Page 36 of Don't Point at the Moon

“Have you even thought about how that kind of association might affect your already waning reputation? You know what our tribe is like once they start talking. Look, if you really want, I could move a few things around and come with. A far more appropriate choice, don’t you think? What date is this wedding thing?”

Tommy looked to Devon for help, at a loss for how to respond.

“Mitchell agreed to escort Tommy,” said Devon, after a quick wink to Tommy, “because we want to make sure my Oscar has a friend to keep him company while Tommy and I are showcasing ourStrictly Come Dancingmoves out on the dance floor. Unless, of course, you’re happy to chat to Oscar, in which case I hope you’re up-to-date with the latest developments in environmentalism and conversation.”

“And conservation,” corrected Tommy.

“That, too,” said Devon.

Tommy remained straight-faced while Aaron’s expression—as he stared at the top of Devon’s head—morphed from surprise into disgust. Every now and again Devon could pull something extraordinary out of the bag.

“Ugh. In which case I’ll pass, thanks,” said Aaron, taking his seat. “But mark my words, Tommy. I’ve heard people saying you’re off your game. Maybe you and I should go out sometime.”

“Maybe. I have your number.”

“And before you ask,” he said, smiling triumphantly and royal waving his phone, “that was a call from a cabin crew hottie I met a few months back. He’s in town and wants a repeat hook-up tonight. The thing is, I already have one in the bag this evening. Kirk from High Five Fitness. Might have to juggle things around to fit them both in. Have I told you about Kirk?”

Without waiting for a response, Aaron launched into a tale about the personal trainer who had—apparently—all but stalked him. Eventually the hour nudged four and Tommy, realising he would never get the chance to talk privately to Devon, decided to escape. Aaron finally stopped wittering when he rose to leave.

“Where are you going?” asked Aaron. “Cocktail hour starts in half an hour.”

“Not for me.”

“Since when?”

“Since I have better things to do. Devon, are you coming?”

“I’ll stay. Oscar’s meeting me here. Call me tomorrow.”

“Come on, Tommy, darling,” whined Aaron, hands on hips now. “I haven’t told you about flyboy yet. I’ll even buy the first round.”

“Sorry, Aaron, I need to go,” said Tommy, lifting his bag onto his shoulder and giving Devon a quick wave. “I’ve got to get home, shower, and make myself look respectable before my Five Guys date tonight.”

And with that little morsel hanging in the air, Tommy marched away without turning back, absolutely sure he could feel Aaron’s glare burning into him.

Chapter Nine

Sunday morning, still in his pyjamas, Mitchell sat cross-legged on the sofa, blowing on the surface of a mug of freshly brewed coffee while checking work emails. At two-thirty, he had woken with a gasp to the sound of the toilet flushing and someone moving about his apartment—until he remembered having his nephew stay. He’d need time to adjust to another living soul in his space, just as Zane needed to adapt to the time difference.

They had returned from their night out around midnight. After dinner, Zane had come to life as a second wind kicked in and, with Tommy’s encouragement, had agreed to continue enjoying the cooler evening air and the delights of Hong Kong’s nightlife. Despite his tiredness, Mitchell had agreed. At least his sister might get a positive report from her son about his first night away from home.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that Tommy would be such a big hit with Zane, but the two had clicked like long-lost brothers. Moreover, his suggestion for Five Guys had been frighteningly accurate. Zane’s expression had lit up on seeing the wall menu, and he’d devoured his burger, fries and milkshake as though he had not eaten in days.

Instead of heading into Wanchai, Tommy had led them to the nearest MTR underground station, where they had travelled across the harbour to Tsim Sha Tsui. He would not reveal their destination until they approached the waterfront outside the Hong Kong Cultural Centre, where crowds had already gathered.At first Mitchell had assumed they did so for the vantage point, the unique panorama of Hong Kong island seen from the other side of the water. Until the penny dropped. At precisely eight o’clock, synchronised with orchestral music from speakers installed around the quayside, colourful lights had flickered and danced across skyscrapers and other structures around the harbour while laser beams lit up the sky, something Tommy announced as the symphony of lights. Mitchell had noticed the nightly display before, usually through a restaurant window while eating dinner, but had never enjoyed the whole experience in the open.

They had taken the Star Ferry back to Central, and Zane had checked another item off his bucket list. But Tommy had not finished and had led them to Lang Kwai Fong, where revellers—many around the same age as Zane—filled the pedestrianised road. Once again Tommy had demonstrated his popularity, stopping to chat with familiar people along the way and introducing Mitchell and his nephew as friends in fluent English or Cantonese. At one point during the evening, Mitchell remembered smiling his gratitude to Tommy and getting a shrug and a smirk in response. At well after midnight, they’d bade goodnight on the street above the nightlife, where Tommy had made no bones about looking for his bed filler for the night. Sitting in the back of the taxi, Mitchell had envied the stranger who had yet to know he would be sharing Tommy’s bed that night.

Just then, the bedroom door across the living room cracked open. A bleary-eyed Zane in ruffled grey sweats pants and a plain white T-shirt poked his head out. Despite his tiredness, he smiled. Mitchell guessed that at some point during the fun of the past evening, he had decided to relax into the holiday.

“How are you feeling?” asked Mitchell.

“Demolished. Mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Be my guest.”

Zane padded across the wooden floor with a towel over one shoulder and his wash bag in hand. Mitchell turned away and continued checking his messages.

“Did you sleep?”

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