Summary:
The first time Bee Bannister met Tom Wright, he couldn’t stand him.
Everything about the man aggravated him—his perfect hair and body, his confident arrogance, and the way he looked straight through Bee.
Which is why it’s such an unpleasant shock to find that he’ll be sharing space with him while on a Christmas holiday with friends in Scotland.
However, as the days fly by and snowy Edinburgh begins to work its magic on him, Bee discovers that sometimes first impressions can be very misleading. Tom is kind and funny, and somehow, rather than looking through Bee, he actually sees and likes all of him.
The two men grow closer, but will Bee follow his heart or his head when the holiday ends? And can relationships that start so badly ever lead to love?
From bestselling author Lily Morton comes a festive romantic comedy about enemies to lovers and the magic of Christmas.
This is the first book in the Wright Brothers series.
Arlo Wright’s introduction to his sexuality came when he saw his older brother’s best friend, Jack Cooper, in his sweaty football kit. Unfortunately, he didn’t have long to enjoy the revelation because he promptly knocked himself out on a table.
Relations between them have never really moved on from that auspicious beginning. Arlo is still clumsy, and Jack is still as handsome and unobtainable as ever.
However, things look like they’re starting to change when Arlo finds himself sharing a room with Jack while on holiday in Amsterdam at Christmas. Will the festive spirit finally move them towards each other, or is Arlo just banging his head against a wall this time?
From bestselling author, Lily Morton comes a warm romantic comedy set in chilly Amsterdam.
This is the second book in the Wright Brothers series but it can be read as a standalone.
On Circus Lane #1
Chapter One
BEE
Mariah Carey is fully embracing her time in the festive spotlight, as “All I Want for Christmas Is You” pumps out over the pub speakers. Even so, she’s barely managing to compete with the noise of party revellers. It’s one week before Christmas, and everyone seems to be throwing their all into the festive cheer.
I relax back in my chair and lift my drink to my mouth while idly looking around the converted Victorian warehouse. The bar is part of a big chain, and opened only last year. The heavy use of company colours in the space makes it look like an uneasy mash-up between Christmas and their annual general meeting. However, even their version of corporate holiday chic can’t stop the happy atmosphere.
A red-headed man leans over the bar, watching me with a sultry expression. I drop him a wink, and he brightens and immediately makes his way over.
“Hi,” he says.
I smile at him. “Hey.”
“Fancy a drink?” he asks, coming closer and gifting me a waft of his expensive cologne.
I look him up and down. “I’d love one. Rum and Coke, please.”
Smiling, he wanders over to join the huge queue.
My best friend heaves a heavy sigh next to me.
“What’s up with you?” I ask.
Ivy grimaces at me. “Well, look at you. It’s just not fair.”
“My combination of looks and brains?”
She rolls her eyes. “And your modesty. Don’t ever forget that.” I laugh, and she nudges me. “I can’t believe you. You only looked at each other once, and now you’ve pulled. Meanwhile, I can’t even get a bloke to give me a second glance.”
I drain my glass. “You’d have loads of blokes giving you third and fourth glances, but they don’t fit in with your marital timetable.”
“I told you. I don’t want casual one-night shags anymore. I’ve been there and done that, and now I want someone to spend the next fifty years with.”
“That’s alarmingly precise. What happens if he lasts beyond the time scale? Will he wake up and find you’ve chucked him in the dustbin?”
She grimaces. “I just want a bloke with a few years of monogamy in his tank. I know you don’t understand.”
“I don’t. I just want a man who’s capable of maintaining an erection for twenty minutes.”
There’s a sudden silence at the table next to us where a group of women wearing sparkly veils have been celebrating a hen party. Either that, or they’re contemplating entering a nunnery. They look at me and then immediately hoot and holler.
I grin at them, and Ivy rolls her eyes. She says, gloomily, “Good luck with your Erection Plan.”
“Is that a thing?” I ask, amused.
“By midnight, most of the men in here will be drooping like a daffodil on Mothering Sunday.”
As if on cue, a man reels over to us. He’s wearing a suit with his tie flapping limply. “Whash up, darlin’?” he slurs.
“Beyond getting pissed off your breath, not much,” Ivy snaps.
It seems to take an eternity to travel to his brain, but then he grins and sidles close to her. “Fancy a shag?”
“Ugh,” she says, shoving him. Unperturbed, he moves on to the group next to us, where his question is greeted much more congenially.
Ivy brightens as she looks to her right. “Sal,” she shouts, half standing and waving.
Her friend Sally comes towards us. She’s looking as gorgeous as ever, with her long brown hair shining in the light and her eyes sparkling.
“Alright, losers?” she says, throwing herself into the seat Ivy saved for her.
I grin at her. I don’t know Sal well, but I like her. She’s good people.
“Have you just finished work?” I ask.
“Yep,” she says, sighing. “I think Scrooge would be a better employer than mine at the moment. Last week, I had a prang in my car, and he told me to take the lunchtime off. And the stingy wanker hasn’t bought me a Christmas present.” She accepts the drink Ivy hands her with a smile and takes a healthy swig. “Never mind that, though. Are you all ready for the holiday?”
