I’ll time you.”
He stood back as she scurried past. Then he surged in for a kiss when Jude said, “I thought I was your darling.”
Rob beamed when Jude grumbled. “You”—Rob kissed him again—“are glorious when you’re jealous. And you’re so much more than my darling.”
“Yeah?” And this feeling—this yearning, wishing, wanting that hadn’t died down yet in the slightest—was the same here as it ever was aboard the Aphrodite, tangled seaweed-like around his ankles to tie him to Rob when he should have been back in the kitchen already. The urge to shut the door and stay, to strip Rob as bare as he felt every single time he woke up wrapped around him, would have been overwhelming if he’d let it; would have washed him away and he wouldn’t have even tried to fight it if that meant Rob was with him, like this, long-term.
“Yes,” Rob said certain. “Anyone can be my darling, but you’re my one and only fish face.”
They stood close and kissed. Susan’s niece came back, stuttering that she’d finished, but they barely parted.
He’d never be finished, Jude knew as Rob absently told her he’d be with her in a moment, his lips a much deeper shade of pink, his expression soft—so soft—as he smoothed creases from the front of Jude’s chef jacket. He’d put them there, fabric curled in his fists like holding tight to Jude was just as vital, as if he didn’t have a hundred and one things to do now they were booked solid.
Rob and Lou managed to make the wild flurry of preparation easy, every day bringing new moments that Jude hoarded to treasure later, imagining replaying them the next time he left Porthperrin to search for answers.
“Hey.” Rob tapped the face of his watch again. “That fish curry won’t cook itself. Shouldn’t you be somewhere, sailor?”
He should go.
He would go.
In just another minute.
“Why were you looking for me anyway?” Rob persisted.
“Oh,” Jude pulled the post from his apron pocket. “There’s one for you.” The change in Rob’s expression as he saw the writing on the envelope was so slight he might have missed it if he wasn’t obsessed with gathering every single glimpse for later. There was enough of a downturn to his smile to make Jude outright ask a question. “Who’s it from?”
“Dad.” Rob paused before opening the envelope as if steeling himself for something awful. “Oh.” The next shift in his expression was confusing given that the card he extracted featured an image of a Champagne bottle. Despite that, Rob didn’t open it to read the message, still holding the card gingerly as if it was a sleeping snake coiled in his palms that might strike him.
“What does it say?” Jude prompted as Rob remained quiet. For all the overconfidence Rob had ever shown him, Jude didn’t like this absence one bit. “Rob?” he asked again, quietly.
Rob’s headshake was as minimal as that change in his expression had been. He moved as if to stuff the card into his back pocket until Jude reached out a hand to stop him. “It’ll be nothing,” Rob promised, backing one step away.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing that I haven’t heard already.” Rob rolled his eyes and affected a lower-pitched stern voice. “Blah blah, all the real work is in London. Blah blah, stop playing at running a business and get back in my kitchen.”
He joked, but his jaw clenched. His gaze flitted towards the hallway and escape. Jude leaned across the doorway. “Strange then that the front of the card says ‘Congratulations.’ I’ll read it for you if you want.”
Rob blew out a long breath. “Go ahead,” he said, letting go when Jude tugged, busying himself with refolding a towel that was already perfect, his movements only stilling as Jude read the three sentences written inside. “So proud of your achievement. Your mum would be too, Rob. Good luck with the official opening.”
Rob stood in perfect stillness, the mirror reflecting the sudden softening of that clenched jaw, so Jude said, “You should ask him.”
“Ask him what?”
“To come.” Jude persisted before Rob’s soft expression could harden. “For the official opening night. I’d ask mine in a heartbeat if I could.” And wasn’t that a new truth; something that he’d always wanted deep down, sure it could never happen. “Your dad must have already been proud of you, otherwise why would he have sent Guy Parsons? And I know—”
“What do you know, Jude?” The lack of endearment didn’t stop Jude from answering and moving closer.
“I know he