La Patisserie de la Rosse

CHAPTER SIX

Champagne et Chocolat

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Francis could not say what was worse about this waiting. The freezing cold; the tight anxiety in the pit of his stomach; the entire surreal reality of where he was and what he was doing. He'd spent the last three days organising this, had blown his entire savings doing it, and he still could not quite believe he had managed it. But at the same time, he did not regret it. After all, what better way to prove to Matthew that Francis was serious about him? To prove he loved him and understood him and wanted the gorgeous Canadian in his life? But if Matthew said no... if he walked away... oh God, if he laughed at him... Francis took a deep breath and tried to stop his self-sabotaging imagination from conjuring up even more awful possibilities. He twisted his hands together and focused on the positives – hey, if all else failed, at least this was a good business opportunity. Francis shifted on the horribly cold, uncomfortable bench, and glanced sideways through the dim light. Actually, he did know the worst part of this cold, nervous waiting. The man who was keeping him company.

"Having fun yet, darling?"

Arthur sneered over his needlework. He was rather violently knitting what looked like a bright pink tea cosy. "Don't darling me, frog. I'm only here as moral support for Matthew when he inevitably rejects you."

Francis couldn't help laughing. It was comforting how some things never changed. "How I've missed your particular brand of vicious, gut-stabbing optimism, Arthur."

Arthur shot him a derisive glare. "How I wish I could return the compliment. Oh wait - no I don't."

Francis just shrugged, tapped his feet on the ground, and glanced again around the dark, barren, damned freezing hall. His stomach twisted in knots, and this silence was driving him mad. He needed a distraction. "So, what are you up to these days, darl- Arthur? Besides shacking up with the most famous quarterback in America?" Francis gave a tiny salute. "Well done, by the way."

"I own a bookshop." Arthur returned the gesture without looking up. "And cheers."

"A bookshop?" Francis nodded thoughtfully and drummed his fingers on the bench. "Lovely. Appropriate. Do you still own that massive collection of Victorian pornography?"

Arthur's hands fumbled and his knitting needles slipped. "Those books are for historical research purposes only!"

"Research," Francis repeated doubtfully. "Nothing... personal, of course."

"Of course not!" Arthur was quickly turning a rather interesting shade of red. "And the collection isn't massive at all!"

"I seem to recall an entire bookshelf full," Francis replied innocently.

Arthur's knuckles were white as he gripped the needles. "It was never an entire bookshelf!"

Francis bit back a giggle. Oh, this was too easy... "Heavy, well-thumbed tomes jam-packed with virgins and incest and lusty, well-hung British gentlemen, conquering and deflowering and..."

A needle snapped. "RESEARCH!"

Francis smirked. "There's no need to be embarrassed, darling, we all have our kinks."

Arthur peered fiercely sideways, reaching into his bag for a new knitting needle. "Sailors, wasn't it?"

Francis' smirk fell immediately. So much for distraction. "If I hear one more word..." he muttered irritably.

More uncomfortable silence, but for the furious clacking of Arthur's knitting needles. Once again, Francis' mind started to turn. It took him five minutes to realise he was chewing on his perfectly manicured nails. "This is crazy, isn't it?" He wasn't even sure whom he was asking. "Tell me, honestly, this is mad."