Ivy rubs her hands together. “Four days in Edinburgh. I can’t wait.”
I frown. “Who exactly is going again?”
“I knew you weren’t listening,” Ivy says. She turns to Sal. “Did you tell him facts while he was doodling? That was your first mistake. He never pays any attention.”
“I wasn’t doodling. They were valuable equations,” I protest, grabbing my next drink from the assortment that Ivy and I ordered earlier. Ivy and Sal roll their eyes, looking like disapproving meerkats.
“You’ll meet a few of the people going with us in a minute,” Sal says. “Everyone apart from Theo and Georgina are meeting us for a drink so we can get to know each other.”
“Lovely,” I say faintly.
Sal drains her drink, and I blink. I’ve only managed a sip of mine.
“I’ll go and get us another round,” she says, standing. “What do you want?”
We give her the order and watch her make her way to the bar. She grins wickedly at a group of blokes who are waiting to be served, throws her hair back, and they part like the Red Sea around Moses. In fact, Moses should have taken Sal along with him. She’d have found someone to carry the Ten Commandments in no time at all.
“Tell me again how you roped me into this Edinburgh idea,” I say to Ivy.
She digs her finger into my ribs until I squirm. “Because I want to go. I’ve never been to Scotland before, and Edinburgh is supposed to be beautiful at Christmas.”
“And where do I come in? I do have a lot of work on my plate at the moment, you know.”
She blows a raspberry. “Bee, you could take that DPhil with your hands tied behind your back.”
“I’m not sure that’s quite how it works. Well, not unless the examining board have become intriguingly BDSM themed since I took my last degree.”
“Which degree? You’ve got so many, I’ve lost count.” She leans closer. “You’re going because I don’t know any of the others, and you’re my best friend, so it’s the law that you have to come too.”
“You know Sal.”
“She’s my friend from work.” She says this as though it explains everything.
“And?” I prompt.
“Well, it’s not the same as being with someone I’ve known since I was five.” She smiles coaxingly. “We’ll have a great time, and it’ll be good for you to get away from your desk. You’ve been working so hard this term. You look tired and worn.”
“Was any of that meant to sound sympathetic?”
She cocks her head. “I was going for that, yes. Did I go too far?”
“Just a bit.”
Sal comes over in a flash of scarlet dress and long legs. “Nice blokes over there.” She plops down the drinks and gives the group at the bar a flirty wave. Then she settles down in her seat. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, the rest of the party. It’s going to be us three, plus my brother, Tom.”
“I’ve never met him,” Ivy tells me. She’s spacing her words out very precisely, as she always does when drunk.
“Lucky you. He’s lovely, but a complete wanknugget sometimes,” Sal says with the affectionate scorn of a sister. She starts to count off on her fingers. “Freddy’s coming. He’s one of Tom’s best friends, and you’ll love him. He’s awesome. There’s also Theo and Georgina. She’s my flatmate, and he’s her boyfriend.”
Ivy noisily sucks the last bit of her drink through her straw and then immediately picks up her next drink. If she doesn't slow down, I foresee an evening of holding her hair back while she hovers over the toilet.
Sal grins at me. “Then there’s Jack and Steven.”
“Ooh, I’ve met Jack. He’s lovely.” Ivy turns to me. “You’ll like him, Bee. I haven’t met his boyfriend Steven yet, though.”
“I can tell that,” Sal says, wrinkling her nose. “You still have your sanity intact.”
“Oh dear.” Ivy’s eyes widen in dismay.
“Ah, it’ll be great,” Sal says, waving her hand dismissively. “And if it isn’t, Edinburgh is a big city. I’m so glad you’re both coming.”
I grin at her. She’s incredibly charming and has a naughty air about her that I like.
She focuses on something in the distance and then waves.
I turn in my chair to see two men walking towards us. They’re bundled up in coats and already attracting attention because they’re very attractive. The dark-haired man has warm brown eyes and the perfect amount of stubble on his jaw. He has a sweet but slightly anxious expression and is holding hands with a blond man who’s smiling widely at us.
“Hey,” the blond man says. He loosens his grip on his boyfriend and extends his hand. “You must be Bee?” His voice is attractive, and his smile is very winning. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
I wipe my hand of the condensation from my glass and shake hands briefly. “Yes, that’s me. And this is Ivy.”
“I’m Steven.” He smiles at Ivy.
When Sal stands to hug his partner, Steven slides into her seat. “Just for a minute,” he says. "My feet are killing me. Jack forgot to order a taxi, so we had to walk miles from the restaurant.” His voice has a peevish edge.
The man who must be Jack turns around. He’s even more gorgeous up close. “Did I hear my name mentioned?” he says lightly, his chiselled jaw flexing.
Steven tsks. “It was a silly thing to do, Jack. You know it’s busy at this time of the year.” He gives him a loving, if still pained, smile. “It’s not like you to be so scattered. You’ll remember better next time.”
Jack’s eyes narrow, but then, obviously being polite in front of the strangers, he shrugs affably.
