Mint and apricots

47. French art and relapses

When Sam finally joined Gabriel, a little past nine, the kitchen counter – for once it was the kitchen counter and not the coffee table in the living room – was cluttered with everything Gabriel had to offer for a breakfast worthy of the name: a pot of coffee, one of hot milk and one of hot water for tea – Sam looked just like a tea guy, no matter the time of the day –, a jug of orange juice, the tin box containing Gabriel's chocolate cookies, the last four slices of the cake with chestnut flour and peach jam that he had baked a couple of days earlier, bread, honey and fruit.

Gabriel enjoyed the stunned expression on Sam's sleep-wrinkled face, before the boy looked up from that parade of goodies and noticed the substantial change on the landlord's face.

"You shaved."

As Gabriel ran the back of his hand over his now smooth cheeks, trying to get used to the sensation, he searched for any traces of disappointment in Sam's voice, but found none. He found himself wondering if the boy preferred him with or without a beard.

"Yeah, I had to. I tried to convince my fellow performers, but they were adamant: our Dr. Pomatter can't have a beard, they said," he confided, shrugging as he finished setting the table with cups and spoons.

"Is he the character you are playing? A doctor?" Sam inquired, taking a seat when the other one nodded.

"A gynecologist. Ironically," Gabriel specified, sitting in front of him and managing to make him grin.

"Are you nervous about tonight?"

"Excited, mostly. Seeing months of work bearing fruit on stage is always a unique satisfaction," Gabriel admitted with a smile, grateful for that concern. He then served them both a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. "So, did you sleep well?"

"Like a log," Sam confessed, letting himself be convinced by the eloquence of Gabriel's gestures to drop a bag of lemon green tea into his cup before filling it with steaming water. "What about you?"

"Well enough," Gabriel replied, not letting his smile escape as he mixed milk and coffee in his own mug and showered it with seven teaspoons of sugar.

Sam's morning joy seemed to waver, while in his eyes one could see the investigation the boy was carrying out on that short answer. Yes, Gabriel read it in his face: Sam was wondering what was the reason for his not perfectly restorative sleep. The excitement for the premiere of the show that awaited him, Sam's proximity or perhaps the much less pleasant memories regarding his father? In all honesty, Gabriel felt he could blame it on the kiss he could still taste on his tongue. But he didn't want to force Sam to tackle the subject so early, not when he had no idea how the boy would have reacted, so he decided to distract him by following another path.

"What are your plans for the day?" he asked, dipping the first biscuit of a long series in his latte before eating it all in one bite. "You can stay if you want."

"Don't you have to go to the theater?" Sam asked in return, frowning as the first sip of tea burned his tongue.

His wrinkled cotton clothes, his tousled hair, those still not fully open eyes and now the vaguely pouting expression. Gabriel could not help but find it all infinitely sweet.

"Yes, but not before six tonight. And it wouldn't be a problem if you wanted to use the house, even after I'm gone. The door here is always open for you and I have a lot of books and movies. Not to mention the food supply," he clarified, pushing part of the breakfast offer towards him to make his intent clear.

Finding the cereal bread and honey particularly attractive, Sam got himself a slice of the first and a teaspoon to get some of the nectar.

"You are forgetting that I booked a seat for the show, tonight," he pointed out to the landlord, starting to eat to satisfy him at least in terms of nutrition.