Chapter ten
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. It’s not even Thursday.”
Oliver looked up at Deano as they walked the extremely short journey down the high street to the pub. “What’s Thursday got to do with it?” Deano looked at him as if he’d just asked him to quote the square root of pi to the nearest number. “What? Seriously, what the hell does Thursday have to do with anything?”
“I only go in the pub on a Thursday.”
“No, you don’t,” Oliver scoffed.
“Yes I do,” Deano countered indignantly.
“You were in the pub when I arrived,” Oliver said, steering him across the high street. “On a Sunday.”
“Oh, yeah.” Deano frowned for a moment then stopped in the middle of the road. “Wait a minute; that was a special occasion. I was doing some fencing work for Maggie and she insisted on feeding me ‘cause I wouldn’t charge her.” He looked down at Oliver, a smug expression on his face. “See, if you’d hit Hugo on any other Sunday, I wouldn’t have been there.”
Oliver stared at him and shook his head in disbelief. “What?” He reached up and cupped Deano’s face in his hands. “You’re rambling, Farmer Wells. Focus. You have known these people, if not most of your life, most of theirs. We’re just having a drink and something to eat.”
“As a couple.”
“Yes, as a couple. I told you, it’s chapter one in your What To Do With Your Boyfriend handbook, you have to take me out at least three times a week.” Oliver pulled Deano’s head down and kissed him, hard and fast. “This is not Fifty Shades of Shite and you can’t keep me chained up in the basement.” Oliver kissed him again and Deano pulled him into his arms, moulding Oliver’s body to his.
Oliver melted against him. They’d been practically inseparable since Friday. He’d managed to put Becky off for another week, not going into detail, but assuring her he would be extremely busy getting laid this weekend so she’d just have to wait a few more days before she stuck her nose in his business. Of course, the fact that, if she waited a little longer, there would be more of his business for her to actually stick her nose in seemed to go a long way to mollifying her.
They’d spent most of the weekend in bed and had seen each other every night this week after surgery ended, with Oliver going to the farm, or Deano sneaking into the cottage. Tonight, however, was Friday again and Micah had invited Oliver to join him and the others for dinner at the pub. Jason apparently had a rare night off and had insisted Tom take him out for one of Rich’s surf ‘n’ turf platters. Deano hadn’t been keen, but he’d been even less keen on spending an evening apart, so he’d reluctantly agreed. Especially after Oliver said he would make it up to him and had then gone on to describe exactly how.
Deano ended the kiss and Oliver grinned. “See, if you can make out with me in the street, walking into the pub will be a piece of cake.” He laughed out loud when Deano immediately looked around to see if they’d been spotted. “Come on, Clumsy Bear. You’re buying.”
Oliver slipped his hand into Deano’s and firmly gripped his fingers as they continued towards the Thatcher’s. He understood his trepidation, of course he did. They’d had a long conversation last night where Deano had given him a list of reasons why they wouldn’t work. He was too old for him, he wouldn’t fit in, he was just a farmer, would live and die here in Little Mowbury, was too set in his ways—every single one of which Oliver had debunked heatedly. He refused to let Deano’s insecurities ruin anything before it even had a chance to begin.
Yes, he knew it sounded like a corny line from a bad romance novel, but when he was with Deano everything felt… right. As though he were exactly where he should be. Of course they were nuts. They’d only known each other a month for God’s sake. But maybe, just maybe, Becky finding that advert hadn’t been a fluke. His mother was a firm believer in fate, destiny and all that shit. Everything Oliver had scoffed at. Although, right now, he was beginning to think she wasn’t so far off the mark.
“You ready?” Oliver asked as they reached the door.
“No.”
“Excellent, on you go.”
Oliver pushed open the door and nudged Deano over the threshold and into the public bar. He snorted as all heads turned to look at them when the bell above the door indicated their arrival. Even Doris and her cronies were in tonight.
Poor Dean.
After what seemed an eternity, but was probably less than thirty seconds, Tom waved at them from the bar where Maggie was serving him.
“Ollie! Deano! Over here!”
“Just smile, babe,” Oliver murmured and tried not to laugh at the slightly disturbing twist of Deano’s lips. “A little more natural and a little less serial killer,” he added as he propelled Deano towards Tom.
“You’re so dead,” Deano mumbled back through gritted teeth.
“I know. But can I fuck you into the mattress first?”
Deano shot him a horrified glare. “Shut up. I do not want to walk past Doris and the rest of the WI with a hard on.” They reached the bar and Oliver gave Tom a quick hug.
“What’re you having?” Tom asked, indicating the array of pumps.
“Pint of Stella for me, please,” Oliver replied and nudged Deano for his response.
“Um, pint of bitter, thanks Tom.”
“No problem.” Tom turned back to Maggie and added their drinks to his order. “Pint of Stella and a pint of bitter, please, Mags.” His gaze flitted between them as they waited and he rubbed his hands together. “I hope you two are ready to fill your boots tonight. You’d think Jason had been on a hunger strike the way he’s banging on about this surf ‘n’ turf. And I’ve given him strict instructions that he’s here to eat, not to work. Which also means he’s not allowed to discuss work either.”
