Page 176 of In at the Deep End

It had simply happened, and that scared him more than anything.

Matt stayed another hour. They talked about nothing important. They discussed the dissertation. They argued about which film they should watch next. Matt teased him about his inability to keep houseplants alive, despite having an entire garden that looked as if it belonged in a magazine.

Owen laughed in all the right places. He even reached for Matt’s hand once without thinking, then stopped himself. The motion was so small Matt probably didn’t notice.

Owen noticed.

He noticed everything now.

When Matt finally stood to leave, Owen walked him to the front door. The space where normally, he would pull Matt close and kiss him, touch him.

A promise neither of them said aloud but both of them understood.

Tonight, Owen kept his hands at his sides.

“See you tomorrow?” Matt asked. There was no hesitation in the question, only certainty.

The kind of certainty Owen didn’t deserve.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Tomorrow.”

Matt smiled back, opened the front door, and crunched his way over the gravel driveway, pausing to wave when he reached the end of it.

Owen closed the door, its click loud in the quiet. Only then did he let the expression fall.

He walked slowly into the lounge, to the open windows, and in his head he saw everything he’d allowed to happen. Not because Matt had forced his way in, but because Owen had opened the door.

That was the part he couldn’t ignore.

I invited him into my home, my routines, into the places that mattered.

Places where Matt seemed to belong now.

Owen walked across the patio, stopping beside one of the flowerbeds. There was still one section that needed finishing. Matt had pointed it out yesterday.

“We’ll sort that bit next week,” he’d said.

Not you’ll.

Not if you want me to.

We’ll.

Such a small, harmless word.

Except now Owen heard the future hidden inside it.

Next week. Next month. Next summer.

His chest tightened.

That was what Jeff had seen. Not just the age difference, the possibility of people judging them.

He’d glimpsed the future, the thing Owen had spent years avoiding.

He could picture it too easily. Matt in his forties, still young enough to want adventures, to travel, to build a life full of possibilities. And Owen in his seventies, slower, older, needing things Matt shouldn’t have to give.

He imagined the quiet sacrifices. The cancelled plans. The appointments. The days when Matt became a carer instead of a partner.