Page 27 of Taste

I didn’t, though. My tears were choking me, and my voice was nowhere to be found, but he kissed my forehead and said, “One day, you might even say it to my face. That you don’t really hate me. Because there’s a fine line between love and hate, and we both know we have well and truly crossed it.”

I couldn’t refute that statement, so I remained staunchly silent, still choking on my emotions, and he just held me while the TV showed something neither of us watched. There was a glass of red wine on the table, which he never picked up. His breaths were steady and strong against my cheek, his hands never slowing in stroking my back and combing my hair as I lay there in silence beneath the cosy duvet on his couch. Every now and then, little kisses landed on my head, reminding me he was right there with me.

I felt drunk. Dizzy with the warmth of him. My mind swam in thoughts I just couldn’t deal with.

He talked nonsense to me, and I felt myself calming down, the hiccups no longer violently shaking me as the familiar shame and regret started to creep back in. I pushed those thoughts away and burrowed into his chest. I wanted to stay here a little bit longer. Here, where all my worries were buried deep, and he made them seem so trivial I almost believed I could make them go away.

“I’m going to wipe the ice with you at ice skating tomorrow,” he whispered just before sleep took me. “You and me. We’re going to have a fabulous Christmas.”

It was all lies, or at best a fantasy. A dream that would never come to fruition. But for once, I let myself go, and astonishingly, I slept. I slept like the dead.

MARK

I dragged him into my bed at some point in the early hours, stumbling awkwardly across the wooden floor into the softness of warm blankets and cool pillows against our skin.

He barely noticed, completely asleep again before I had a chance to cover him with the duvet I’d retrieved from the living room, turning off the light with my elbow as I lay down beside him.

I loved that he was here. I loved that he had crumbled and finally lost all those inhibitions he wore like a towering castle around his heart. He was scared, lonely, just like me, only I wore all my anxieties on the outside, brushing them off with a joke and a shrug, while he hid them, letting them eat him up from the inside.

I woke around midday, shivering with the coldness of the room, despite the sun glaring through the open blinds. For a moment, my chest constricted in terror thinking he’d left. I couldn’t feel him next to me in the bed until I jerked my head off the pillow and saw him rolled up in the duvet like a human burrito. The little shit.

I went to the toilet, brushed my teeth and gave my cock a thorough wash. I was quietly hoping this was the start of something new; more than anything, I hoped to be with him again and enjoy a little part of him. It was Christmas, after all, and Christmas was all about giving. Receiving too, of course, and I was damn good at both.

There was a new bottle of lube in the bathroom cupboard, which I grabbed, along with some hand towels and a supply of condoms, and quietly placed it all on the floor beside my bed.

I wasn’t one for being sloppy when it came to opportunities. I was always prepared, however haphazard my planning was with the rest of my life. Like answering my mum’s call, which set my mobile buzzing angrily on the coffee table next door.

I hobbled in and turned it to silent, shooting off a quick text to say I would ring later and sort out my plans.

I had plans, all right, darting around in my head like fireworks, popping with ideas that I hoped he would like, and after, when we were sated and ready, I was hoping we could talk. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. We were here, together, and had a clear and easy path to a fresh start. There could be an us if we just gave it a try. I wouldn’t ask him to change, because I liked him the way he was. I liked his prickly anger,lovedhis sarcastic tone. His ridiculous insults made me laugh, and his tears…I’d wiped them all from his stubbly cheeks, kissed them away from his temples and soothed the sobs in his chest. Those tears had been mine, and mine to keep.

I just needed him to let me love him, to hold him at night, and to be the one he needed. I was tired of the games. I was tired of bed-hopping. I was almost thirty-six, and I was ready to settle down and stop the chase, the endless search for the one person for me, and somehow, I thought it was him. It had always been him. From the very start and the first wave of arrogance between us, there had been a spark, a silent notion of belonging. I belonged with him, just as he belonged with me.

There was no question in my mind; all I had to do was make him see it as clearly as I did.

He was still fast asleep when I lay, naked, facing him and dragged the duvet around both of us, breathing in his scent, the smell that was distinctly Finn. Soft and woody with a hint of spice, a faint waft of mild shampoo, the unmistakable undertones of the dusty back office at work lingering.

I’d spent too many nights dreaming of how he tasted to not take advantage of the fact that he was here, in my bed. His lips puffed soft breaths onto my face, and although he was wearing my bathrobe, I remembered the faint musk of his groin, the distinct saltiness on my tongue, the taste of him forever imprinted into my consciousness. He did it for me. There was that dynamic he always awakened in me, the easy play with submissive undertones. I loved how he made me feel that way, like he wanted to use and abuse me, and how I wanted him to. It was all play, but those thoughts made me smile.

He looked so different like this, with his face relaxed and his guard down. There were no frown lines on his forehead, no stress wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He shifted so he was breathing softly into the pillow, his arms gently crossed in front of him, resting on his side with his knees curled up. He seemed so young, far too young for all the work he took on, the responsibilities he carried.

I outlined his collarbone with my fingertip, traced down the muscles on his arms. Last night was the first time I’d seen his ink, the decorative words across his chest.Pain Builds Character. I formed the words with my lips, aware they were a terrifyingly sharp reminder of who he really was and perhaps part of why he punished himself for every breath he took, thinking he deserved it. There was something in him that I recognised. Something orsomeonehad made him like this. I sighed to myself, realising that, fuck yes, we probably both needed therapy, but even though he’d said it himself, he’d never backed down from who he was. He was who he was, but there was another side of him he rarely let out, a side I felt privileged to finally have seen.

I could see right through him. Despite all his hardness and walls, he was the kindest person I had ever met. I knew he covered for Natalie and took on her duty manager shifts whenever her son was unwell. I knew he only gave Katarzyna morning shifts so she could pick up her kids after school, despite the rules stating he should spread shifts fairly among the staff. I knew he made sure Reuben the doorman didn’t get the sack when he clearly should have, but Reuben would have gone completely off the rails without the stability of standing on that door every hour of the day in every goddamn kind of weather. Some people needed their place of work like the rest of us needed the air we breathed. Finn knew this, and he looked after people. He was kind, caring. He had a good heart underneath all that coldness he presented to the world.

He didn’t have any family, or none he spoke of. He was completely alone. I knew what that felt like.

And it was Christmas. The one time of the year when nobody should be alone.

“Hi,” he whispered.

I hadn’t realised he was awake, lost in my thoughts yet still stroking his arm.

“Merry Christmas,” I whispered with a smile. I was so happy he was here. So incredibly happy that we were together. Neither of us alone.

“Sorry…” he started, but I placed my fingertip on his lips and shushed him.

“I love that you came. I love that you’re here. Let’s just take this for what it is. Hang out with me today. Have some breakfast. I’ve got some mince pies in the fridge with homemade brandy butter.”

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