“Ha,” Oliver shot back. “You can talk.” He smiled up at Deano. “We’re usually sat down for about five minutes before Tom and Micah start telling us horror stories about the painful labours they’ve witnessed.”
“I’ve witnessed a few myself,” Deano said as he took the pint Tom handed him. “But I’m bettin’ the mothers I deal with are a bit quieter than yours.”
Tom laughed out loud. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It must be nice to have a patient who makes neigh noise.” He looked from one to the other. “Get it? Neigh noise? ‘Cause they’re horses? Aww, come on, admit it, it was good.”
“Neigh it really wasn’t,” Deano deadpanned much to Tom’s amusement; who slapped Deano on the shoulder and steered him towards the restaurant side of the pub, leaving Oliver staring after them, open-mouthed.
“Don’t forget your drinks,” Maggie said, nodding to the tray of glasses on the bar. Oliver moved to pick it up and started when Maggie put her hand on his arm, stilling his movement. He looked at her and she stared at him from beneath lowered lashes for a moment then said, “I’ll be wanting details.”
“Like you don’t know them already.” Oliver tipped her a wink and picked up the tray.
“Didn’t say I don’t,” she quipped. “But it’s nice to get them straight from the horse’s mouth every once in a while.”
Oliver laughed and headed into the restaurant after Tom and Deano. By the time he’d worked his way through a group of tourists waiting to be seated, Deano was firmly ensconced at the table between Micah and Jason, who appeared to be carrying out their own interrogation.
He put the tray down on the table and took the empty chair opposite Deano in between Harry and Tom. Shooting Deano a sympathetic smile he said, “Do you want a bare light bulb or will the torch on my phone do?”
“Huh?” Jason said eloquently.
“To shine in his eyes.”
“Oh.” Jason smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Deano.”
“It’s okay,” Deano replied, nudging Micah with his elbow. “I’ve known this one since he was in nappies, so I wasn’t expecting this evening to be silent.”
“Charmin’,” Micah said, mock-affronted.
“Is it true?”
Micah nudged Deano back. “Of course it’s true, but that’s not the point.” He shot Oliver a haughty look. “As your friend, I am entitled to ask Deano what his intentions are and vice versa.” He leaned across the table towards Oliver. “So?”
“So what?” Oliver replied.
“What are your intentions?”
Oliver’s gaze met Deano’s and he shrugged. “I intend to do wonderfully dirty things to him for the foreseeable future. If he can handle it.”
“Well?” Micah leaned back in his chair and looked pointedly at Deano. “Can you handle it?”
“Oh yeah.” Deano practically growled the words and Oliver snaked his tongue out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. “I can handle all of it.”
God, that’s so fuckin’ hot.
“God, that’s so fuckin’ hot!”
For a moment Oliver thought he’d said it out loud, but he hadn’t. It was Tom. Who received a scrunched up napkin in his face from Jason opposite him for the dreamy look on his face as he stared at Deano. “What?” he complained as he tossed the napkin back. “It was hot.”
“We know that, dickhead.” Harry shook his head in despair. “But you’re supposed to think it, not say it. You’ll never get laid again.”
“Yeah, right.” Tom guffawed at Harry’s tease until he saw the look on Jason’s face. “Wait, I will, won’t I?”
Jason obviously couldn’t keep a straight face, ‘cause his stern expression crumpled and he burst out laughing and said, “As long as you keep your eyes in your head and your tongue rolled up, you’ll be fine.”
“Right,” Micah suddenly declared. “Now we’ve got the grilling out of the way, let’s order. I’m famished. Scaring boyfriends really takes it out of you.”
“Yeah,” Deano said. “I’m shaking in my flip-flops.”
“Piss off,” Micah said brightly. “Do you want me to tell everyone about the hunting trip you took me on when I was twelve? You know, when my mum and your aunt told you to take good care of me, and I’m the one who ended up rescuing you when you fell down old man McAvey’s well?”
“No.” Deano’s warning was clear. “I do not.”
“Then decide what to order, Farmer Barleymow and my lips will remain sealed.”
“I wish,” Harry fake coughed into his hand and everyone laughed, even Micah.
Oliver picked up a menu and glanced at Deano over the top of it. He smiled softly and Deano returned the gesture, looking a whole lot more relaxed than he had when they’d walked in. Oliver stretched his leg out and rubbed his converse-clad foot up Deano’s calf.
“You trying to start a fire, mate?” Oliver blushed furiously at Jason’s question. “Wrong leg.” Everyone burst out laughing at Oliver’s obvious embarrassment. And their mirth only increased when Jason looked at Tom and said, “We’re even.”
Ten minutes later, Toni had taken their orders for food and Tom had headed back to the bar to refresh their drinks. The rest of them chatted amiably and Oliver was in the middle of telling them about the foaling he’d seen last week when they heard the sound of glass shattering. Oliver followed everyone else’s gaze to where Tom stood, tray in hand, apologising to one of the tourists who’d been waiting for a table. From what Oliver could tell; Tom had inadvertently bumped into him and knocked the man’s glass out of his hand with the tray. He frowned as one of the other men in the tourist’s group stood and squared up to Tom. Deano pushed back his chair, but Harry was already out of his seat and halfway across the restaurant, with Jason hot on his heels.
