Finding Mr. Fabulous by Riley Con

Author:Riley, Con [Riley, Con]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Figment Ink
Published: 2023-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

15

I spend the rest of my first full day of leave in the attics. Madness, I know, considering they’re dim and full of cobwebs while the rest of this island defines beauty but…

It’s where Dev is.

The dogs too.

Once I open aged shutters, light spills in, and they curl up in a sunny puddle, keeping us company, or keeping me company at least while Dev’s oblivious, absorbed by the contents of a trunk he barely looks up from, making the most of his last day here.

That’s okay.

More than okay.

It means I get to sit with the dogs in that puddle of sunshine and watch him over the top of my own yellowing newspaper.

He’s a study in pure focus, deep in concentration, taking notes and sketching. If it’s a family tree he roughs out, his sketch won’t take up much paper.

I watch his hands slide into gloves before touching aged photos a past Heligan carefully stored here. And, for a strangely dislocating moment, I could be as fragile as what he uncovers.

He takes care, like he did with me this morning.

This morning?

It feels like I’ve been home for weeks already.

My shoulders loosen, lowering for the first time in forever, and I set down my newspaper, only aware I’m staring when Dev looks up, smiling.

I’m caught but I can’t look away.

Not from him. Not yet.

There’s dust in his hair and on those gloves he tells me will protect the photos. He pulls one off and his fingers are smudged with the ink from more old newspapers. Maybe the contrast between him being barefoot, like me, and in shorts and a T-shirt while taking off those gloves should register as out of place here. He only looks comfortable and at home. A mix of relaxed, professional, and warm.

He’s also gorgeous.

So gorgeous.

I focus on the dogs rather than meet a gaze that’s wide awake while I’m the opposite, jet lag curling like the dogs do around me, warm and heavy.

Jetsam’s head rests in my lap like it did in the photo he sent me. Now she lies on dust sheets instead of snowy bedsheets, her head on me, not on Dev, but I drift between New York where I first saw it and the room he took that shot in, not thinking exactly. I just…

Drift.

I do that as he works in silence that doesn’t feel charged or loaded, no need for boardroom rapier sharpness. Targets don’t matter up here.

There’s one on my back in London. I know it.

But here?

I’m safe to drift.

But not alone, for once.

Dust motes spiral, the attics warm, and Jetsam’s huff jerks me from the doze I’ve slipped into.

I blink to find Dev kneeling beside me. He has another armful of dust sheets. “Here.” He stuffs them between me and the trunk I lean on. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

I’m not a kid who needs a daytime nap, I almost tell him.

I’m silenced by a kiss very different from the last ones we shared in this space. It’s close to two weeks since he pressed me up against the iron bolts in the door behind him.

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