Page 12 of After the Rain
“Well, I mean, if you’re really sure? I can interview with your brothers if you like?” Aidan beams at me, and, oh god, his smile may kill me.
“No need for that. They’ll be relieved, just like me. I’ll ask Wren to pop round tomorrow and show you the ropes.” He takes a final sip of his tea and places the cup back on the table before rubbing his hands together like he’s ready to get to work himself. “Let’s go to Tesco then and get some food so we won’t starve, and you can get started on making me some, what did you call them? Healthy, yummy meals?” He winks at me, and my stomach flips again. I may need to check in with Nash again, to double-check if I have internal injuries; surely, this amount of tummy flipping can’t be normal or healthy.
“I’d love that.” I smile at Aidan as he stands from the booth and holds his hand out for me. He clears his throat to wake me from my stupor, and I realise I’ve just been sat staring at his arse as he stood up – in my defence, it was literallyright there.I smile shyly, feeling my cheeksheat under the yellowing bruises, embarrassed at being caught looking when I’m still not a hundred percent sure that Aidan is even into guys. “Sorry,” I mumble, making my own way out of the booth. Aidan grips both my wrists when I stand up, and, oh, he’s very close. I realise he hasn’t taken a single step back to make more room for me. Keeping his hold on my wrists, he pulls me closer still until our chests are touching, and he leans down, lining his mouth up with my ear.
“Don’t be sorry, angel,” he whispers, and I swear I’m going to come in my pants like a fifteen-year-old schoolboy if he carries on with this. I drown in the pleasure of the pet name, even though I know I’m no angel. “Look all you want.” His stubble brushes against my cheek, and this time, I know I feel his lips pressing a lingering kiss on the spot just behind my ear. The spot that makes my knees weak and my balls tighten. Then he’s gone, striding towards the door of the café as I try to catch my breath and remember how to walk with an awkward erection. Jesus fucking Christ.
We make it to the supermarket, and Aidan, despite hesitating for a moment or two at the door before we head in, seems perfectly happy to follow me around, pushing the trolley as I fill it with fruits and vegetables, canned ingredients,and store-cupboard staples that he confirms he either doesn’t have or isn’t sure about. The one thing he does know that he has is a fully stocked spice rack, since he was given one as a gift a few years ago by his mum, apparently in an effort to encourage him to cook more. I realise this means that most of them might be out of date, but who can honestly say that 90% of their spice rack isn’t several years past its sell-by date, since each one was undoubtedly purchased for that one recipe five Christmases ago that needed juniper berries, saffron, and a cinnamon stick.
I decide to make shepherd’s pie for dinner tonight, since it’s freezing cold and it’s always a perfect meal to keep you warm. So, after we get the basics in the supermarket, Aidan takes us back to Fenside Common to the butcher’s on the village green. Seriously, this place is like a Hardy novel. I ask the butcher, Dave, whom I was introduced to on our way in, for some lamb mince. As I turn back to him, Aidan passes me some pre-packaged beef mince, and I look down at it, then back up to him with a quizzical look on my face that, funnily enough, I imagine mirrors the one on his face.
“What’s that for?” he asks, genuinely perplexed. I blink.
“The shepherd’s pie. Did you want Bolognese one night? Is that what that’s for?” Iask, gesturing to the package in his hand.
“Erm, no. This is mince. For the shepherd’s pie.” His confused expression looks adorable on his gorgeous face, but I simply can’t have this. This may, in fact, be a dealbreaker for me for everything going forward. My job, my friendship, my place to stay, and yes, anything else that may or may not be possible with Aidan.
“Shepherd’s pie is made with lamb mince. That’s beef mince.”
“It’s mince. It’s all the same,” Aidan says. Dave scoffs quietly from behind the counter as he bags up my order. He gets it.
“No. I’m sorry, but you’re quite wrong. That” – I indicate the beef mince in his hand – “would make cottage pie. Shepherd’s pie is lamb. You know, shepherd? Sheep? Lamb? The clue is in the name.” I grin at him cheekily. “But get that anyway, and I’ll make Bolognese or lasagne one night too.” I give him a patronising double pat on the chest, then turn back to Dave to pay. From the corner of my eye, I see Aidan pull his phone out and start typing something on the screen.
He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice me order some chicken, bacon, sausages, and a joint of beef, as well as the mince he now has tucked under his arm, before paying Dave from my small stash of cash. Aidan wouldn’t letme pay for anything in Tesco, so I’m happy that he’s focused on his screen and not on making another scene. I smile fondly at the memory of his big hand forcibly taking my wallet from mine and stuffing it back into my pocket – well, his pocket since I’m still wearing his huge (on me, at least) fleece shirt – and staring me into submission, before turning back to the self-checkout and tapping his own card.
