Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Loves you back?”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to take me a while too,” Darius confessed. “I’ve spent so long pretending I wasn’t invested. God, I’m a wanker.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“You should’ve told me off properly before now.”
Marc sniffed. “Probably, and don’t think I won’t in the future.”
“I thought I’d lost you, and I didn’t even know why until I remembered your last ex had dragged you across the country so he could treat you like shit in another time zone. I should’ve just come out and said what I wanted.”
“I should’ve trusted you a little more.”
“We’re a couple of numpties,” Darius declared.
“Yes, but I want to be numpties together.”
Darius brushed his lips over Marc’s. Even that light touch had his heart speeding up. “So do I.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Marc raced up the stairs to the new shop. “I’ve got cinnamon buns,” he called out. Working above A Dash of Perfection, Riley’s now open-for-business bakery, was going to be dangerous for his health.
He stopped and stared. The painters had gotten farther than expected the night before.
“Wow. It looks amazing.”
Darius stepped out from the back. He was dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt because they were moving boxes and rearranging things while the shop was closed for a few days. He was sweaty and hot as hell.
“The colors are perfect.”
“I refuse to discuss paint until I’ve had a cinnamon bun.”
How could paint ever come before one of Riley’s pastries? Marc set the box on the dark-wood counter they’d recently had installed. The walls were now painted farmhouse apple, and they’d done accents in a muted green. The room had a colonial era feel, which would be fantastic for Marc’s costume business while also helping Darius’s customers have a sense of an older time when all men of means went to a tailor for personal attention.
“Are the fitting rooms painted too?”
Darius mumbled something that sounded like yes around his cinnamon bun.
Marc pulled open one of the doors—they’d decided on having two so they could both have clients at the same time—and sighed. The pale blue on the walls was perfect, the lighting just right.
He stepped back into the front of the shop. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”
“It is, and here’s proof.” Darius reached behind the counter and then held up the sign that would go on the outside of the building. Tailoring by Darius, Costumery by Marc.
Marc’s hands shook as he took the sign. He ran his hand over the letters, needing to actually feel his new reality. “I love it.”
“So do I.” As if to cover the wistful look on his face, he quickly changed the subject. “Clarice called. She wants to take us to lunch.”
“That’s nice of her.”
Darius sighed. “I know, she’s overbearing and—”
“No, I mean that sincerely. I love Clarice, but I did have plans…”
“What plans?”
“They involved you and me and this.” Marc reached into his bag and pulled out a glittering silvery sweater vest.
Darius’s mouth dropped open. “You did not just buy that.”
“I did. Just for you.”
“I have no intention whatsoever of admitting that I would ever want to see you in such a hideously absurd garment.”
“I don’t require verbal admission, but there are certain things you cannot hide.” Marc let his gaze drop deliberately.
When he looked back up, Darius was scowling at him.
Darius’s phone rang before he could say anything. He pulled it out and answered, his gaze never leaving Marc’s.
“Oh…No…I haven’t asked him…Hang on.”
“Do you want to go to trivia tonight? We need someone else for the team.”
Darius had been going to pub trivia with his lawyer, Gary, for the past several weeks, and surprisingly, he loved it. Marc was quite curious to meet the other men Darius had gotten to be friends with. “Absolutely.”
“He’s in…Yes…See you tonight.”
Darius ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket.
“Now where were we?”
“I was wishing I could drag you home and fuck you while you denied wanting me to wear this.” He jiggled the sweater.
Darius growled in frustration. “If I call Clarice—”
“Don’t cancel. We can wait.”
Darius raised his brows. “Speak for yourself.”
“The sweater isn’t going anywhere. I’ll wear it to trivia tonight.”
“Fuck no, you won’t. They rely on me for answers. I can’t think if you’re wearing that.”
“It can be an added challenge. Think how proud you’ll be if you win anyway.”
He scowled. “I don’t want to wait.”
“I’m not going anywhere either, you know.” All the sex in their first months together had been rushed and crazed as though it were their last chance to ever fuck each other. But now they occasionally managed something slow and sensual—for three or four minutes, anyway.
“I know and yet…”
“It’s hard to believe.”
Darius nodded.
Marc took his hand. “I’ve never been this happy with anyone.”
“But I’m a bastard.”
“It’s part of your charm. You’re also caring and amazing and absolutely the man I want to be with.”
“Move in with me.”