Oliver watched as Harry stood between the two men and indicated to Jason to take Tom and the drinks back to the table. Harry chatted to the man whose drink had been spilled, who was telling his friend to calm down, his expression calm and collected and his body language showing he meant no threat. The tourist who, if Oliver was perfectly honest, was quite cute with his shoulder length honey-blond hair and lean, wiry frame, chuckled, nodded his head and shook the hand Harry offered him. The man then raised his hand to their table and Tom graciously accepted his apology with an answering wave of his own. Although the man’s aggressive friend glared at them sullenly. The situation seemed to have been defused, so Deano pushed his chair back in and Harry turned to come back to the table. Then his friend decided he wasn’t quite finished and grabbed Harry’s arm.
Oliver saw Harry flinch and terror flicker across his face. He’d followed Harry’s father’s trial on the telly and he’d also read Harry’s medical notes. While Harry was a very calm man, understandably so, Harry didn’t deal well with physical confrontation. Micah and Deano were out of the chairs immediately, and Oliver followed them with the other two closely behind. As they drew nearer, Oliver could hear the man who Tom had bumped into, berating his friend.
“Gary, pack it in!”
Gary, however, had other ideas because he jabbed his finger into Harry’s chest. “Your dad was right, fuckin’ faggot!” he said. “Maybe I should have a go at beating it out of ya!”
Oliver’s gut tightened as all the colour ran out of Harry’s face, leaving him pale and trembling. Micah skirted around Oliver and put himself between Harry and the other man. “Get the fuck out,” Micah ground out, shielding Harry from harm.
“Aww, look Steve,” Gary sneered. “He’s got his girlfriend to stick up for him. Ain’t that nice? Do you need a slap as—?” The man’s words dried up and Oliver knew without looking that Deano had stepped into view. Gary paled and shook his head. “Look, we don’t want any trouble.” His hard London accent wobbled on the last.
“That’s a shame,” Deano drawled, holding out his hand. “’Cause trouble is what you’re gonna get if you don’t hand me that bottle and leave—now.”
Pride tingled in the pit of Oliver’s stomach. The threat was spoken softly and in a friendly enough manner, but the menacing undertone was right there. He bit back his grin when a rather shame-faced Gary put his bottle in Deano’s hand and stormed towards the door.
“I am so sorry,” Steve said, crimson to the roots of his hair, obviously mortified by the spectacle his friend had caused. “I am so, so sorry. He’s not normally like this, really, I’m so sorry.”
“Steve!”
Steve ran a hand through his hair, apologised again then headed out of the pub after his friend.
“Wow,” Jason said, blinking nervously. “If that’s the show, dinner’s gonna be fantastic!”
Everyone appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood and there were a few snickers around the restaurant, along with some gentle taps on the shoulder for Harry and harder slaps on the back for Deano as they made their way back to the table.
Later that night Oliver lay contentedly spent next to Deano in his bed, in the cottage. He ached in all the right places. Although he’d threatened to fuck Deano into the mattress at the start of the evening, it hadn’t quite worked out that way. He’d just cleaned the pair of them up and was more than happy to spend the rest of the night exactly where he was, snuggled up to the sweetest man he’d ever met.
“Thank you,” Oliver murmured, rubbing his cheek against Deano’s chest.
“For what?” Deano asked, lazily stroking circles at the base of Oliver’s spine.
“For rescuing Harry.” Oliver shuddered. “The look on his face when that bloke grabbed him. I wanted to pound the bastard.”
“I know.” Deano pressed a kiss to Oliver’s forehead. “I was there that night.”
“What night?” Oliver adjusted his position and raised himself up onto his elbow so he could look down at the man beside him.
“The night Harry’s father and those goons came for him.”
Oliver had got the gist of what happened when Harry’s father had found him in Little Mowbury from the papers, but he didn’t realise Deano had been present. “You were?”
“Yeah.” Deano stared up at the ceiling. “I was having dinner at Auntie Vi’s when Jenny put out the alarm. She’d seen some big bloke bundle Micah into Lilac Cottage so gathered the troops.” He chuckled softly. “Never mess with the members of the WI. They will seriously fuck you up.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“They burst in there without any thought for their own safety. We didn’t even realise they were armed until we were inside. Luckily Maggie wields a frying pan like no one I’ve ever seen.” He snuggled closer to Oliver. “Harry’s face was all bloody and swollen, and the way he clung to Micah. Thank God they had each other. I remember thinking at the time how good that must feel, to have somebody.”
Oliver palmed Deano’s cheek and turned his head so he had to look at him. “You don’t need to think about that anymore,” he said and pressed a gentle kiss to Deano’s lips. “You have it.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Deano reached up and brushed Oliver’s hair back from his forehead. “What the hell does a guy like you want from a guy like me, Doc?”
Oliver leaned down and, before their lips met, he murmured, “Everything.”