Sal directs a cool look at Steven and hugs Jack. “Or alternatively, we’ll get you so pissed you can’t even remember your own name.” She adds a few mumbled words that sound like, “Or who you’re sleeping with,” but a burst of laughter at the next table drowns her out.
Steven glances at the laughing women as he removes his coat and smooths it neatly over his knees. He makes a moue of distaste. “I can’t stand drunk women.”
He looks around for support but doesn’t get any, so he directs his gaze back at me. “So, Sal says you’re very clever.”
“I do my best.”
“Well, having some intelligent company on this trip will be nice. The Wrights are…” He waggles his hand. The gesture could mean anything from “they’re stupid” to “they’re mass murderers.”
“Hmm,” I say, falling back on my catchall expression for department events and social interactions just like this.
Jack leans over. “Nice to meet you, Bee,” he says with a charming smile. “I’m getting a round. What does everyone want?”
I grin up at him. “I’m fine, thank you. I have someone getting me another drink.” I look for the redhead but can’t see him in the scrum around the bar.
The others give him their orders while Steven stays quiet. Jack smiles at him. “And for you?”
Steven rolls his eyes. “Only the same thing I’ve been drinking for the last four months, silly.”
“Is it hemlock?” Sal asks sweetly.
Luckily, Steven doesn’t seem to hear her. Jack’s lips twitch as he gives Sal a nudge. She guffaws.
“Come on, trouble. You can help,” he says affectionately.
They vanish into the queue, and Steven huffs as he looks after them. “It would be good if that particular friendship went away.”
“Do you mean Sal?” I say, astonished. “She’s lovely.”
“Oh, she’s very charming. Have you met the rest of the family?” I shake my head, and he leans forward confidingly. “They’re all charming, but they’re a rackety bunch. Very loud and far too chaotic. Stoned all the time.” He mimes smoking a joint. “But Jack is ridiculously attached to Sal’s brother, Tom. They’ve been friends since primary school.”
I try to unpick that statement and look to Ivy for support, but she’s gone to the bar with Jack and Sal. She’s saying something that seems to require a great deal of gesticulation and laughter. Satisfied she’s okay, I turn back to Steven.
“Hmm,” I say again. I’m not very keen on bitchy people. It must show on my face because his expression changes.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he says contritely. “I’m nervous in social situations and just tend to blurt shit. Ignore me.”
I relax instantly, feeling a wave of empathy. “I’m exactly the same.”
“So, Sal says you’re doing your DPhil. What’s it in?” Steven smiles at me encouragingly.
“Oh, it’s in mathematics.”
“Fascinating. I work in telecommunications. We were working with a university last month. Very interesting.”
“Really?”
He starts to tell me something, but I can barely hear him over the noise. I catch sight of my redhead. He grins at me and grimaces at the packed bar where he’s still queuing. I tap my watch discreetly, and he signals that he’ll wait.
Satisfied that my late evening is sorted, I turn back to Steven. My plan is to give his monologue an encouraging nod, as I’d prefer not to talk, but his voice drifts off and his expression turns sour. Reminds me of when Scrooge took a turn down memory lane.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, staring at a point beyond me.
Before I can turn, Ivy darts over to me. “Supreme Hottie at ten o’clock,” she hisses.
I look in the direction she’s staring. “That’s not ten. It’s more like half past—” I abruptly forget what I was going to say. Something that rarely happens, but then it’s not every day I see the most beautiful man in the world moving towards us, and even better, his attention is on our table and… me. I swallow hard.
Thick, wavy, brown hair frames a chiselled face with full, pouty pink lips. He’s tall with legs that seem to go on forever and broad shoulders. His clothes don’t quite fit in with the bar’s party atmosphere, as he’s wearing heavy work boots, jeans, and a white T-shirt spattered with mud with a red plaid shirt flung over the top. However, he’s hotter than most blokes in their holiday best, and his walk backs it up. It’s a confident, loping stride, and he’s attracting appreciative looks that he seems oblivious to.
I sit up straight and offer him my patented pulling smile. It’s never failed me yet. His eyes assess me slowly, and I smile wider. My stomach falls as, instead of smiling back, he looks straight through me, his eyes flicking beyond me as if looking for a better option. It’s an utterly dismissive look, and I flush red in embarrassment.
Arrogant wanker, I think savagely.
I look around to see if anyone has spotted him bin me off, but everyone is talking loudly and laughing.
“Oi, tosser,” he says loudly, and conversation around us dims as a few people sit up for a better view of a potential fight.
“Pardon?” I squeak.
He waves a hand at me. “Not you,” he says, his tone matching that dismissive expression. “You,” he says, pointing at Steven.
“Hello, Tom,” Steven says with a distinct note of nervousness. “Good trip?”
Tom? My eyes grow big. This is Tom? The lovely person I keep hearing about is this rude, gorgeous twat?
I shift a little closer to Steven, ignoring my previous reservations about him. He obviously needs backup if he’s being confronted by this idiot. Steven shoots me a grateful look.
“Where’s my house key?” Tom grits out.
Steven’s eyes open wide. “What?”
