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Wade’s voice was somber as he had brought up the issue of the photographs, and for the first time it had occurred to Ariel that Wade might be onto something. If they were really good, and if he wasn’t recognizable as a crazy naked person in a public space, then maybe there was no harm in them. Plus, now that Wade had mentioned cleaning his feet, the offer of his bath was irresistible.
Ariel nodded. “Very well. And thank you. I hope it’s not inconvenient for you. You do realize I can drive back and use the convenience apartment the company is still paying for, right? I’m not without resources.”
“That’s good to know.” Wade’s relief seemed genuine. “But it’s not an inconvenience at all.” His eyes warmed with pleasure. “I enjoy your company, and the cottage is too empty with just one person in it. It’s newly inherited, and Aunt Rose’s things are still around, so...”
Ariel’s heart flooded with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.” He gently placed his hand over Wade’s, and squeezed. “It’s... it’s hard to lose people we love. If that’s the situation, keeping you company for a while would be both my pleasure and my honor.”
Wade paid up just as he said he was going to and waved off Ariel’s offer to pitch in.
“Next one’s on me, then,” Ariel said, realizing that he was making plans to see this random stranger again. It didn’t alarm him, and even Wade smiled at the prospect.
They walked out to the parking lot in the square. “Take your things out of the car, we’ll walk,” Wade said. “This town is old and the streets are narrow. You’ll see.”
He did. Ariel was charmed by the stone houses clustered in a neat row and by the flags fluttering in the breeze. Even on a dreary February morning, he caught a glimpse of empty flower boxes under windows, and he could just imagine the street in a riot of color it would be later this year. He didn’t doubt that this neighborhood was a site of some massive competitive gardening.
They turned a corner, and a few houses down Wade waved him through a shared doorway. The convoluted path had to make the issue of property lines complicated, with the walls being built at odd angles, but the shared passageway let out into a lovely little garden with a flagstone path.
Wade pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. “This is the kitchen entrance. We hardly ever use the door to the street. It lets the heat out.”
Following Wade’s example, he walked through the foyer and into the kitchen, and took off his shoes. The kitchen was simple and small, with just counters and cabinets and a ruffled pink valance over the kitchen window that matched the faded pink wallpaper. That must’ve been Aunt Rose’s touch.
“Come follow me, the bathroom’s upstairs,” Wade said. “And watch your step, the staircase is ancient and the wooden steps are slippery with only socks on!”
“How ancient?” Ariel asked as he looked at the dark wood ceiling beams, the stone fireplace in the faraway living room, and the plaster walls that were just a wee bit crooked.
“Over four hundred years. Aunt Rose had a whole write-up on it for guests, if you’re interested later. She used to let the place out to visitors.”
This was his dream come true, Ariel realized. He had wanted to see a bit of the English countryside, he wanted to see the quaint places and the old things, and here he was with Wade, in a house older than the United States. He was, in fact, about to have a bath in it.
Life was strange. This was all because of his naked yoga at the henge.
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HEARING THE WATER RUN made Wade’s mind fly back to other times, other days. He’d been younger and the cottage had bustled with life back then. Aunt Rose’s kitchen had smelled of delicious scones and the sausage Mr. Mortwick had made at a nearby farm. Now it was Mortwick’s daughter who made the sausage, and Mr. Mortwick was having tea with Aunt Rose somewhere in the great beyond.
He hoped they were happy together, finally out of sight of their gossiping neighbors.
Wade smiled. The memory inspired him. He had a guest now, and if he was to hold up family honor, he better come up with a bit of hospitality. Except he had made scones only a couple of times, and he had not stocked up the refrigerator much since Aunt Rose had passed on.
And they just ate. Still, though.
Wade pulled Aunt Rose’s cookbook off the shelf and flipped through it. There was Irish soda bread, and the ingredients were in the house. He had a wedge of Cheddar cheese and... let’s see... apples, probably flown in from New Zealand this time of the year, and a can of Spam.
He grinned. Spam was the best as long as one didn’t read the ingredients on the label. Like most canned lunch meats, it was chock-full of salt and all kinds of fats and animal organ meats. But it fried up well and there wasn’t much to ruin.
While he was messing around with flour, Wade noticed how little usable counter space he had for spreading out his ingredients. Something to amend later. The slightly sweet, sticky dough had a scent of its own, and so did the preheating electric oven. He struggled the ornery mass into a buttered and floured loaf pan, patted it down with his wet hand to even it out some, and set it to bake.
Now for the prep work. A cast-iron skillet, a sliced block of Spam, and three apples in a bowl. The cheese was warming up on the cutting board, so he put up a pot of fragrant Earl Gray and took the few steps over to the sunken dining room. He pulled his old, beat-up laptop out of his bag, fired it up, and plugged it in.
