Jason hesitates, razor in hand, on the morning of his first shopping appointment. His black eye has dulled from its former vivid bruising, the swelling somewhat reduced, but his face is still quite tender. He sets his razor down to one side. So what if he turns up unshaven? The personal shopper has already seen him looking much worse.

That thought persists as he pulls on an old pair of jeans.

There’s no need to dress up for someone he’s about to pay to make him look smarter. Besides, they’re not meeting until lunchtime. There’s no point wasting a morning trying to stay tidy when he could finish a project. Despite what Andrew said about him choosing to get dirty when he doesn’t have to, not all of his work can be driven from behind a desk. He needs to get his hands on a project—feel the structure of a building—before he can start delegating.

He only second-guesses his decision later when he arrives outside the same department store he’s visited twice this week already. The plate glass of the window reflects more plaster dust than ever. It also reflects that he’s the only person waiting.

His personal shopper hasn’t turned up.

Jason checks his phone. Maybe he took the text instructions to wait outside too literally. Perhaps he should wait outside the fitting rooms instead. That makes a whole lot more sense, now he thinks about it, but when he goes inside, the assistant he finds is no help, only saying, “I don’t know who you could mean. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know, I just know I’m meant to meet him here. He’s blond. Young. About so tall? Never mind. I’ll… I’ll go wait outside.” He retreats and turns abruptly. This time, instead of bumping into a mannequin, he ends up with an armful of the one person he wants to see the most.

The greeting he hears is hesitant. “M-Mr Balfour?”

“Jason.”

There’s the fair hair he just described, almost covering an eye until it’s pushed to one side. His accent’s familiar as well, gently teasing Jason when he next speaks. “Should be careful.” He disentangles himself from their accidental embrace. “‘You break, you buy’ is shop rule.” He points to a sign next to a display of glassware that bears a similar warning. Then he turns away abruptly when another assistant walks by. “Okay. We leave now.”

“Leave?” Jason snags him by the elbow, letting go right away when he freezes. “I mean, don’t we have to stay here?” He’d assumed they’d visit the store’s menswear department. “And, hi.” He brushes his palm against his jeans, like that will make up for arriving so dusty, and extends it in greeting. “Thanks for fitting me into your schedule so fast. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Vanya. I’m Vanya Petrov.” The grip on his hand is firm but fleeting before his shopper inclines his head at the exit. “Come. Should hurry.”

“Wait. Don’t you want to know what it is that I need your help with?”

Vanya surveys him from head to toe. “Can guess.” From this close, a small chip in one of his front teeth is visible. It’s a tiny imperfection that Jason notices when he’s teased again. “I’m think you need help with everything.”

He’s not wrong.

Jason follows him outside while asking, “So, you’re not tied to this store?” He clarifies his question when Vanya’s expression clouds. “You don’t have to sell me their clothes? They don’t employ you?”

“No one employs.” He’s firm about that. “Definitely not.”

Ah.

Jason was right to guess he’s freelance. “So where are we headed?” Bond Street stretches out from their left to their right, an expanse of high-end fashion outlets he hopes won’t actually bankrupt him. When his shopper doesn’t speak, looking up and down the street like he too isn’t certain which store to start with, Jason offers a suggestion. “I usually just buy the first thing that fits.”

A bus rumbles noisily past and sirens scream in the distance, but Vanya’s laughter is a loud honk that he quickly stifles. “Explains a whole lot.” At least he sounds amused rather than derisive, and his smile is much less nervous when he says, “Need to talk first. Find out more before deciding if I’m can help.”

“I didn’t realise there’d be a vetting process.” None of the websites had hinted at this. Still, Jason follows where Vanya leads, eventually crossing several lanes of traffic. They end up at Hyde Park, walking towards an outdoor café where deckchairs litter the grass, the striped fabric of their seats rippling in the cool breeze. It’s brisk enough that Jason zips his jacket. Vanya’s already several steps ahead before he calls hopefully over his shoulder. “Last one to café buys coffee?”

