Chapter 4-1
926 Words
Chapter 4
The flat looked pretty good by the time Fran showed up with a bottle of red wine tucked under one arm and a plate of cheesecake, covered by a clear plastic dome, in his hands. “I brought dessert.”
“Is that from the café?” Dez asked.
“Yes,” Fran admitted with a sheepish grin. He glanced around at the much-cleaner kitchen when he followed Dez in there. “But it’s in date and I swear it doesn’t have any cat hairs on it.”
Dez chuckled. “Put it in the fridge, then. Can I open that wine to breathe?” He took it, got out the corkscrew, and found himself struggling as the twisting movement sent pain lancing through his shoulder. He tried switching hands and nearly fumbled the bottle. “Damn.”
Fran took the bottle before he dropped it. “I’ve got it. Your shoulder bothering you?”
“It’s strange the movements that make it hurt. I don’t think I’ve uncorked anything since…” The shooting. The words hung unsaid in the air.
“Are you okay to drink?” Fran asked as the cork came out with a soft pop. “Are you on painkillers?”
“Only when I need them.”
And right now he could use them. Thoroughly cleaning the place had left him stiff and sore and craving a couple of painkillers. But if he took them he’d be out for the count and certainly not up for sparkling dinner conversation. To be honest, he probably wasn’t up for that anyway, but he intended to make an effort.
“I’m surprised you can do food in a place with animals,” he said.
Fran went along with the change in subject. “Oh, we’re quite restricted. We can’t cook or prep. Even the sandwiches have to come in ready-made. And of course, the cats must be kept out of the kitchen area. The hygiene inspectors from the council think I’m mad, though they said at least my animals are meant to be there in my establishment. Not like the rodents living in others.”
Dez shuddered and found a couple of wineglasses in the cupboard. They were dusty and he gave them a quick wash. “I suppose rats and mice won’t come near a cat café.”
“I guess not. We’ve certainly never seen any.”
“Good to know. Go take a seat. Dinner’s ready.”
“Can I help?”
“No, it’s all under control. It’s nothing special really…”
“Don’t be modest. I bet it’s great.” Fran took the wineglasses and bottle and went into the living room.
A few minutes later, Dez emerged with a casserole dish held in oven gloves and found Fran sitting at the small table by the window that looked out over the darkened street.
He smiled as Dez approached. “Smells good.”
“It’s beef casserole. Hang on, vegetables coming, too.”
He dashed back for the bowl and warmed plates, then they were soon helping themselves. Fran poured the wine and Dez held up his glass in a toast.
“Thank you for taking me out today.”
“It was just to the supermarket.”
“I needed it. Just like I needed the push to get this place cleaned up. Thanks.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Fran said. “You’ve been ill.”
“No,” Dez said, shaking his head. He ate some beef. It had come out pretty well—mum’s recipe, which she’d emailed when he’d asked for something easy to make with beef. “Not really. I only said that so you didn’t think I was a slob. I’m not. But some days…some multiples of days are difficult. The only way out is to break the spiral, and you broke it.”
Fran ate in silence for a moment, and Dez feared he’d scared him off. Made him think Dez was a nutter. But after a moment, he nodded. “I figured it was something like that. Do you have PTSD?”
Dez fumbled his fork at the directness of the question. There was no awkwardness in Fran’s eyes. No judgement either. Just honest enquiry. “Yes,” Dez said.
Fran nodded. “My brother is in the army. He was in Afghanistan for a few months, and when he came back…” He paused and Dez held his breath, fearing he was going to hear a story of Fran losing his brother to suicide. But Fran went on, no tremor in his voice. “Things were tough for him for a while. But he got help and he’s fine now.”
“Is he still in the army?”
“Yes.”
It was a good thing to hear. That there was a road back. Dez smiled and raised his glass again. “To your brother. A real hero.”
Fran shook his head. “He never liked being called that either. I guess I should have learned from that and not bothered you with that stupid cake.”
“I’m quite glad in the end that you bothered me, Fran.”
Fran gave that smile again, the one that lit up his face. “Then I guess me never learning my lesson is a good thing.”
* * * *
Fran didn’t stay late. He had to go see to the cats. And Dez was seriously ready to take his strongest painkillers and seek a night of oblivion, away from his aching shoulder. He kept the pain well-hidden as he walked Fran to the door.
Fran moved in for a cheek peck again, but stopped suddenly and looked into Dez’s eyes. His pupils were big in the dimness. He raised a hand and stroked Dez’s face, smooth, just shaved before their…date. Was it a date? Or just a friendly dinner?
Fran leaned in again, and this time, kissed him on the lips. Right, yes, this made it a date.
It was quite a cautious kiss, Fran perhaps still unsure of Dez’s interest. He should reassure himself. It was definitely an interest returned. Dez opened his lips enough to let their tongues touch gently. When they parted for air, Dez spoke quietly.
“You…can do much better than me. You must know that.”
“Oh, shush. Riley likes you. That tells me a lot.” He darted in for a final kiss, a peck again, but on the lips. “Go get some rest. You’re in pain. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dez blinked as the door opened and closed behind Fran. Guess the pain wasn’t so well-hidden after all. At least not from Fran.
- Writer
