

Henry chuckled. That low, sugary laugh did things to Tristan’s insides.
Things
.
“Peel them.”

Oh. That was easy enough. Even he had peeled some things at home before. “Yes,” Tristan said with a slow, growing smile. “I think I can handle at least that much.”

“What about grating them when you’re done? Just try to keep the seeds out of it. And your fingers.”

“I think I can do that too.”

Tristan had to slither off the counter to deal with the apples. Too bad, really, because he liked to watch Henry work. Instead, he got Henry’s lovely hands at his hips and a soft, brushing kiss across the back of his neck. It was rather familiar for people who’d only kissed for the first time only half an hour before, two people who’d just met, really, but it felt good to Tristan. He liked having Henry’s nimble, graceful hands on him, and he liked the thought of Henry guiding him around and giving him intimate kisses and just
being
in his space.

“I could get used to this, you know. I like having you here,” Henry said. “I probably shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered after. He looked down at the ground for a moment. Beautiful Henry with his gorgeous bakery and perfect flat, Henry who had nothing at all to be insecure about, looked at the ground like a shy year nine with a crush. Tristan was hopelessly endeared.

“I like being here, if that makes you feel any better,” he said, crowding into Henry’s space a little. “I could probably get used to it too. Really easily.”

They kissed again, but kept it light. Tristan thought he might like the little familiar kisses just as much as the hot, gut-pounding ones. It wasn’t the same, of course; it didn’t get his heart spinning out in quite the same way, but it just felt
good
. Like he’d said, Tristan could get used to it.

He dealt with the apples, peeling and grating, probably quite lucky he didn’t manage to shave off bits of his fingers along with the fruit despite Henry’s warning because he couldn’t quite manage to keep his eyes off of Henry. Couldn’t stop watching him for a single second. There was something about him when he cooked, something about the sway of his hips when he danced around the island or the way he held the spoon when he stirred the batter; it was mesmerizing. Tristan pictured those hands on him, kneading and touching, peeling his clothes off layer by layer like he was unwrapping some delicious treat to eat. He wanted to touch and kiss back, feel Henry’s soft bits and the places where he was wiry and strong. Tristan couldn’t help it any longer.