After the Scrum by Dahlia Donovan

Author:Dahlia Donovan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: sport, rugby, Gay, sweet, Cornwall, romance, British fiction, gau and lesbian, m/m, English, comedy
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Francis

The kitchen turned out to be a brilliant refuge to gather his thoughts. Joanne plied him with extra bits from the trifle she'd been putting together for after supper. Devlin sat on the counter, munching on his own pieces of sponge cake. They all seemed rather happy to leave the idiots in the living room to argue amongst themselves.

A crush?

A crush.

It had never occurred to him. Rupert and Graham both had fallen almost immediately into the friend category—closer to brother, honestly. The more he thought about it, the more aggravated he became.

His time in London, after the attack and break-up with Trevor, had been rather chaotic, emotionally speaking. And then without warning, his closest friend had disappeared on him. It had seemed obvious to him at the time why.

Now, not so obvious.

"I'll set them straight, don't you worry." Joanne handed him a cup of tea then ordered him to keep an eye on the stove and the menace perched on the counter. She disappeared out of the kitchen before Francis could dissuade her. Her voice carried over to them, causing Devlin to giggle. "Wupert's in trouble."

"You blond twits! What did I tell you, Rupert? You're on the couch tonight."

Francis moved over to stir the sauce simmering in a pot. It smelled delicious even if he wasn't entirely certain what it was. She'd always been a brilliant cook, trained under one of the best chefs in London before they'd moved back to Cornwall.

"Fwannie?" Devlin held out a chunk of cake. "Don't be sad, Fwannie. Uncle Boo'll kiss it better. He's vewy good at it."

"Yes, he is." He smiled at the little boy. "Why don't we see if there's any extra custard in the bowl?"

"Hands off the custard," Joanne warned them both sternly. "I'll toss you both out on your ears."

"Not the ears." Francis grabbed a once again giggling Devlin and carried him swiftly out into the living room, where the three men appeared to be nursing their egos and glasses of whiskey. He set the boy down on the floor, pointing him towards a play area with Legos that had obviously been set up for him, before turning his attention to the men. "She told you three then."

As if on cue, the two brothers fell to their knees. They shuffled forward to Francis, holding their hands out in supplication. He raised his eyebrows when they began to apologize in multiple languages—promising him everything from their first-born to gold and all number of ridiculous things.

Idiots.

"Get off the floor. Honestly, you haven't changed in all the years I've known the both of you." Francis found himself smothered in an embrace between the two men. He flailed his arms, trying to shove them away. "Would it be too much to ask for a bit of oxygen before I suffocate and am unable to accept your apologies?"

The rest of the evening went by rather smoothly. The five adults enjoyed lively conversation, interrupted periodically by Devlin. It had gone altogether more smoothly than Francis had imagined.

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