Page 49 of In at the Deep End

Matt paused in his unpacking to glance at the wall clock.

Ten minutes. He’s only been gone ten minutes.

Matt imagined this was a conversation that might take a little longer than that. Owen wouldn’t be back for a while.

He gazed at the stack of DVDs.

I’ll surprise him. If he could empty another three or four boxes before Owen returned, it’d be one less job for him. I don’t suppose unpacking DVDs will be high on his list of things to do this evening, not after that conversation.

Matt slit the tape on another box, folded the cardboard flat, and leaned it against the growing pile by the window.

Owen liked things organised. Everything had a place. Even surrounded by half a houseful of boxes, he’d been flattening the cardboard as they went instead of leaving it scattered around the room, ready to stash them in the cupboard out in the barn.

Matt understood that. He suspected the clutter was getting to him. Owen struck him as the sort of man who’d breathe easier once every box had been unpacked and every room finally felt like home.

His gaze drifted to the box from earlier, the one that contained those very… interesting titles.

Definitely not Hitchcock.

He deliberately looked away.

Five minutes later, he had another piece of cardboard to add to the pile.

The lounge was finally beginning to resemble an actual lounge. Callum had already mounted the enormous television on the wall, but the unit beneath it was still flat-packed, along with the DVD player and surround-sound speakers waiting to be connected.

Matt grinned. Now that would be a good surprise. He found the screwdriver and set to work.

Twenty minutes later, the cabinet stood assembled. Another ten minutes and he’d connected the DVD player and speakers, threading cables through the back according to the instructions. He hadn’t wall-mounted the mini speakers—Owen could decide where he wanted them.

Matt stood back, hands on hips.

“There,” he murmured. “Another job to cross off his list.”

Yet again, his eyes drifted back to the box. He wondered what Owen intended to do with them. Leave them packed away? Hide them in a cupboard?

Then again, Owen had said he was done hiding.

Matt frowned. Being openly gay was one thing. Having a shelf full of gay movies—and porn—where visitors could see it was something else entirely. For one thing, he couldn’t imagine his mum’s face if she ever saw it.

She’d have kittens.

His eyes found the box again. It was ridiculous how much it was beginning to intrigue him.

“Oh, stop being daft,” he muttered to himself. They were just films, right?

Think of it as research.

He lifted the flaps.

Owen wouldn’t mind. He’d laughed about the collection. Besides, it wasn’t as though Matt was rifling through someone’s diary.

I’m just curious.

He scanned the titles. Some were exactly what he’d expected—bold lettering, bare torsos, and covers that left very little to the imagination. Others surprised him. A few sounded almost… romantic.

One title caught his eye.

Summer Rain.