Page 146 of Pansies

She turned a little ruefully to Charles. “So, yes, these are my friends. You must be so happy to be here.”

He chuckled. Ran his thumb lightly over her knuckles, the touch hopeful and gentle at the same time. Making Alfie a little wistful for the simple magic of another person’s skin. “It’s fine. I am happy to be here.”

Meanwhile, Greg—instead of sitting down like a normal person—had gone prowling around Alfie’s flat. “There’s something weird about this place. Wait. What the hell, Alfie?”

He looked at where Greg was pointing. “Oh, they’re called flowers. They grow in green places.”

“Yes, I know what flowers are. I just don’t know what they’re doinghere.”

“Just fancied getting them, I guess.” Alfie shrugged. “They’re ornamental cabbages.”

Greg leaned over them, inhaled, and immediately jerked away. “Eew. Rank.”

“I like them,” offered Kitty. “Compost chic.”

Alfie nodded. “That’sexactlywhat I was going for.”

“What are you cooking anyway?” Greg had now infiltrated the kitchen area and was peeping over Alfie’s shoulder into the pot.

“It’s a vegetable tagine, with almond couscous.”

Greg was staring at him like he had no idea who Alfie was. “Alfie, how do you even know what couscous is, let alone how to make it?”

“I’m expanding my horizons.”

“Into vegetarianism?”

“You never know. Might come in handy someday.”

Suddenly Greg screamed. “Oh my God, you’ve murdered someone!”

“What? No. I told you, it’s vegetarian. Have you been binge-watchingHannibalagain?”

“There’s blood in your oven! You’re like…Sweeney Todd. You’re feeding us people.”

“That would be Mrs. Lovett.” Alfie wagged his spoon vaguely. “And I’ve tasted this, and it’s not the worst tagine in London.”

Kitty and Charles had come over to investigate the blood in Alfie’s oven. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I would never have pegged you as the musicals type.”

“I’m—”

“I know. Expanding your horizons.”

Greg seemed less impressed. “I think you’re a Cylon. Or you’ve got a parasite in your brain. What the hell happened to you?”

“I fell in love, okay?”

There was a long silence.

Charles cleared his throat. “It’s definitely not blood. I’d say it’s probably berry juice.”

“Cherry juice specifically.” Alfie winced. “There was going to be cherry pie for afterwards, but…it…well…it exploded. Nobody told me pies do that.”

“Pies explode?” Greg looked horrified.

“You’re meant to put little holes in the pastry or something. But, yeah, we’re having ice cream for pudding. Anyway”—Alfie turned off the gas—“I think we’re done here.”

He was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a single-minded cook, which meant he hadn’t given much thought to actually serving the food. But his friends were happy enough to grab plates and cutlery for themselves, and he dished up direct from the pan, which he plonked on a chopping board in the middle of the table.

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