Page 68 of Famous Last

“I’m about five minutes away.”

“Perfect. I’m just warming a couple of mince pies and mulling wine. Should help to warm your cockles on this frozen night before the main course. Are you okay with that?”

“Can you hear my mind working overtime trying to think of a suitably salacious retort to having my cockles warmed by you? But honestly, all I can really think about right now is getting some life back in my cold, numb hands and feet. And that sounds like just the job. I’ll see you in five.”

“See you in five. Looking forward to hearing all about your day.”

Spencer didn’t want to overthink what it meant when the concierge buzzed him in before he had even reached the front the door. Or the fact he greeted him in the overheated reception by name, Mr Wyrrell, with a genuinely friendly smile, told himhe didn’t need to check his bag this time and that Mr Highlander was expecting him. He had only been there once, the day before, but already everything felt familiar. When he stepped out of the lift on the fifth floor, the door to Marshall’s apartment stood slightly ajar. Spencer pushed his way in, closed the door behind him, and called out a welcome.

“In the kitchen, Spence,” came Marshall’s voice, as a waft of something amazing assaulted his nose and made his mouth water. “I’m reducing the red wine jus. Put your bag in the bedroom, kick your shoes off, then come and join me.”

When Spencer entered the bedroom to drop his bag and remove his coat and shoes, he noticed a couple of things. Since the morning, the bed had been remade immaculately, all the throw cushions and pillows now arranged meticulously back in place. On the corner of the bed, Marshall had left a pack of cat treats for Spencer’s princess, a small gesture that made him smile. And on the far bedside cabinet, now in full bold view, sat a pack of condoms and a tube of lubricant. Spencer’s grin grew wider in the confidence of knowing that later on in the evening they would be enjoying each other’s bodies.

In the kitchen, pungent garlic, onion and other indistinguishable but equally delicious odours filled the air, along with Christmas music blasting from a standalone speaker. Installed at the stove, Marshall—wearing a pair of navy chinos, a light blue polo shirt and a white kitchen apron—swayed his hips along to Slade’s ancient Christmas classic,Merry Xmas Everybody. Without making a sound, Spencer crept up behind him and pressed his body into the back of Marshall’s, his arms snaking around his waist, matching his dance movements. Even with the strong smells of cooking in the air, Marshall’s skin smelled of a mix of lavender and pine. With Spencer’s cheek resting against Marshall’s upper back, he felt a deep chuckle rumble through Marshall.

“I don’t care if the world is falling to pieces,” sighed Spencer. “I love this time of year.”

“You’re a big old softie at heart, aren’t you?” said Marshall, pivoting his upper body around until he could tip his face down to smile at Spencer.

“What if I am?”

“Absolutely fine by me,” said Marshall, kissing him softly but quickly pulling away. “Oh my goodness, you really are cold, aren’t you? Like kissing an icicle.”

“But I’m feeling better by the second.”

Spencer continued to hug Marshall from behind for a few moments until Marshall pushed him gently away using his backside.

“Go on with you, before I burn something. There’s a mince pie and a glass mug of mulled wine on the table. Can you top me up from the saucepan?”

Spencer grinned when he saw the mess Marshall was making, the tabletop covered with dirty saucepans and used bowls. Spencer’s father cooked enthusiastically on the rare occasion the inspiration took him, but his mother always complained about him using every bowl, every utensil and saucepan in the kitchen. Marshall, by comparison, appeared to be oblivious of the mess he was creating around him. Spencer poured them both mulled wine then placed a glass next to Marshall. After taking a sip of his own, he went over to the kitchen sink and began cleaning up.

“You don’t have to do that. You’re my guest.”

“I need something to do. Anyway, if I don’t clear space on the table, there will be nowhere to eat, will there?”

“You know, there’s a dishwasher to your left. Just rinse the pans and put them inside. I’ll do a full load later, once we’ve eaten.”

They worked around each other seamlessly, Marshall busying himself at the cooker and Spencer clearing up after him as wellas laying the table for their dinner. While working, he took a sip of the wine, but found the mix a little too potent and aromatic, and, when Marshall wasn’t looking, poured the contents into the sink.

“How did the day go, Marsh? With the charity?”

“Really well, but the job was unbelievably strenuous. Manual labour is not something my body is used to. Thank goodness I have that huge bath, which I filled with spa salts and hot water, and wallowed in for an hour to try to get out all the kinks in my muscles.”

“Sounds like you deserved it.

“And how about you? You got the job,” said Marshall, his back still to Spencer. The final words had been a statement, not a question.

“Did Ed phone you?” asked Spencer, frozen to the spot.

“No, but I can tell by the spring in your step. And the fact that he’d be an idiot not to employ you while he had the chance. It went well then?”

“I think so. We had a good chat and he ended up offering me a position starting in the new year. Once I’ve received the offer, I’ll need to talk to Muriel.”

“That will be fun.”

“You know, funnily enough, I’m looking forward to it. Next year’s going to be interesting, what with moving out of my place and starting a new job. And I can’t help thinking the latter is, in a large part, thanks to you.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You’re a talent, Spence, and you’re finally getting what you deserve.”

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