Jason doesn’t exactly race him, happy to lose if it means he’ll get to wrap his hands around a warm cup. Besides, the run means Vanya’s cheeks are nicely pinked when he reaches the café, and God, he’s got to stop staring at him.

Thankfully, Vanya doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m win, so you buy?”

Jason gets out his wallet. “I’m wearing the wrong shoes for running.” He looks down at his steel-capped work boots. “I could beat you if I wore my trainers.”

“Good to know.” Vanya smiles over the lid of the coffee cup after tipping in umpteen sugars. They take one of the well-trodden paths bordering the parkland. “You like to run?”

“‘Like’ is probably a stretch, but I keep in shape.”

“Can see.” Vanya glances sideways. “So, have sportswear?”

“Of course I do.” His last shopping trip was for new shorts.

“And have clothes for work—?”

Jason’s phone ringing interrupts them. He checks the screen. “I’m sorry, it’s a client.” His biggest one, in fact. “I need to take his call.” He steps off the path and answers. “Hey, Dom.”

In the periphery of his vision, Vanya sips his coffee slowly, his eyes half-lidded like each swallow is a real pleasure rather than nothing special. Jason takes a quick sip of his own, grimacing when it’s bitter. “You got my message about the buildings you wanted me to take a look at?”

Sunlight breaks through overhead clouds. It puddles Vanya in light as he crouches to watch a squirrel. It’s a distracting sight on two counts that has Jason walking closer as he gets to the point of the phone call.

“I finally got around to taking a look at one of them this morning. Yeah, the tucked-away block you thought might have potential if the access could be altered?” He pulls creased sales details from his back pocket and recites its address. “Yeah, that’s it… the one down a narrow alley? I saw it this morning. The estate agent was useless—brought the wrong keys, so I got us in through a stairwell window, but the lower floors were locked up tight. The only space I could get to was the top floor.”

Vanya’s moved on to look at a noticeboard, his lips moving slowly as he reads. Jason follows, paying scant attention to his client’s questions. Instead he takes in minor details like the fact the Converse Vanya wears are tied with mismatched laces Jason guesses must be trendy. He stands a few feet away as he wraps up his call. “So that building isn’t a good project for you. Far too modern for your clients, and not in a good way. The building behind it was much better. That would make a perfect project. An 1800s warehouse that’s virtually untouched. Shame it’s not on the market.”

When Vanya turns, light filtering through the leaves above dapples his face warmly. “Gorgeous,” Jason says aloud and then hurries to cover his tracks. “The warehouse, I mean. Anyway, you can take the ugly one I saw off your list. Someone’s already gone bust mid-way through renovating it. There’s scaffolding still up but no sign of recent progress. It’s overpriced and boring. I wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole.”

Vanya scrutinises him closely as he ends his call, then reaches up to ruffle Jason’s hair. Dusty particles scatter. “You break old buildings?”

“Nope. I help rebuild them. I’m a restoration consultant. I like putting wrecks back together. The more rundown, the better.” Those were the best projects that made up for all the time he spent at his desk wrangling council permits. “Not that I get a chance to do much of it these days.”

Vanya’s expression slides to sceptical. “Don’t work all the time? Sure you can afford?”

“Afford what? Your time? We can negotiate that.” No way is he paying what those websites suggested, even if investing in making a better impression was important to Andrew. “Give me a ballpark figure.” He explains when Vanya’s baffled. “How much were you thinking of charging?”

“I’m think….” Vanya blinks fast a few times. “I’m think finding out what you need will help set price.”

“Okay.” That makes sense. “What do you need to know?”

“Your work pays well?”

It’s an intrusive question that gets to the point. Jason hedges a little. “It pays enough that I’m serious about making a deal. I won’t waste your time as long as you don’t quote a silly figure. I’m coming to the end of a couple of projects right now, so I have a few days free to get this sorted.”

Vanya probes as he walks. “Will be out of work soon?”

“Only if I want to be.”

His expression shifts to doubtful. “Maybe hiring shopper isn’t best plan.”

