Page 14 of Blown

Yes. That was the track he needed to take with Rafe. If he could build up Rafe’s self-esteem to the point where he didn’t need someone like Hero Yoshita’s or Hélène Rénard’s coattails to ride then Rafe would become a famous glass artist, the two of them could get married, he’d get his visa, and maybe something even crazier, like the two of them falling in love, could happen.

He bit into his sandwich again, watching Rafe to try to figure out where his thoughts were going. The trouble was, Rafe was watching him, probably with the same intent. Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to use Rafe after all. In so many ways, the two of them were equally matched. That was great in the hot shop and undoubtedly in bed, too, but dangerous when it came to these games he was playing.

They ate their lunches in silence, though Jake didn’t know how he managed to choke his sandwich down with the weight of anticipation sitting on his stomach. When they were finally done and Rafe signed something adding the cost of the meal to his tab, Rafe leaned back in his chair and smiled.

It was terrifying.

“So,” Rafe said, clapping his hands together. “Screw this London touristy shit. How would you like to see some real England?”

Jake sat straighter, buoyed by the enthusiasm in Rafe’s question. It was like Rafe actually liked him.

“I’d love it,” he said, heart beating faster.

Rafe pushed his chair back and stood. “Come on, then,” he said, gesturing for Jake to follow him away from the table. “I’m going to show you what real England is all about.”

FIVE

“I could do this, you know,”Jake said as part of his never-ending stream of noise as Rafe drove them out of London and into Surrey. “I could drive a British car.”

“I thought you didn’t like being on the wrong side of the car,” Rafe said, sending him a flat look. “You like trains.”

“Oh, I do like trains,” Jake corrected himself in a rush, leaning his elbow on the bottom edge of the car window. “I’m just saying that I could drive if you needed me to. I spent an entire summer driving around the English countryside a few years ago.”

Rafe frowned as he made a turn that would take them the final few miles to Box Hill. “When was this?” he asked, sending Jake another look.

“A few years ago,” Jake said with dismissive speed and a tight shrug. “It was before we met.”

Rafe hummed.

“This area is really pretty,” Jake went on, as jumpy and wiggly as Rafe’s four-year-old nephew, Jordan, was on a long drive. “It gives me ideas for an exhibition. Can you imaginerecreating all these greens and browns and summertime colors in glass?”

“I can,” Rafe said. He’d often been inspired to create a line of glassware that reflected the gardens and woods around Hawthorne House. He’d lain awake at night imagining ways to recreate the effect of grass and tree branches and flowers inside of glass plates, bowls, and goblets.

That was his problem, really. His imagination only went as far as tableware. Jake was probably dreaming of a gallery installation when he lay awake at night. That is, if he wasn’t rubbing one out so he could get back to sleep. That was exactly the sort of thing Jake would do in the middle of the night.

Why did contemplating that raise the temperature in his car by ten degrees?

“Here we are,” Rafe said a few minutes later as he pulled into the parking lot.

“You have a parking lot for a hill?” Jake asked with a smirk.

“It’s a National Trust site,” Rafe explained as he found a spot and pulled in. “There’s a café and an ice cream shop.”

“Ooh! Ice cream! Yes, please.”

Rafe shook his head as he cut his car’s engine. Jake wasn’t just American, he was a little boy in adult clothing. Or else he was acting the part of a little boy for some reason. Maybe he was acting the role of an adult. With Jake, anything was possible.

“I can’t imagine that British ice cream is better than what I used to make at home,” Jake rattled on as they got out of the car and headed for the kiosk to pay for parking and get a ticket for the windshield.

“You used to make your own ice cream?” Rafe asked as he swiped his card over the kiosk.

“Yeah, all the time,” Jake said with a huge smile. “I started out with one of those homemade ice cream makers, but I got so good at it that I bought an industrial ice cream maker.”

“Wouldn’t that take up a lot of space?” Rafe asked, taking the ticket and walking back to the car.

“I had it in the garage.” Jake shrugged. “Anyhow, I experimented with unique flavors, like raspberry cheesecake and mochi. I used to sell it at the local café. They always wanted more, and I could have gone into business making ice cream, but that wasn’t my true calling, you know?”

Rafe eyed Jake sideways. If his energy was any higher, he’d bounce right out of his shoes.

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