Vanya insists on buying flowers for Chantel when they get to Moreton-in-Marsh. He inspects expensive bouquets before selecting a bunch of simple daisies, counting out coins one by one in payment. Then he carefully holds his selection as Jason loads their holdalls into a taxicab outside the station. He lays them across his lap as they leave the town behind, the centre of their blooms only a shade brighter than the yellow stone of the buildings they pass. “Small place,” he says to Jason. “Talk about it so much, I’m expect bigger.”

“Hey now. Size isn’t everything.” Jason doesn’t keep his voice down, and his gaze across the backseat is amused.

Vanya checks that the driver is focused on the road ahead rather than watching in the rear-view mirror before quietly saying, “Was talk about town.”

“So was I.” Jason slings an arm around his shoulder like he doesn’t care one bit that the driver might see them. “I was teasing,” he says. “Anywhere is small compared to London.”

“Moscow is bigger.”

“Now who’s bragging?” Jason touches the cellophane wrapping the flowers and changes the subject. “You really didn’t need to bring anything. I already have some wine in my bag.”

“Is rude to arrive without gift.” Vanya flicks a glance at the driver before settling against Jason, still not used to the way Jason doesn’t seem to care who sees them. It feels so good to lean against him like this as they travel down roads that are so long and so straight that he almost forgets to fear a bad reaction. Instead, he listens carefully as Jason tells him about the places they pass.

“That’s where I went to primary school.” Again he answers questions before Vanya can ask them. “I was there until I was eleven.” The building they drive past is small, as is the climbing frame in its playground. “I didn’t like it when I first started, but I bloody loved it by the time I left.” He huffs out a quiet laugh, and his next glance is almost bashful. “I was moved here from Bristol. I moved schools quite a few times. Different foster families,” he explains. “I didn’t always fit in.” He shakes his head. “Well, anyway, I got into a fight here on my first day, and that was it.”

Vanya pictured Jason as a small boy with his fists up, maybe sporting the same kind of black eye he had when they first met. It’s completely faded now, but Vanya still clearly sees it in his mind’s eye. “You win fight? People leave you alone?”

This time, Jason’s laugh is loud in the confined space, and the driver definitely looks back. Still Jason doesn’t shift position. Instead he pulls Vanya closer. “Nope,” he eventually says once he stops chuckling. “I was the puny new kid,” he explains. “Fighting an eleven-year-old who was head and shoulders taller wasn’t my smartest moment. No way was I gonna win. I don’t know what I thought would happen.” He pauses when the cab crests the brow of a hill. He speaks to the driver. “Can you pull over just before the next left?”

“What happened?” Vanya asks as the vehicle slows.

“I’ll tell you in a tick. We’re here.”

Vanya hesitates as Jason pays the driver. Here is the middle of nowhere. There’s not a house in sight once he gets out of the cab, just a narrow lane leading downhill and a sign shrouded by brambles. Jason continues with his story, one bag slung over each shoulder, before Vanya can do more than pick out a few letters on it. He hurries to catch up and tugs at Jason’s arm until he relinquishes his grip. “Can carry own bag,” he grumbles as he situates the flowers between its handles. Besides, freeing up one of Jason’s arms just means that he slings it over Vanya’s shoulder again as they walk.

He fits perfectly there like they were made to walk together. It feels just as natural to slide his own arm around Jason, his thumb snagged in a belt loop. “Now, finish story,” he demands as they take a slow descent that’s shady.

“There’s not much to tell.” The wine bottles in his bag clink as Jason shrugs. “Andrew joined in before I got bashed too badly. I’d only arrived at his house the night before, but Mum said, ‘take care of your brother,’ the next morning, like me staying with them wasn’t only a stopgap measure.”

“Stopgap?” The word is familiar, conjuring an image of the bleak holding room he was kept in during his first nightmarish week in Britain.

“It means temporary. Something that isn’t meant to last forever.”

Vanya grinds to a halt.

Stopgap sums up his whole time here.

“Weren’t meant to stay?”

“God, no. I was only meant to be here for a few days, but when the social worker tried to take me home, my real mum had already moved on. No one knew where she went, and by the time they found her, she’d decided life was easier without me. Hey.” Jason sets down his bag. “You okay?”

Vanya nods but his voice comes out strangled. “Very young to be alone.”

Jason edges closer to him. “I wasn’t alone. And it all worked out for the best. My foster mum became my real mum, and Andrew kept me out of trouble at school. I wouldn’t have had either of them if things had been different. I loved it here. Every minute, once I finally believed I could stay.”