“Do you make a habit out of talking yourself out of clients?” It’s an unexpected approach. Vanya walks backwards for a few steps so they face each other. His shrug is helpless.

“Need to understand money.”

“You mean you need to know my budget for this?”

“Budget.” Vanya shapes the word silently a few times. “Yes, budget is best clue. Help me choose best clothes shops.”

That makes sense, Jason supposes. “You want to know if I’ve got money to burn?” There’s something about Vanya’s straightforward nod that has him adding details he’d usually omit to a virtual stranger. “You don’t have to worry about blowing my budget. I have a nest egg I can tap into if I need to.”

Vanya’s utterly blank with incomprehension.

“It means I have some cash set aside for a rainy day.”

That provokes outright laughter. “Nest eggs… rainy days…. Now I’m think you joke.”

His grin is infectious; Jason finds himself explaining. “Some people might say I got lucky. I got a bequest in my twenties that helped me start my own business—my renovation consultancy.”

“Bequest?” Vanya almost backs into a puddle, saying a quiet, “Thank you,” when Jason grasps his elbows. They stand close as Vanya grumbles. “So many new words.” His huff is tinged with clear frustration. “Spend all day feeling stupid.”

“Don’t.” He’s clearly far from that. Jason’s honest when he says, “I don’t mind explaining.” It’s fascinating to watch Vanya process each new nugget of information. “A bequest is an inheritance.” Jason breaks it down even further when a line in Vanya’s brow deepens. “The woman who raised me passed away. She was like a mother to me. When she died, she left me part of her house and some cash.” Now, twenty years later, he’s not rich but he can pick and choose his projects.

“Oh.” Vanya’s face falls. “No Mama?” This time the shift in his expression describes sympathy, as does the stroke of his thumb to Jason’s bicep. The sensation lingers long after he lets go.

“She was my foster mum, but she might as well have been my real one,” Jason admits.

“Foster…?”

“It means she looked after me when my birth mum couldn’t. I stayed in lots of places until she kept me.”

“Mama gone, and no home?” Vanya’s gruff all of a sudden. “Were displaced?”

“I suppose you could say that. I don’t remember too much about places I lived with my birth mother before she left me.”

“How old?” Vanya’s face does something complex when Jason answers.

“Seven.”

His eyes widen, darkly limpid. “Foster Mama was good person.”

“She was.” The best. “I was only meant to be with her for one night, but she let me stay.”

“Forever?”

“For all the years that mattered. Her house was my first real home.”

Vanya’s wistful. “Home is always best.” He stops talking for a moment, his voice low when he continues. “Still get to visit?”

“Sometimes, when I take time off.” Truthfully, not at all since Chantel moved in. He focuses on better memories. “I used to ride. I’d go home most weekends to do that until—” He stops speaking when he realises that Vanya points at a group of men in the distance who ride bikes more suited to mountains than to central London. “No, not bicycles.” A bridle path crosses the trail. Jason touches the imprint of a horseshoe left in the mud with the toe of his work boot. “Horses.” He gestures across the park where a line of children ride placid ponies. “I used to ride a lot. Mum had a small stable and gave riding lessons.”

“Have clothes for that?”

“For riding?” Jason nods, not sure where Vanya’s going with this, like most of their conversation so far, but he finds that he doesn’t much care. It’s surprisingly easy to ignore the autumnal chill breeze and enjoy Vanya’s gentle interrogation. He even smiles when Vanya narrows his eyes and issues a demand.

“Explain so I’m understand. Why have clothes for work and for sport and for riding ponies but nothing for special date?”

“I don’t need clothes for a date.”

“Want personal shopper. I’m think must be for a very special date.” Vanya meets his gaze and holds it. “Or date with very special person?”

“I already told you, I don’t have someone special. I don’t want your help for that kind of date. I-I’m going to meet my foster brother’s fiancée, so I need to appear much smarter.”

“Fiancée cares how you dress?”

“I don’t care what she thinks.” Perhaps he speaks too sharply. Vanya’s eyebrows shoot up. Jason adds some more detail. “I don’t even know her, but playing nice is important to my brother. He thinks I should try to get on her good side.”

