Page 20 of Baby, It's Cod Outside
Jackson hadn’t just managed Ben’s rolling disaster last night, he’d done reconstruction.
Ben feels like a pitiful toddler in a grown man’s suit. He should gather whatever’s left of his dignity and slip out before Jackson sees him like this again: pale, puffy-eyed, pathetic.
He throws back two Advil, grateful and ashamed in equal measure. Smokey head-butts his knee pointedly, her patience evidently at its end.
“Sorry,” Ben says. “Probably breakfast time, isn’t it? Let’s see if we can find you something before I go.”
He pads into the kitchen. Jackson’s setup here is…eclectic. Cans of soup beside specialty vinegars. Two identical French presses. An unopened jar of capers. Lucky charms and bran flakes. Ben frowns, trying to decode the alien logic of it all.
He’s turning over a can of pâté, debating whether it’s meant for cats or humans, when he registers the sudden silence.Running water being cut off. He doesn’t even get his hand out of the pantry before the bathroom door swings open.
“Sorry,” Ben blurts, standing too quickly. He nearly brains himself on an open cabinet door. “I was just?—”
The rest of his apology evaporates at the sight of Jackson in the doorway. Backlit, a towel wrapped loose and low around his hips, Jackson’s still steaming faintly from the hot water, droplets sliding down over his collarbone. Ben stares helplessly, his mouth going dry.
This man guides him through a breakdown, tucks him in, and now he’s just standing there, shirtless and glowy and impossibly composed while Ben’s still over here trying to remember how his lungs work.
“Morning,” Jackson says, like none of this is weird, strolling in with a yawn and a stretch, entirely unselfconscious about being half-naked in front of Ben. “You’re up early.”
Ben, meanwhile, has never felt more aware of his body. Or how presumptuous he probably looks rummaging through someone else’s cabinets at the crack of dawn. “Uh, good morning. I was just looking…Smokey was hungry. I think at least that’s what she was um… telling me.” Smooth. Very articulate. You should always suggest you are having conversations with people’s pets.
Jackson chuckles softly. “Yeah, don’t fall for it. I fed her fifteen minutes ago.”
Ben shoots a betrayed look at Smokey, who flicks her tail, utterly unrepentant. God, even Jackson’s cat is smug.
Jackson leans a hip against a counter. Relaxed. Watching him. Not bringing up last night. Which somehow only makes Ben feel more unworthy.
“Sorry she woke you,” Jackson says.
“No, it’s okay,” Ben insists quickly. “It’s not even that early. I usually get up around now anyway.” He nods toward thestove clock, the digital green numbers glowing ‘4:50.’ “Shift changeover happens at seven. I try to get in before things start moving. Y’know, be visible. Present. Whatever.”
“Ben, it’s five in the morning,” Jackson admonishes gently, pumping lotion into his palm from a bottle by the sink, working it over one elbow, then the other.
The scent of earthy shea butter adds another note to the room’s sensory fingerprint: coffee grounds, bergamot, artemisia. All of it merging together, creating something that he knows is going to summon this image of Jackson every time it hits his nostrils.
“That’s objectively early. Like… monks and overachievers early,” Jackson continues, blithely unaware he’s rewriting synapses in Ben’s brain.
“You’re up too,” Ben points out. “Which one are you? Monk or overachiever?”
“Chronic insomniac,” Jackson admits with a rueful smile. “Trust me, all the good stuff happens after sunrise.”
“I’ve heard rumors to that effect.”
“They’re true,” Jackson replies. “There’s a whole world of decadent late-morning nonsense out there. Waking up when the sun’s already overhead. Lying in bed until your spine forgets how to function. Eating pain au chocolat at eleven with glasses of prosecco and making questionable life choices in broad daylight. It’s practically bacchanalian.”
“Are you trying to radicalize me with brunch?”
Jackson’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “That would be unethical. Even for me.”
“Well I’ll have to take your word for it,” Ben says. “Late mornings weren’t exactly encouraged in my house. My dad considers sleeping past six a character defect.”
“Maybe it’s time to rebel a little.” Jackson winks. Actually, genuinely winks. Ben’s brain promptly malfunctions, justenough for him to completely forget how to hold a casual conversation.
Jackson rescues him gracefully. “Speaking of food, are you hungry? I feel like all you had for dinner was wine.”
Ben’sstarving. The last thing he ate was that stale turkey sandwich. “Yeah, I could definitely eat.”
Jackson flashes him a wide smile, easy and real. “Give me five minutes to get dressed, and I’ll take you out to breakfast. My treat.”
