Ash stood for the longest time and bit by bit realisation hit him as to what the hell he had just done.
I took off my shirt.
I stripped off my shirt in front of Connor.
I stripped off my shirt while standing inappropriately close to Connor. Connor the vet.
I stripped off my shirt while getting hard because Connor is hot and I lost all control of myself. Then I kissed him. Why the hell did I do that?
Humiliation burnt through him. He’d just been so happy that Tux was okay and that he’d not been responsible, and Connor had looked so good in his white jacket, all formal and clever and… fuck… that kiss.
Who had moved at that last moment? Was it him? Had he forced a kiss on Connor or had his eyes seen right, that Connor had been into the taste of a kiss as much as he had? He knew he’d stepped closer, but how could he not? Connor was there and he was gorgeous and he looked angry and all Ash wanted to do was kiss the anger from his face.
And now he was standing in an empty room with the door wide open, shirtless, and probably with a stupid-arsed expression on his face. Quickly he pulled on the T-shirt and smoothed it as best he could, then with a wave at Evan on reception, he left the building as fast as he could and made straight for his car. Only when he was back in the Land Rover, with the blood on the shirt and more smudged on the seat where he’d laid Tux, did the adrenaline fizzle out and leave him just this side of shaky. A knock on the window had him cursing and lurching from the glass.
Seeing it was Mick, he turned on the engine and lowered the window.
“God, Mick, you scared the shit out of me.”
Mick simply stared at him pointedly. “Afternoon, Mr Ash, you’re jumpy today.”
“Had to take Stephanie’s cat in, damn animal got in a fight with a ginger tom.” Adrenaline had him reacting with irritation and not his usual tone of quiet acceptance with the world.
Mick frowned. “Bloody Muffin. Is your niece’s cat okay?”
“He’ll be fine, Connor is keeping him overnight.”
“Connor.”
Ash waited for more. A lot more words to follow the word Connor. None came.
“Yes, Connor,” Ash almost prompted.
“Good. Good.” He hesitated and Ash waited some more. Mick was known for telling a story and making it last a long time. “How you doing up at the Grange?”
Ash was a little thrown by the change of subject. He kind of wanted to stay focused on the fact he imagined Mick wanted to say something about Connor.
“I’m fine up there. Oh, wait.” Ash reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out the small snake. “Look.”
He handed it to Mick, who took it and turned it over and over in his hands. Mick deliberated at length, then passed it back. “Nice.”
Ash positively beamed inside. That single word of praise meant so much from the man who’d showed him how to have the patience to learn wood a long time ago.
Mick pressed a hand to his head. Bessie whined and poked him.
“Is Bessie okay?” Come to think of it, Mick looked a bit pale and flushed.
“She knows it’s just my sugars going a bit low. I need to get something.”
Ash was immediately concerned. He wasn’t aware that Mick had diabetes. He began to get out of the car. “Do you need me to do anything?”
“Stay where you are, young Ash. I’ll go sit at Bert’s. Bessie’ll look after me.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“Yep. Look, do an old man a favour?” Mick said. He passed a cardboard box through the window, which Ash took. The air immediately became redolent with the scent of tomatoes. “Told Mary Davenport she could have these. She’s on yer way home, Mr Ash. Bye now.” Without waiting for Ash to say goodbye, he left and ambled back across the road and into Bert’s butcher shop.
The drive out of the village was a slow one, caught as he was behind a tractor that appeared to be ambling all over the road avoiding bumps and dips and a trail of cars in its wake. Ash was content to follow at a distance, humming along to the Muse CD he’d found in the glovebox and inhaling the scent of fresh ripe summer tomatoes with each breath.
Summer. He loved it.
The tractor turned off just before Upper Fordham, passing the old school house and disappearing down a farm track, but Ash didn’t really speed after that. He had no one behind him and all the time in the world. Yes he had emails to answer, spreadsheets to check, and that godawful decision he’d made hanging over his head, but Tux was going to be okay. At least he could tell Stephanie everything was okay without bald-faced lying. And he’d had a kiss from a gorgeous, albeit reluctant, then shocked, man.