“Good side?”

“I have to make her like me.”

“She doesn’t like? Why?”

It’s a good question, one that’s been on his mind since Andrew’s ultimatum. “I don’t actually know what she thinks. I’m not bothered about her opinion, but it matters to my brother.”

“Don’t care because she is bitch?”

“I don’t know for sure.”

Vanya knocks his shoulder against Jason’s. “Is old bag?” He seems particularly pleased with that Briticism.

“No.” Even Jason could see that Chantel was pretty from the pictures Andrew showed him. “She’s not an old bag. She’s just really young.”

“Young is biggest problem?”

Jason’s nod is instinctive. “They can’t have anything in common. Andrew’s only a year older than me. I can’t help wondering what she sees in him.”

Vanya’s eyebrows rise a little again, but his summary is close to the truth. “Think she wants brother’s money? The house Mama left after dying?”

Jason only realises he’s stopped walking when Vanya returns to stand with him. Considering English is his second language, he’s cut to the chase succinctly. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m going to see her very soon,” he says and admits something that now sounds childish. “The last few times my brother arranged for us to meet, I… uh… I didn’t turn up.”

“In Russia, saying ‘yes’ to meeting can mean ‘maybe.’ I’m guess this is different in England.” He tilts his head. “Not turning up is very big deal?”

“It was to Andrew.”

“And he is important?”

“Yes. He’s….” How to explain while keeping it simple? “He’s my brother and my best friend.” His hand rises without permission, tracing the still-sore edge of his black eye.

Vanya’s expression turns stony. It’s a split second change from its former softness. “Brother did this?”

“It was an accident.” It really had been. “My face got in the way of his fist while we were at the gym, that’s all. It’s fine now.”

Vanya’s unconvinced. “Let me.”

Maybe it should feel weird to incline his head and wait while joggers run past, weirder still to let an almost stranger map the extent of his bruising. Instead, he closes his eyes as fingertips gently trace a slow and thorough orbit.

“Is not fine.” Vanya’s voice is a murmur, his thumb retracing the same route, this time touching his other cheekbone like he’s comparing the two. “But isn’t broken.”

“My cheekbone? Of course it isn’t.” Jason should probably step back. “Andrew wasn’t even aiming for me. He was just frustrated. It was a glancing blow, that’s all.” Watching Vanya repeat that last phrase is compelling, his lips pursing as they shape the final word blow. Yeah, he should step back right now, but Vanya’s dark gaze pins him.

“A brother would not do this.”

“He should have hit me sooner.” Honesty leaves Jason raw. “I would have hit me harder. I’ve been a dick lately, I know it, and now I need to make things right between us, even if his next wife’s awful.”

Vanya’s low-pitched hum sounds like agreement, and he nods like he’s come to a decision. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’m think about where to find better clothes,” he says with another firm nod. “Won’t be hard.”

There’s no reason in the world to smile while getting insulted. Jason covers his mouth, only dropping his hand when Vanya says, “Better clothes will be easy, but best might take a long time. Could need two appointments.” Vanya rushes his next words, staring somewhere over Jason’s shoulder rather than meeting his eye. “Will have to charge by hour. Cash only.”

At least he’s prepared for this part. Jason pulls his wallet from his back pocket and flips it open. Bankcards nestle in their slots next to a wad of crisp twenties. “How much for this…?” Consultation seems the wrong word for a pleasant stroll and the longest non-work-related conversation he’s had in forever.

Vanya leans close, his eyes on Jason’s wallet and his hand extended before he recoils. He backs up, glancing around as if someone might be watching. “Need time to think about price.”

“Text me a quote.” Jason slides his wallet back into his pocket. “We’ll negotiate.” As long as Vanya pitches a cost lower than those websites, there’s no need to waste time haggling. “When do you want to get started?”

“Need to think first. Think much faster after eating.” Vanya turns back the way they came, and his expression switches from awkward to sweetly hopeful. “Last one to café buys sandwich?”

When Vanya takes off running, Jason doesn’t even try to keep up.