Page 89 of In at the Deep End

He chuckled. “The one your parents definitely don’t get an invite to.”

Seeing Matt’s parted lips and wide eyes solidified Owen’s decision to invite him.

“What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

Owen leaned back. “During the day, you get to choose. But tomorrow night, we’re off to see a show. And no, I’m not telling you which one. I’m just going to say you’ll love it.”

The pianist drifted into another jazz standard, the melody floating lazily through the bar.

Matt sat back in the deep leather chair, nursing the last of his daiquiri. “You know, this has been one of the strangest days I’ve ever had.”

“The reunion?”

Matt chuckled as he gestured around the bar. “And this. Earlier today I was wandering around Kew Gardens with my boss, and now I’m drinking cocktails in the Savoy while you tell me about accidentally interrupting porn shoots.”

Owen laughed. “When you put it like that, it does sound rather ridiculous.”

That comfortable silence was back.

Matt watched the pianist. “I think I needed this. Not the reunion, but this whole day. Kew, afternoon tea, cocktails… I’ve never done anything like this, and it’s been great.”

Owen regarded him for a moment. “I’m glad.” The waiter appeared beside the table, and Owen gave Matt an inquiring glance. “Another round?”

Matt laughed. “On top of all the champagne? I think if I have another one, you’ll be carrying me upstairs.”

Owen grinned. “And while that might provide the staff with a memorable evening, I’d rather not become part of Savoy folklore.” He settled the bill instead. They stood, and Owen slipped his wallet back into his jacket. “This place has a way of making the rest of the world wait outside for a while.”

Matt nodded. “I think that’s exactly what today needed.”

“And tomorrow night… we get to do it all over again.”

The bedroom was quiet, although not silent. There was the faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioning, the occasional siren from beyond the window, and the quiet creak of the sofa as Owen turned over.

Matt stared into the darkness. Sleep refused to come, even when he kept his eyes tight shut.

That only made it worse.

The last few days unspooled behind his eyelids. Owen climbing effortlessly from the pool, sunlight catching on wet skin.

Matt opened his eyes again.

Don’t.

He rolled onto his side. That didn’t help either. His mind skipped off to the afternoon in the garden, their fingers brushing over the bottle of water, Owen stepping back almost too quickly.

The paving slabs. ‘Because you came with muscles’. Owen correcting himself so fast he’d almost tied his tongue in knots.

He was flustered. Because of me.

That thought refused to leave.

Matt knew he wasn’t imagining it anymore. He’d tested it, more than once.

Sometimes Owen noticed him. Then he lost his composure for a heartbeat.

Matt had discovered seeing the tiny cracks in the normally so certain, so self-contained Owen fascinated him.

He turned onto his back again, the crisp hotel sheet brushing against bare skin. He became aware of his own body, his heartbeat, his breathing. The warmth trapped beneath the duvet.