Jack and Sal appear with handfuls of drinks. Jack’s face lights up when he sees Tom, despite Tom’s sulky twat expression. “Alright, Tom?” he says. “Have you just got back?”
“I have,” Tom says grimly. He gestures theatrically at his body. “And lo and forsooth, look at my party outfit. Now ask me why I’ve embraced lumberjack chic.” He puts his hands on his narrow hips. It makes the T-shirt ride up and I’m very cross with myself for noticing the sliver of yummy olive skin and the beginning of a very interesting V-line.
“Are you drunk already?” Jack asks.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance,” Tom grits out. “I drove all the way back from fucking Northumbria and got home in good time to get changed and meet you all, only to find that I can’t get into our fucking house,” he grits out.
“Tom shares a house with Jack,” Ivy whispers to me helpfully.
“Thank you so much. I would never have guessed.” I wince as she pinches me.
“Why couldn’t you get in?” Jack frowns. “Have you lost your key?”
“Oh, not lost,” Tom says silkily. He points to Steven. “Twatface took it.”
“What?” Jack exclaims. “Surely not. How do you know that?”
“I never removed the key from my keyring. And, before I set off, I saw him fiddling with it. He’s been itching for a key to the house for ages.” He turns to Steven. “How the fuck dare you take my key without asking, you total knobhead.”
“Tom,” Jack says, wincing.
Steven sighs, and I pat his hand. Tom’s eyes narrow at the gesture, and I offer him a glare of my own, which makes him blink.
“Bully,” I mouth. He either doesn’t notice, or he chooses to dismiss me. Again.
I’d like to say I’m sticking up for the underdog, but I can’t for two reasons. Firstly, I suspect the underdog is probably at fault here, and more than likely Steven has a vicious bite of his own. Secondly, I know myself. I’m still smarting at Tom’s dismissive look. It brought back more than a few unpleasant memories of my adolescence.
“I needed a key,” Steven says defensively. “Jack never remembered to get one cut for me.” He glances reproachfully at Jack as if this is all his fault.
“How farsighted of Jack,” Sal breathes. She’s moved to stand next to her brother, her eyes bright with irritation.
Tom rolls his eyes and pats her hand. “Step down, psycho,” he murmurs.
She grins at him and kisses his cheek. “Glad you’re back,” she says and sits down on the arm of my chair.
Steven glares at Tom. “So, I borrowed your key. Is it really a big deal?”
“Yes. You took my key without asking for my permission. And I’ll take a wild guess that you had a copy made and never asked your boyfriend about it.”
Steven settles back in his seat and crosses his legs nonchalantly. “You can have it back,” he says sweetly.
“You bet I can. Now.” He snaps his fingers and holds out his hand.
Steven huffs, reaches into his pocket, and then drops two keys into his palm. “Happy now?”
“Are you coming home with Jack tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Then no, I’m not.”
“Tom.” Jack sighs.
Tom grimaces. “I’m going home to get changed. Are you coming to the Stardust bar? The drinks are half price. Freddy’s already there.”
“I’m in,” Sal shouts.
Tom gives her a crooked smile that is not attractive at all—not one bit. I smile at Steven in solidarity, ignoring the peevish look on his face.
“What about staying here?” Jack asks. “You can get to know everyone and say hello.”
“No need,” Tom says cheerfully. “I can do that really quickly.” He looks around at us. “Hello, everyone,” he says with a charming air. “Coming to Stardust with us?”
Everyone smiles and choruses greetings at him. The next thing I know, they’re standing and gathering their coats. I glare at Tom and become even more irritated when he appears to miss my expression.
“Meet you at Stardust, then?” Tom says to Jack.
Jack shoots a look at his boyfriend, and Steven huffs. “Oh, don’t mind me.”
“Okay,” Tom says happily. “Come on, Jack,” he coaxes. “We can have a drink and let loose. We’ve broken up for the holidays, baby.”
Jack grins at him, his slightly anxious air completely gone. “Okay, then.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Steven stands and stomps off towards the toilets.
Tom claps Jack on the back. “I’ll leave you with that.”
“Thank you so much.”
Tom nods at us and walks away.
Ivy comes to stand next to me, and we watch him march out of the bar. I can’t help noticing the swell of his world-class arse.
Ivy looks at me. “Where’s your coat?”
“Where it was before the lord and master appeared. And coincidentally, where it’s staying.”
She blinks like a tiny drunken owl.
“I’m not coming,” I explain.
“What? Really?”
“Do you mind?” I ask. “Will you be okay?”
She waves a careless hand. “We’re going on to Sal’s afterwards, so I’ll get a taxi home from there. Why won’t you come, though? Is it Tom? You were glaring at him like he’d eaten the last Penguin in the biscuit tin.”
“He looks the type to do that.” I shrug. “He shows up and is appallingly rude, and then flashes a smile and expects everyone to follow him. What a complete twat,” I finish disapprovingly.
“Good-looking one, though.” She leans into me. “And we’re going away on holiday with him.”
“Well, hopefully, he’ll stay far enough away that you can stare at his face and be able to ignore his personality.”
