Page 17 of The Best of Times
“Where’s the snow?” Aron said. “I wanted a proper Dickensian Christmas.”
“I get enough of Charles Dickens, thank you.”
“He was a master.”
“So you all say. No snow for me. I don’t want to risk another tumble.”
Even if the accident had happened in the most unusual of circumstances, Aron didn’t like to see his grandmother injured. It reminded him of the fragility of old age. Even for Beatrice Wimpole.
“Now have a wonderful day,” Granny said. “And get lots of things done. And don’t bicker. Oh, and tell Philip I’ll be round for Parkin later. I want to drop my shopping off first.”
She shoved him gently toward the Professor’s house.
Aron walked up the stairs and rang the bell.
When Paul opened the door, he almost took Aron’s breath away. He had on a light denim shirt and olive cargo pants. As usual his shoulder-length hair sat perfectly tousled.
Why were some people effortlessly gorgeous and for others it was an hour-long process?
“Bang on time,” Paul said, leaning against the doorframe.
He grinned, instantly making Aron’s legs go wobbly.
You sexy bastard.
He had to maintain focus. There would not be a repeat of their earlier encounter.
Parkin let out a yap, bringing Aron back to the present.
“Can we come in?” Aron asked. “It’s bloody freezing.”
“Of course.”
Paul stood away. Aron sauntered past him.
The smell of Paul’s citrus cologne reminded him of times spent in bed, talking rubbish for hours.
He refused to be derailed and carried on into the Professor’s lounge. There was no sign of the man himself.
“Where’s your father?”
“Upstairs. He’s finishing a piece forThe New York Timesor something.”
Aron unclipped Parkin’s lead. “Go on, boy,” he said. “Find your new daddy.”
Parkin evidently knew the lay of the land in the house as he shot straight upstairs. Aron sank onto the sofa.
“I didn’t realise I’d have to share my father now,” Paul said. “Drink?”
“No thanks. We haven’t got time. Have you seen our list? Granny keeps adding to it. We’ll be half dead by the time she walks up the aisle.”
Paul sat down next to him. Very close. He had absolutely no need to do that. Aron was wedged against the arm now so escape was not an option.
Fuck it’s warm in here.
“Have no fear,” Paul said, gazing at him. “We always did work well together.”
Aron stared directly into Paul’s eyes. “Is that why you fucked off to Iran?”
