hide the receding hairline from the mistress), gave him a fixed smile. “Finally. Scampi and chips, twice, and two fish fingers and chips, two teas, and two cokes.”
Wig turned his smile on the children. “Would you like crayons for coloring.” They were a bit old, but one never knew these days.
The boy ignored him, but the little girl nodded shyly.
“Yes, please,” she said.
“Coming right up, darling.”
As he sashayed away, Nibs came over, his eyebrow raised. “What’s with the walk?”
“This is how I usually walk,” Wig said.
“Only when you’re putting on a show.”
Wig got two bottles out of the fridge. “Maybe that’s how I feel today.” He said it belligerently as if he was expecting a fight from Nibs, but Nibs just nodded.
“Fair enough. You take the order in to Steve, and I’ll take the drinks over.”
Confused, Wig said, “The little girl wants crayons.” He handed over the tray, placed some crayons and a coloring book on it, and watched his six foot plus a number of inches bear of a lover mince over to the table to the openmouthed bemusement of the customer.
He rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen.
“You look like shit,” Steve said.
“I love you too.” Wig handed over the order and backed out of the kitchen before he ripped off Steve’s head for breathing.
Nibs came toward him, a smirk on his face. “That was fun. Did you see his face? He looked like he was going to run out of the door screaming.”
“You’re a wicked, wicked man, Nibs. He was probably scared you were going to fall on top of him, a great big man lumbering toward them with drinks. Besides I flounce with flare.”
“You certainly do, my darling. You are the queen of flare.” Nibs brushed Wig’s hand as they passed, their code for I love you in public, and Nibs returned to the kitchen.
A couple hovered by the door. He went toward them, only to be headed off by Ben. Wig grinned and went to clear the boys’ table.
“Sorry,” Paul said as he approached.
“What for?” Wig asked.
“It’s been pointed out I’m behaving like a mama bear.”
“You look after your guy,” Wig assured him. “It’s cute, in a whips and chains kind of way.”
Sam and Liam chuckled, laughing harder when Paul scowled.
“No one is ever going to believe Paul Owens has been lassoed for good.”
Wig could see Paul wanted to refute it. The lothario, gigolo, village bike—every label fit, and now he’d fallen for a guy whose closet door was bolted shut. Then Skandik stroked his hand, and Paul melted against him.
“Whip and chains,” Wig said as he took away the plates.
Chapter 9
B Y THE time Wig and Nibs got upstairs to the flat, Paul was watching the news on the BBC, Skandik sprawled across his lap. Wig at first thought the big man was asleep, but after a longer glance, Wig realized he was playing on his phone. It looked sweet and domestic, and Wig was tempted to tease them but for the frown on Paul’s face.
“What’s up?” Nibs asked as they sat down.
“There’s a storm brewing. Says it’s going to hit at the end of the week. We might have to leave earlier than expected if the ferries are screwed. I’m back on duty on Saturday.”
“Blast, really? When’s it due?”
“Thursday night, Friday morning, coming up from the southwest.”
“You ought to go by Thursday morning just to make sure. They tend to ground the ferries early.”
“Are you liable to be flooded?” Skandik asked.
“Depends how high the waves are,” Nibs said grimly. “It’s happened in the past.”
“We’ve got sandbags stored in the basement. We’ve been through it before,” Wig said. He stared at the weather forecast, looking at the tight-knit isobars swirling over the south of Britain like a portent of doom.
“We’d better make sure Mum and Dad know because they’re going home this week, and Rose is okay. Perhaps Sam and Liam can stay with her to make sure she’s safe.”
“She could come here, but
Wig turned his smile on the children. “Would you like crayons for coloring.” They were a bit old, but one never knew these days.
The boy ignored him, but the little girl nodded shyly.
“Yes, please,” she said.
“Coming right up, darling.”
As he sashayed away, Nibs came over, his eyebrow raised. “What’s with the walk?”
“This is how I usually walk,” Wig said.
“Only when you’re putting on a show.”
Wig got two bottles out of the fridge. “Maybe that’s how I feel today.” He said it belligerently as if he was expecting a fight from Nibs, but Nibs just nodded.
“Fair enough. You take the order in to Steve, and I’ll take the drinks over.”
Confused, Wig said, “The little girl wants crayons.” He handed over the tray, placed some crayons and a coloring book on it, and watched his six foot plus a number of inches bear of a lover mince over to the table to the openmouthed bemusement of the customer.
He rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen.
“You look like shit,” Steve said.
“I love you too.” Wig handed over the order and backed out of the kitchen before he ripped off Steve’s head for breathing.
Nibs came toward him, a smirk on his face. “That was fun. Did you see his face? He looked like he was going to run out of the door screaming.”
“You’re a wicked, wicked man, Nibs. He was probably scared you were going to fall on top of him, a great big man lumbering toward them with drinks. Besides I flounce with flare.”
“You certainly do, my darling. You are the queen of flare.” Nibs brushed Wig’s hand as they passed, their code for I love you in public, and Nibs returned to the kitchen.
A couple hovered by the door. He went toward them, only to be headed off by Ben. Wig grinned and went to clear the boys’ table.
“Sorry,” Paul said as he approached.
“What for?” Wig asked.
“It’s been pointed out I’m behaving like a mama bear.”
“You look after your guy,” Wig assured him. “It’s cute, in a whips and chains kind of way.”
Sam and Liam chuckled, laughing harder when Paul scowled.
“No one is ever going to believe Paul Owens has been lassoed for good.”
Wig could see Paul wanted to refute it. The lothario, gigolo, village bike—every label fit, and now he’d fallen for a guy whose closet door was bolted shut. Then Skandik stroked his hand, and Paul melted against him.
“Whip and chains,” Wig said as he took away the plates.
Chapter 9
B Y THE time Wig and Nibs got upstairs to the flat, Paul was watching the news on the BBC, Skandik sprawled across his lap. Wig at first thought the big man was asleep, but after a longer glance, Wig realized he was playing on his phone. It looked sweet and domestic, and Wig was tempted to tease them but for the frown on Paul’s face.
“What’s up?” Nibs asked as they sat down.
“There’s a storm brewing. Says it’s going to hit at the end of the week. We might have to leave earlier than expected if the ferries are screwed. I’m back on duty on Saturday.”
“Blast, really? When’s it due?”
“Thursday night, Friday morning, coming up from the southwest.”
“You ought to go by Thursday morning just to make sure. They tend to ground the ferries early.”
“Are you liable to be flooded?” Skandik asked.
“Depends how high the waves are,” Nibs said grimly. “It’s happened in the past.”
“We’ve got sandbags stored in the basement. We’ve been through it before,” Wig said. He stared at the weather forecast, looking at the tight-knit isobars swirling over the south of Britain like a portent of doom.
“We’d better make sure Mum and Dad know because they’re going home this week, and Rose is okay. Perhaps Sam and Liam can stay with her to make sure she’s safe.”
“She could come here, but
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