“Oh, come off it. I can’t blame him for being cross.” She looks around to check Steven is out of earshot. “He’d got no right to take Tom’s key. He doesn’t pay rent in their house.”
“I’d lock Tom out if I lived with him. I’d lock him in a room in Outer Mongolia.”
She stares at me. “It’s not like you to be so judgemental, Bee.”
I shrug. “Men like that wind me up.”
“Maybe you’ll end up sharing with him,” she says slyly.
“Only if I was impossibly evil in a former life.” I smile at her. “Never mind,” I say, looking past her at the redhead. “I’ve got other fish to fry tonight, and if I play my cards right, I won’t have to speak to Tom at all while we’re away.”
Merry Measure #2
One
Arlo
The taxi pulls up at East Midlands Airport, and, after grabbing my bags and almost throwing the money at the startled driver, I fall out of it.
“Thank you,” I gasp and start to run towards Departures, my feet skidding in the slush.
Catching the eye of a security guard, I amend my pace to a dignified jog that hopefully doesn’t scream drug mule or gun-toting maniac to someone who has the power to cavity search me. He shakes his head in a slightly patronising manner as I immediately get myself stuck in the revolving door.
“Shit!” I gasp, trying to get free, but the bag on the back of my shoulder refuses to budge. “Sorry, didn’t mean to do that.” The door makes a high-pitched whining noise and judders to a stop while the guard stands there looking stoical and slightly bored. “But don’t worry about me,” I call, straining to get myself through the opening as several people tut from behind me. “I’m excellent in small, tight spaces. Not that I’m implying something seedy,” I gasp as I wriggle like a tortoise stuck in a revolving door. “Not me.”
“Could we get a bloody move on?” a bloke says from behind me.
“Maybe,” I say through gritted teeth. I pause. “You could always try giving me a push,” I shoot back hopefully.
I hear a muttered, “Fuck me,” but then strong hands push me from behind, and I shoot through and into the building with a clatter. My grumpy Samaritan steps neatly around me and walks off, muttering under his breath about twats.
Ignoring him, I gather myself and look around frantically for the flight-information kiosk. But my gaze immediately lands on something better than the kiosk.
He’s leaning against the booth, his attention on his phone, a slight frown of concentration on his face. Two of the attendants eye him and whisper and giggle. I can’t blame them. Jack Cooper is gorgeous with his thick black hair and warm brown eyes. He’s wearing a camel-coloured jumper and faded jeans that show off his long, rangy body, and he looks as neat and tidy as ever.
“Hey,” I say breathlessly as I race up to him. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The alarm on my phone didn’t go off, and then the taxi driver was so slow. I’m sure I could have got out and pushed the car faster.”
He looks up and grins. It’s warm and wide and lights up his whole face, and it’s as familiar to me as my childhood home. It should be, because he’s been in my life for as long as I can remember. Since the day he met my older brother at primary school and became best friends with him.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says immediately, a tone of familiar comfort infusing his voice. “I was getting a bit worried, though. I thought you were going to miss the flight.” He looks behind me. “Why is that security guard eyeing you like you’re Charles Manson?”
I wave my hand airily. “Probably because I’m an intriguing bad boy.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Really?”
I grimace. “No, of course not. I got stuck in the revolving door.”
His laughter is warm and hearty, the kind that makes you want to chuckle along with him. “You do make me smile,” he says affectionately.
“Well, that’s very good,” I say briskly. “This holiday in Amsterdam is going to go swimmingly, then.”
He holds out his hand in a mute command, and I reluctantly place one of my bags in it. “We’d better make a move,” he says, sliding the strap over his shoulder. “We haven’t got much time.” He reaches into his messenger bag and removes a leather travel wallet. Unzipping it, he produces his ticket and boarding pass. They’re pristine. “Have you got yours? Give them to me, and I’ll do the honours.”
I reach into the pocket of my jacket and produce my crumpled paperwork. It’s creased to hell, and there’s a stain across it where I spilt coffee on it last night. It rests in his hand like a big paper turd.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s—”
“Coffee?” he asks, laughter lighting his eyes.
I shrug. “Could have been whisky from my incredibly wild life.”
“The day you don’t have your coffee is the day England will fall.” He winks at me. “Ready?”
I nod and follow him. Usually, when I travel abroad, it’s chaos. I invariably lose something or turn up at the wrong time, or on one memorable occasion, the wrong airport. However, with Jack, everything goes perfectly. We pass quickly through the check-in as he unerringly picks the queue that begins to move as soon as we join it. Things even go smoothly in Customs. Usually, my naturally guilty expression results in me being searched and asked prying questions about my intentions, like I’m a drug-smuggling Mr Darcy, but today we sail through. Probably because of Jack’s choir-boy expression.
We emerge into the bustle of the Departures lounge. I inhale the scent of coffee and look hopefully over at the nearest coffee shop. Jack shakes his head, but obligingly makes his way over to it.
The place is warm and bright, with Frank Sinatra in the background entreating everyone to have themselves a merry little Christmas. I lean against the glass display case, eying the baked goods as my stomach rumbles.