Just about when Wade was done downloading the photos off his card and mentally calculating when he’d be able to afford a new computer, the crooked staircase above him creaked.
“Watch out, the steps are slippery,” he called out to Ariel the way he always called it out to every guest ever since he’d been a teen. The staircase was narrow and crooked and its carefully restored wood gleamed in its uneven glory, but he loved the character it gave the old place.
Ariel descended, dressed in a pair of stretchy, athletic running pants that showcased his toned legs, and a long-sleeve T-shirt. He was holding a pair of running shoes and socks. “That bath was divine,” he said. “Thank you so much! And that room? Wow. I’ve never been to a place like this before.”
“Do you plan to go running?” Wade asked. Those legs, with muscles playing under a layer of spandex, were hard to ignore.
“I should,” Ariel said. “Actually, I’d love to. I’ve been stuck at work for too long. The hotel has a gym and a treadmill, but I like this place.” He waved his empty hand around, including the village and the countryside. “It would help me reset after trying to sleep in the car like a college kid.” He grinned.
Wade grinned back. “Well then. I have bread in the oven, snacks ready to go. Once the bread is baked, if you’d like me to follow you on my bicycle, we could look at the photos after we got out a bit. Would that suit?”
Ariel nodded with visible relief. “I was just going to go through town, to places where I couldn’t get lost. Not like last night.”
Which was how Wade ended up pumping up the tires of his bike for the first time in over a year. He squirted a bit of oil on the chain and checked the brakes while Ariel walked around the garden and admiring the old “quaint” walls and the pergola over the outdoor dining area, the trees trained against the walls, and everything else he could think of.
It was delightful, really, to have such an expressive guest.
“Let’s go then,” Wade said. “I’ll adjust my speed to yours.
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WHY DID WORKING OUT together feel like a date? Why did running next to Wade’s ancient bicycle amount to a romantic gesture of some kind? As much as he’d been looking forward to exploring the local sights, Ariel found that he had a hard time soaking it all in.
Thatched-roof cottages, check.
Cobblestone streets, check.
Sheep in the pasture, check.
And the sky with its formerly fluffy sheep-clouds had changed into wind-swept streaks of cirrus clouds, indicating a weather change. Of course, this was England. There was bound to be the famous rain. He had been planning on enjoying it all, from the smell of the sheep to the whiff of diesel in the air, from the sun to the rain.
But it was Valentine’s Day, the dreaded holiday of no love, and he was caught in a horrid and painful struggle of loving Wade’s company, and fearing that having anything resembling a date on this accursed day would do nothing but jinx anything that might otherwise develop between them.
And develop it might, because Ariel wasn’t blind. He had noted the way Wade’s covert gaze had run over him before, and the weight of that assessment had not been all about the male form and artistic composition. No, Ariel was quite aware that Wade had been checking him out.
The checking-out bit was mutual. In Ariel’s eyes, Wade had an infectious smile, a twinkle in his eye that spelled trouble of the best sort, and strong-looking, pleasant hands Ariel would love to feel on his back, on his sides.
He leaned into his stride, running faster. The only way to stop mooning over Wade was to utterly exhaust himself.
Forty-five minutes later, when they were in a country lane between fields greening with thin and short crops barely emerging from the ground, Wade called for a break. “I hate to admit it, but I haven’t been cycling in quite a while and my arse hurts.”
Ariel coasted to a stop, then walked around in circles as Wade dismounted his bike and began to fiddle with his seat position. The admission surprised him. “Really? I thought all Englishmen bike.”
“Not hardly,” Wade said with a chuckle. “Maybe before everyone had a car. Now, the roads are cluttered and biking can be downright dangerous. You saw the roads, right? The hedge maze? There’s no way to allow for a cycling-only lane.” He finished up and put away his multi-tool into the utility bag that hung under the seat. “There are a few safe roads, but you need to know exactly where to go, and also when. Time of day is critical.”
“Would you like to turn back?” Ariel asked. Last thing he wanted to do was hurt Wade’s ass. The thought brought naughty images to his mind, which he promptly banished.
“Not really. If we circle back to the right, it will be shorter. And we will be passing by a lovely pond where I used to swim as a lad.”
They got going again with Wade’s words still ringing in Ariel’s ears. The words he used and the accent in which he spoke were so exotic, so different. Could he really fall in love with a man’s tone of voice as well as with his hands?
No, no he couldn’t, because it was the accursed Valentine’s Day, and no such disaster was going to befall him. He’ll follow Wade back to his ancient house and politely eat the lunch Wade seemed set on preparing. Then he’d look at all those photos, reject every single one, and move on.
He’d be home in Atlanta in a few days, with yet another V-day over and his ex a distant memory.
All would be well, as long as he ignored the man who patiently cycled as Ariel executed his run at a punishing, pig-headed pace.