“No, I don’t. I don’t think it’s over the top because I have the means to do so, so why wouldn’t I use them?”
“Oh, I don’t know”—exasperated, he throws his arms up in the air—” maybe because you don’t know these people.”
I open my mouth to reply, and he holds out his hand in the universal sign for stop.
“And don’t tell me it’s because I do. Because, that’s not a valid response, Macs. Yes, I’ve lived around these people all my life, but that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t know them.”
I take a small step forward, my hand reaching for him but not quite touching.
“If you saw someone on the side of the road, hurt and in need, would you help?”
“Yes, of course.”
“If someone was being mugged or attacked, would you step in?”
“Yes,” he snaps. “Wouldn’t anyone with any decency?”
“And if you see someone homeless, do you buy them a coffee or stop and have a chat, offer them food?”
“You know we make food parcels for the church, Macs. So, you know I do that already. Or are all these examples supposed to be comparable? I’ve never bought anyone a bloody boat or a car!”
I take another step forward until I’m close enough to pull him to me, but I hold off.
“You give your free time, your expertise and your money to make those food parcels. I’ve seen what you take there. It isn’t some tinned stuff you buy at the supermarket. You make it all from scratch from the best ingredients. One could say you use your talent, and your time, and your money to help people you likely don’t know.”
I shrug, my final step bringing me close enough to place my lips on his, and with a low, almost whisper, I finish, “Okay, it may appear my help was grander, but the money I’ve earned came from my time, my talent, and my earnings. So, you see. It’s exactly the same thing.”
“But why, Macs? Why would you do it? You can try and compare it to a few home-cooked meals, but it isn’t.”
“Why do you do it? Why do you use the little free time you have to cook for strangers?”
Our lips brush, and Ellis closes his eyes.
“To make a difference in the only way I know how,” he confesses, the words spoken directly onto my mouth.
I smile, my lips curving against his desperate to kiss him.
“We are all born to make a difference, Ell. Does how we do it matter as long as it is done?”
“Are you real?” he whispers back, his voice tremulous and filled with awe. “Because if you are, and I haven’t made you up, I’d like to take you to my bed.”
“I’m real. This is real. We’re real.”
“I’m starting to believe you.” He gives a shaky laugh. “And if that makes me as crazy as the man who buys strangers boats, I’m okay with that.”
“Then take me to bed and show me how to use this padlock.”
His next laugh is full-bodied and sinks into my skin.
“Oh, I’ll show you. I hope you’re not needed anywhere tomorrow because I just might lose the key.”
“Promises, promises.”
And then, he finally kisses me.
Boats, and cars, and flat tires forgotten.
Chapter 20
Ellis
It’s been three days since Macsen left my bed the morning after I met Rex, and I’ve barely seen him since.
He’s either been holed up in meetings with Rex or over at the manor. With each day that passes, my need for him grows.
I’ve kept busy enough with the pub, but waiting in bed every night, hoping he’ll walk through my unlocked door and climb under the sheets with me has me awake until the early hours of the morning.
Even when I do sleep, I toss and turn, my bed seeming far too big since I knew how it felt filled with him.
When I wake, a flyer for one of the local art galleries has been pushed under my door with a note attached that reads:
Are you free tomorrow night?
I’ve missed you.
Macsen.
Coffee in hand, I’m reading the handful of words for possibly the tenth time, when a firm knock echoes upstairs from the side entrance door.
It won’t be Macs as he has his own key, and it’s too early for any of the staff who would come through the front door or call me if they were locked out.
I glance at the clock. It could be an early delivery, but it’s more likely to be someone with the wrong address. I can count on one hand the number of times anyone has knocked on that side door.
Whoever it is gets impatient, and another loud knock reverberates through the walls.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming,” I call as I bound down the stairs, tugging a t-shirt over my head on my way.
When I turn the lock and pull the door open wide, Rex is the last person I expect to see standing there.
“I think Macs has left already.” My greeting is clipped and short.
“I know.” His eyes are hard and penetrating, the grey appearing metallic in the early morning light. “He’s waiting for me in the coffee shop down the road. I thought I’d call here first.”
Arms folded over my chest, I lean back against the doorframe, my stance less than accommodating.
“It’s nice to know I’m a priority on your to-do list.” His jaw tightens at my words and I smile internally. “Why don’t you get whatever you’ve got to say off your chest, and then we can carry on with our days.”
He glares at me, and I wait for the tirade.
“It might surprise you to find out that I came here to apologise, and I’m not a man who does that very often.”
I can’t help the unattractive snort I give in response.
“And I’m supposed to be impressed by that? Thankful that Little Lord Rex has judged me worthy of such a heartfelt apology?”
The glare remains on his handsome face, and I have a choice to either match it with one of my own or laugh. I go with laughter.
“Did Macsen make you do this?”
Rex breaks his stare off and turns his head to look up the narrow alley towards the main road.
“No. He doesn’t know I’m here.” I didn’t see that coming. “I’m leaving this afternoon, and after some reflection, wanted to clear the air between us.”
Yeah, I’m not letting him off the hook that easy.
“After some reflection?” My accompanying laugh is derisive. “What? You decided to change your snap judgement of me after looking inside yourself? That’s a funny one, Rex.” I push off the doorframe and drop my arms, standing at full height and hating that he has a few inches on me. “Pull the other leg, it’s got bells on and plays the Welsh national anthem.”
Rex’s head snaps back, his eyes challenging, and I wait for the real reason he came here. It’s bound to be some kind of threat or warning.
“Did you know Macsen has never shown an interest in anyone, man or woman, until you?”
I don’t answer.
I do know that, but it’s none of his business.
His face softens, and my lack of response seems to please him.
“I see you did know that.” He slips his hand in his pocket and pulls out a business card, holding it out to me between his pointer and middle fingers. “You might need this at some point in the future. You might not.” When I don’t take it, he adds, “Please take it. It would make me feel better to know you have it, and despite what a prick I was to you the other night, don’t hesitate to reach out.”