“Are you having caffeine withdrawals?” Jack asks, coming up next to me. “You’re looking rather jittery.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I mutter. “I was in a bit of a rush this morning, if you didn’t get the memo.” He laughs and leans against the counter as I place my order. “Want something?” I ask him. “A croissant?”
He makes a face. “Not this early, thanks. Anyway, they’re full of sugar.”
“That’s the best bit,” I say, mystified.
“I’ll have a cup of green tea, though.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”
Humour tugs at his full mouth. “Because it’s very good for you and gets rid of toxins.”
“So does coffee.”
“Since when?”
I wave my hand airily. “It was in some study I read.”
He chuckles, and I take my drink, smiling a thank you at the barista. I remove the lid immediately and, closing my eyes, inhale the scent greedily.
“What are you doing, Arlo? Don’t you normally use another orifice for drinking with?”
I open my eyes and direct a mock glare at him. “Don’t rain on my moment of holy communion. This smell has the power to make me wake up, regardless of how much sleep I’ve actually had.”
He shakes his head, taking his own drink and smiling at the barista. She looks like she’s considering swooning. I can’t blame her. I’ve been close a few times myself.
“How do you cope with school hours, Arlo? Or do your students come in a lot later than I remember?”
I smile at him. “They’re six, Jack. They come in when they’re dropped off by their parents, and knowing some of those, I’m eternally surprised that we’re not forced to do sleepovers. Private schools are run by the parents. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any differently.”
He laughs and makes his way out of the coffee shop, the crowd obligingly parting for him like he’s Jesus with a bread roll.
I follow him, attempting not to ogle the gorgeous swell of his bum in his jeans. It’s a losing battle and one I’ve fought since I was eleven and eating soup in the kitchen of my family home. Young Arlo had looked up and seen a vision at the door—Jack in sweaty football gear that clung to his fifteen-year-old body like glue. And then Young Arlo had promptly had several revelations about his sexuality. He’d had to shelve thinking about them for a few hours, however, because he inhaled a crouton and, while choking, fell over and knocked himself out on the kitchen table.
Not my finest moment, but looking back, not my worst either.
That summer, I spent several months following Jack and my brother around, much to my brother’s mystification, as we were at that point in our relationship where he frequently wanted to batter me. I ceased my youthful pursuit of Jack when two things happened. The first was that my brother threatened to pull off my arms and legs slowly and then tell mum, if I didn’t stop following him and impeding his wooing of his crush at the time. The second was that Jack got himself a girlfriend—Samantha Hampson. I’d wallowed in misery for at least a month, and then my natural optimism surfaced, telling me that he’d notice me soon and that Samantha was a total ho and unworthy of my beloved.
He never did notice me, of course. Samantha went the way of many of his girlfriends, and then, after he came out as bisexual, his boyfriends. They were all perfect-looking, and they dated exclusively and generally looked like something from toothpaste commercials. But invariably something went wrong, and they’d vanish, only to be replaced by the next perfect specimen.
I curl my lips at the thought of his latest one. Steven, who is spectacularly good-looking but also a complete twat. He’s cold and deeply possessive of Jack’s time, but Jack never seems to notice. My stomach roils a little at the thought that Steven has lasted longer than anyone else. Maybe this is it. They’ll get married and settle down and raise children or penguins, or whatever people in perfect relationships do.
Not that I’d know. My love life is as scatty as my timekeeping, and my partners have all largely become the stuff of family legends—hilarious stories to be related at family parties to newcomers, like the time my boyfriend from university got stupendously drunk and refused to talk to anyone apart from our family dog. After a full weekend of deep and meaningful chats, Fee-Fee looked like she was glad to see the back of us when we went back to uni.
I don’t think I ever expected Jack to look at me, though. I’m his best friend’s little brother. The nuisance whose knees he patched up after a fall and who he tried to teach how to fish until he had to give up when I fell in the river. He’d never look at disastrous me.
Unfortunately, even with this knowledge, I’ve never been able to completely shelve my youthful infatuation. Maybe because it was first love—intensely painful when it happens to you, like slamming your head into a kitchen table, but bits of it linger in lines on your heart. Maybe it’s also because he’s a genuinely lovely person, inside and out. He’s kind and thoughtful and clever and has never talked down to me.
We make our way over to the bank of seats near the huge window. I determinedly turn my gaze away from the view of the planes waiting outside. There’ll be plenty of time to think about flying later. I focus my interest instead on Jack, who is stripping off his jumper to reveal a white T-shirt that clings to his chest and highlights his bulging biceps. His skin is a lovely clear olive, and, as he folds his jumper into his bag, the veins in his forearms flex.
We sit for a few minutes in a comfortable silence as he drains his drink and surprisingly doesn’t look like he’s going to vomit afterwards. Then he makes sure the teabag is neatly set inside the cup before fastening the lid back on as thoroughly as any barista. I watch him affectionately. Jack gives new meaning to the word careful. He’s a perfectionist through and through, which in his job is good, because who wants an architect who gets a bit distracted and forgets to include the roof on a house? However, I’m not sure his carefulness is good for him in his private life. He could really do with letting go a bit.