He stopped to let someone cross the road from the post box to the bus stop, and they exchanged waves. He didn’t recognise the woman in the bright orange T but the wave was nice. She was probably from one of the rental cottages in the village. Rented by the week, at least four of the estate properties garnered income from people wanting a holiday in the Cotswolds.
He parked outside the Davenport house, right opposite The Wychwood pub, and considered whether he should have actually gone home first to get a new shirt. The house was still decorated from the wedding, he recalled guests spilling from the pub into the house where Chloe’s parents lived.
Was that before or after I had Connor basically implying I was a shallow arsehole?
Picking up the box, he wandered around the side of the beautiful stone house and down the long drive to the workshops at the end. This was where Richard Davenport had his kitchen-fitting business, alongside his wife who pickled and poached and wrapped everything up as Cotswold produce to sell in town. A regular village concern the two had going. He’d seen them at the wedding, but before that Ash hadn’t been back to the estate in over a year. It would be good to catch up.
“Ash!” Mary swept him up in a fragrant hug and held him as close as she could with him carrying the box of tomatoes. “What are you doing here?”
“Mick asked me to bring up these to you.” He handed her the box and watched her face light up. She inhaled the scent of them and grinned in delight.
“I have the perfect recipe for these. Richard’s outside in the garden if you want him. Have you heard from Ben and Chloe yet?”
“Nothing yet. You?”
“Chloe texted to say Paris was wonderful, and Stephanie sent a picture. Hang on.” She placed the tomatoes on the table and pulled out her phone. Scrolling to the images, she held up a photo of Stephanie with the largest bowl of soup that Ash had ever seen. “Chloe said she cleared the whole bowl.”
Mary and Richard couldn’t love Stephanie more if she was their own flesh and blood. Stephanie called them Grams and Gramps and was spoiled rotten by them. In fact, everyone spoiled Stephanie, him included.
“Ash, whatever happened to your shirt? Is that blood?”
Ash looked down at the rusty stains and brushed them with his hand. “Paint,” he lied. Mary didn’t call him on the lie and Ash wasn’t ready to admit he’d fucked up cat sitting on day one. Especially if Mary passed on the news to her new granddaughter. “I’ll go find Richard,” he excused himself.
Ash found Richard standing in the middle of the lawn staring pointedly into the distance.
“Everything okay?” Ash asked, causing Richard to jump.
“Bloody hell, boy,” he exclaimed, his hand flat over his chest.
“Sorry.”
“I was miles away.” Ash stood next to Richard and followed the direction he was looking. Right up the hill to Fordham Grange.
“The wedding was lovely,” Ash said. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when Richard looked at him ruefully.
“Your Ben is a good man, but I’ll miss her. She’s still my baby.”
Ash bumped shoulders with him. “She always will be.”
Richard nodded. “So what brings you here?”
“Mick gave me tomatoes for Mary and asked me to drop them off.”
“Ah, I see. Is that blood on your shirt?”
“Paint.”
Richard also seemed taken in by the convenient white lie. “Want to see what I’m working on?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” Ash followed Richard into the barn that he’d converted into a workshop. The large open space with skylights was filled with light, one corner piled high with oak, a single butler sink with dull silver-coloured taps next to it.
Ash moved straight to the wood and stroked a hand down the length of one of the pieces. He peered closer: solid maple.
“The coffee shop in Lower Fordham want their whole personal kitchen upstairs replaced, my job for August.”
“I remember the summer I helped you with the kitchen in Fordham Grange, you remember that?
“I recall a kid who understood the wood he was working with,” Richard said. He clapped a hand on to Ash’s shoulder. “You want to assist this summer, you let me know.”
Ash sighed. “I wish I could. This isn’t a full vacation; I’m remote working.” He air-quoted the words and thought of the work sitting on his laptop back at the Grange.
“Shame, nothing should come between a man and his ability to build things that last.”
Ash couldn’t agree more, and his fingers itched to touch the oak again. Suddenly a year’s worth of accounts on a Sterling-Haynes estate was something dull and flat against the shiny that was working with Richard. I can’t just walk away from Sterling-Haynes to fuck about for the summer building cabinets. I do have spreadsheets to sign off on. But, I’m managing so far, I could leave everything until September. I do have the time.
Sometimes, things just didn’t fall that easy. But oh, the temptation was there.