I take the various packages from the counter, Dave flashing me a wink as I drop them into the shopping bag in my hands before heading out to the back of the shop through the multicoloured plastic strip curtain. It’s not long before a rhythmic thudding sound starts, and I try not to think too closely about what he’s doing back there.
I turn around and head for the door, smiling when Aidan does a double-take, looking up from his phone screen, and starts to follow me before saying, “Well, fuck me. I never knew that.” I chuckle at his genuine amazement over the fact that shepherd’s pie and cottage pie are, in fact, different.
“Every day’s a school day,” I chirp brightly, before climbing back up into the Land Rover, ready to head back home. I won’t think too hard about the fact that I’m already thinking of Aidan’s house as home, when I have no idea how long he’shappy for me to stay, and that we’ve known each other for less than a week. Nope. Definitely not thinking about that.
Eight
Aidan
As I’m pulling up the driveway at the farm later that day, towing Rain’s rust bucket of a car, I see Wren come out of the garage, wiping hergreasy hands on a stained cloth, which is swiftly tucked into her pocket. I pull up in front of the garage, and, with a quick over-the-shoulder acknowledgement, she heads straight to the back and starts unhitching the towbar.
Wren is here alone today, and knowing my parents and brothers wouldn’t be here bombarding me with questions about Rain and possibly inadvertently triggering an anxiety attack, made it a lot easier to come over. I’ve been feeling generally less anxious over the last few days, and I’m trying very hard not to attribute that to Rain’s calm, slightly sarcasticpresence. Of course, it may be that the low-level hum of fury at Rain’s ex-boyfriend is doing a great jobof drowning out my own anxiety. Who knows? But the upshot is that I’m managing to avoid meltdowns or panic episodes in front of Rain. Not that I fear he would judge me – he doesn’t come across as that kind of person. But, at the moment, he seems to see me as some strong, silent, hero type who rescued him and gave him a place to stay when he needed it, and I’m not ready to shatter that illusion. What has become plainly apparent, though, is that I needed company as much as he needed safety.
I snap back to myself when Wren clicks her fingers right in front of my face.
“What?” I ask with a frown of confusion.
“Wow, you were miles away! Where did you go?” she asks with a chuckle before heading back to Rain’s now completely unhitched car and pops the lever for the bonnet.
“Nowhere, just, I dunno,” I huff out, shaking my head in exasperation at myself. I may not be feeling as anxious lately, but I am certainly feeling some kind of way.
Wren stops fiddling with Rain’s engine and stands up, looking at me with her assessing gaze, head tilted to her shoulder. She frowns in concern and comes slowly around the car towards me, where I’m still standing next to my open car door. “You OK?” she asks gently, opening the back doorof my Land Rover to let Pax out. He’s left slimy nose prints all over the window whileI zoned out instead of opening the door for him. Wren kneels on the cold ground, barely noticing her jeans getting almost immediately wet from the moisture left behind by the rain last night, and starts fussing over an ecstatic Pax.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and lean my head back on my shoulders before slowly breathing out. I don’t have a clue where to start with this, but Angela is always very clear that bottling stuff up is a surefire way to make anxiety worse. I know I can trust Wren to keep this conversation between us. Nash would be another good choice, but he’s been a bit AWOL since he last saw Rain and confirmed that he was doing well in his recovery. I close both car doors before I say, “I’m not sure, actually. I mean, I’m fine. Better than usual, to be honest, but I think… I-I think, I uhm…” Frustrated with myself, I huff out a sardonic chuckle. “I have feelings for Rain. And it’s stupid because he’s going to be working for DB, and he’s staying with me, and he’s clearly just out of a shitty situation, and I don’t want to be the sleazy guy with a hero complex. But I also kind of like that he sees me that way, I think?” I can hear the question in my own words. “And he’s cute, and sexy, and he’s just in my house, making it warm, and cosy, and comfy, and he smells good, andI want, ugh, I don’t know. I just… want.”
Wren has the biggest smile on her face as she asks, “Is that all?”
I nod in defeat, fully prepared that I’m now about to get a very honest ‘world-according-to-Wren’ speech.
“OK, so you just wanthim.” It takes a few seconds of silence before I look up at her in amazement.
“That’s it? Where’s the diatribe, the lecture, the words of warning or advice? Fuck, Wren, you’re normally the one we can rely on for good advice. God knows, the twins can’t be trusted with advice, and Nash is too busy researching babies right now.”