He gathers my empty cup, which looks distinctly grubbier than his own, and vanishes to place them neatly in the rubbish bin.
I smile at him as he comes back. “Why didn’t you travel with everyone else? East Midlands Airport is a bit far from London.”
I’m on a one-year contract to cover maternity leave at a private school in Derby, but the rest of my family and friends are in London.
“Disappointed?” he asks.
I laugh. “Of course not.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”
“Why on earth would I?” I ask, mystified.
“I was visiting my parents, so I said I’d catch the plane from here instead.”
I grimace before I can help myself and then pretend to cough as he looks at me curiously. I fucking hate his parents. They are, in my opinion, responsible for the way Jack is so obsessed with perfection. He’s their only child, which was probably a blessing for all other potential children, but it meant that they focused their full attention on him. He had to dress the best and be the best at all times. There was no time for youthful indiscretions when there were A-Levels to be taken in the future and sports to come first in. And that was when he was seven. It’s a testament to Jack’s inherently sweet personality that he didn’t turn out like Attila the Hun with those parenting techniques.
“How lovely,” I say faintly, and he watches me with humour twinkling in his eyes. “How are Derek and Barbara? Did they enjoy the move?”
His parents moved to Eyam a few months ago, a tiny village in Derbyshire whose last natural disaster before Derek and Barbara was the Black Death.
“Much the same as usual.”
“That bad, eh,” I say carelessly and then blanch. Shit.
Before I can apologize, he laughs and says, “Probably. Especially after I shared my news.”
Oh my God, he’s engaged. I stare at him, aware that I must look like I’ve inhaled cat sick, but I can’t stop myself.
“You okay?” he asks, looking torn between patting me on the back or performing the Heimlich manoeuvre. He’s had to do both for me over the years.
“Fine, fine,” I say heartily. “Erm, what news?”
He grimaces. “Steven and I split up.”
“Really? That’s amazing.” I say this way too loudly, and the couple next to us immediately look up. I frown at them repressively while getting my jubilation under control. When I’m satisfied that I’ve done it, I pat his arm. “I’m so sorry. How awful for you both.”
“Really?” The incredulity is loud in his voice. “You couldn’t stand him.”
“That’s just not true. Where on earth did you get that idea from?” I ask heartily.
“Erm, you told me.”
“Really?” I wrack my brain. “When did I do that?”
“When you were drunk last Christmas.”
“Oh. Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”
He laughs. “Why? You were being honest. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”
“Really?” I sound as breathy as Marilyn Monroe in her heyday. I really want to know what other things he likes about me, but I settle for asking, slightly uneasily, “And what else did I say? Because I have no memory of this conversation at all.”
“That’s because you finished your dad’s eggnog off.” We both shudder at the thought, because that stuff is heinous, and then he carries on talking. “You ranted about private school parents and how demonic small children are and then told me very seriously that Steven was a complete wanker, and I could do better.”
“Oh,” I say faintly. “Well, I wasn’t wrong. Although my delivery sounds less than ideal.”
He stares out of the window, and I watch him, rather than the planes. “You weren’t,” he says. “You actually made me think about what I was doing, Arlo.”
“Obviously, I didn’t make you think very hard. You lasted another year.”
He shrugs. “Only because Steven’s been out of the country on a job for six months.”
“What exactly is it that he does?” I ask sweetly. “Contract assassin?”
“Telecommunications.”
“Well, bless him, he’s never lacked the ability to get his thoughts across,” I say with a shudder.
“I should say thank you, Arlo.” He throws his arm over my shoulder. It’s warm and heavy, and being this close I can smell his woody Guerlain cologne. It always makes me want to sniff him.
I swallow hard. “I must say I’m a little concerned about that,” I say honestly. “What if in twenty years you’re still bemoaning your lost love and howling my name in anguish?”
He blinks. “Wasn’t that Miss Haversham? I don’t think I’m temperamentally suited to wearing the same clothes for twenty years.”
I laugh. “There is that. How did your parents take it?”
He grimaces. “As you’d expect.”
“I try not to have expectations of your parents,” I say earnestly. “Other than not to move too quickly near them, lest it activate their hunt and kill settings.”
He laughs, but it fades quickly, leaving him looking a bit sad. “They were very disappointed in me, actually.”
“Really?” I ask, startled. “I thought they viewed the male part of your bisexuality as something to be hidden in the attic with all the pesky dust collectors like books and art.”
He smiles. “Ah well, they liked Steven. He appealed to them because he was so focused and goal-driven.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say sourly. “As soon as they met, I bet they all got their calculators out and worked out their capital allowances for the year.”
Steven was far too driven for Jack. In my opinion, Jack needs someone a lot more relaxed. Someone who will make him feel comfortable rather than trying to wind him up even tighter the way Steven did. I steer my mind away from the thought that I’d be good for him, but it’s a damn truth that he’s more relaxed with me.
He laughs. “Well, they liked him.” He looks thoughtful. “Which really, when you look at it, should have been a warning for me. The equivalent of a code red in a nuclear reactor.”