It’s impossible for Vanya not to close the last inch of space between them in a tight hug. “This is why house is so important?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely why I hated Andrew’s last wife trying to sell it. But it’s not only my home. Andrew had to give up a lot to make space for me back then.” His own swallow is audible. “It was his home first, and he still owns most of it, so if he wants to get married again and live here, I’m going to support him.”

“See? Are a good friend.”

“I had a good example of how to be one, even if I forgot that for a while.”

The brush of their lips is soft.

“Now come on. I want to show you where I grew up.”

* * *

There’s no one home when they get there, but the smell of stale smoke is strong when Jason opens the door. “Jesus!” He covers his nose. “That’s coming from the kitchen. Wait out here.”

Vanya hovers in the doorway, uncertain, until he hears a peal of Jason’s laughter, then he enters a hallway resembling something from a movie. The walls look medieval—a patchwork of dark wooden beams bisecting plaster—the floor covered by huge flagstones thousands of footsteps have left uneven. The ceiling is so low that he can touch an exposed beam. It’s the oldest building he’s ever set foot inside, and Vanya can’t help staring, even if it smells bad.

That smell only worsens when Jason opens a door. Light floods in from behind him, and Vanya spies a sunny kitchen, all of its windows thrown wide open.

Jason grins widely, for some reason. “Chantel burned our lunch to a crisp. She’s popped out to replace it.”

Surely that isn’t funny? But Jason laughs like he’s truly tickled. Then he says, “Come on. Let me give you the grand tour until she gets back.”

The sitting room he shows Vanya is cosy. Faded armchairs flank an old couch. They curve around a fireplace that is set into a deep recess. Vanya rests a hand on the huge beam that acts as a mantel. “Is very big fireplace.” Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Jason’s smile widening even further. “What is funny? Fireplace is wrong word?”

“Your English blows me away. It’s incredible.”

“Sure ‘incredible’ is right word? Certain you don’t mean terrible?”

“No. It is incredible to me.” He shakes his head. “I can’t get over how much better your English is since the first time we spoke. I know I couldn’t learn half as fast.”

“Could if had to.” Not having any choice was a huge motivator. “Building vocabulary is best plan.”

“Do you want to learn a new word right now?” Jason closes the scant distance between them; his hand is a firm weight at Vanya’s shoulder that slips down to his elbow, tugging until they stand chest-to-chest. “Get ready,” Jason warns, his words reverberating where their bodies connect. “Inglenook” is all that he says next.

Vanya tries to wrap his tongue around that word before narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “That is not real word.”

“It really is.” Jason tilts his head at the fireplace. “It’s what this kind of fireplace is called. It wasn’t here when I was a kid. Or rather it was, but it was hidden behind plasterboard. Uncovering it was my very first renovation project.” He looks down and drops a quick kiss on Vanya’s lips, absently, like he’s caught up in his reminiscing. “I had a class on architectural forensics during my first term at college and then came home and took a sledgehammer to it. Mum’s face was a picture.”

“Can imagine.”

“Look,” Jason says as they leave the snug sitting room behind them. “The ceiling beam in here runs all the way through the whole house.” He opens another door off the hallway into a bedroom that’s a repeat of exposed wood and plaster. Jason sits on the double bed that takes up most of the space between an old dresser and a bookcase. “There were two single beds in here when I first arrived. Mum tucked me into one on my first night, while Andrew slept in the one opposite.” He stares to the left like he can still see his sleeping brother. “He doesn’t remember the first thing he ever said to me.”

“Tell me.” Vanya’s entranced.

“He opened one eye and said, ‘There you are,’ like I wasn’t a complete stranger. Then he said, ‘You took your bloody time,’ like I’d kept him waiting forever. He was snoring again a minute later, but I couldn’t sleep for ages.” He points at the beam crossing the ceiling. “I spent the whole night worrying that was going to fall down and crush me. It was the first exposed beam I ever took a good long look at. I wanted to know how one long piece of wood could hold up a building.” He gestures around the whole room. “I wanted to know how all these pieces fit. So,” he says, his throat rosy like he’s embarrassed for some reason, “that’s the story of how I came to live here and why I got interested in how old buildings are put together.”

“Was very good story.” Vanya has to clear his throat. He’s hoarse when he says, “Best.”

“Yeah?” Jason ducks his head and shakes it, his smile probably as sweet as the small boy who grew up here.

He’s sweeter still when he says, “I wish Mum could meet you.”