“Steven hated me, anyway,” I say. “He always treated me like I was five years old, and at the last barbeque, he told me I was flippant in the same tone that most people use to call someone a cunt.”
Jack bites his lip but doesn’t correct me. I knew it.
He changes the subject adroitly. “Anyway, I stayed the night and thought I’d fly with you.” He smiles at me, his eyes as warm and rich as a packet of chocolate digestives. “I thought it’d be nice to have you all to myself before the madness starts.”
My heartbeat picks up speed, and I remind it to pipe down. It misbehaves so badly around him some days that I’m glad I’m not hooked up to monitors.
“And it’s not because I’m freaked out by flying?” I ask.
“I didn’t like leaving you to fly on your own,” he says in a serious tone.
My heart achieves lift-off without my permission. “Really? That’s so lovely.”
He looks up at the Departures screen. “We’re boarding,” he says, standing up and gathering his bag in his usual hyper-efficient manner.
I swallow hard. “Oh, are we really? How super.”
He grins down at me. “Come on. Ninety minutes and it’ll all be over.”
I pause. “What? Life?”
He blanches. “No, I meant the flight.”
My stomach immediately springs a nest of baby birds. “Oh absolutely,” I say heartily. I get to my feet and look out of the window at my fate. “Well, it could be worse. At least we’re not flying in that old banger.” I point to a small plane sitting on the tarmac.
He looks beyond me and bites his lip. “Oh no, of course not.”
I stare at him. “Oh my God,” I say faintly. “We are flying on that, aren’t we?”
He holds his hands up to forestall my almost certain attack of the vapours. “They’re excellent planes, Arlo. We’ll be absolutely fine.”
“It’s got propellers,” I say far too loudly.
He grabs my bag, hanging it from my shoulder, and wraps my coat around my shoulders as if caping a superhero. “It’ll be fine,” he says firmly. “You want to go to Amsterdam at Christmas, don’t you?”
“Yes, but is it possible to walk there?”
“It’d be hell on your shoe leather, and you wouldn’t be back in time for the new school term.”
“You think you’re dissuading me with that, but you’re not,” I inform him, obeying his guiding hand and joining the queue of people waiting to get on the grimy death trap. Everyone looks far too perky and happy. I look around for a fellow sufferer and find one in the form of the woman in front of me who is visibly shaking.
“Yes, but what if a bird flies into one of those propellers?” she says too loudly, judging by the glare that she’s receiving from an air hostess.
The people around us shift uneasily, but I nod approvingly. And then her question sinks in. “Oh God,” I say faintly, fumbling in my messenger bag and retrieving my pills.
“What are you taking?” Jack asks immediately, a look of concern on his face like he thinks I’m throwing a handful of ecstasy tablets down my throat. Not that I wouldn’t be tempted if I thought they’d do the trick.
“Valium,” I say, popping one from the blister pack and swallowing it dry. “The doctor prescribed them.”
“Couldn’t you try something else? Like hypnosis?”
“Only if you fancy trying to calm down hysterics at fifty billion feet in the air.”
“Thirty-one thousand feet. We’d be in space, otherwise.”
“Oh, fuck. Now you tell me that.” I shake my head. “We’re going to be flying too low. Can this day get any worse?”
The woman in front of us moans in agreement.
The air hostess takes our boarding passes and passports, and I watch her with an eagle eye to make sure she obeys all security procedures.
“Arlo, come on.” I can tell Jack’s trying not to laugh. He puts his arm around my shoulder and guides me out onto the concourse. The wind hits us icy cold and fierce. “You’ll be fine.”
“Touch wood.”
“It’s a bit early in the morning for that, and we’re in public.”
I shake my head but can’t conceal my smile. “Are you making the funny, Jack?”
He grins. “Only a little bit.”
We reach the incredibly tiny plane and join the slow-moving queue of people, none of whom look like they’re contemplating their deaths. I try to avert my gaze from all aspects of the aircraft as we wait to walk up the steps, but I accidentally look at the propellers again and give a little whine. “Oh my God,” I say, fumbling in my pocket.
“What are you doing now?” Jack asks.
“Taking another tablet. This one isn’t working.”
“Arlo, you only had the last one a minute ago. Give it a chance to work and… Oh Christ, you’ve taken it.”
I swallow it and nod. “Yep. Don’t worry.”
“Should you be taking two in quick succession?” he asks anxiously, pulling the packet off me and reading the back of it like he’s got a medical degree.
I wave my hand casually. “Don’t worry about it. They’re more guidelines than hard and fast rules.”
Lily MortonLily is a bestselling gay romance author. She writes love stories filled with heat and humour.
She lives in sunny England with her husband and two children, all of whom claim that they haven't had a proper conversation with her since she got her Kindle.
Lily has spent her life with her head full of daydreams, and decided one day to just sit down and start writing about them. In the process she discovered that she actually loved writing, because how else would she get to spend her time with hot and funny men?
She loves chocolate and Baileys and the best of all creations - Chocolate Baileys!
Wright Brothers Series
