The morning was awkward, albeit not as much as Morgan had anticipated; they’d managed to get a few hours’ sleep in and had found things to talk about other than ships or senile parents over breakfast. But there’d been something—a sense of being tongue-tied—hanging in the air between them. Dominic, as he’d left, had deliberately stroked the ballast stone as they’d gone down the path, like a lover’s last caress. They hadn’t even shared a hug, waking on different settees and not really getting any closer all morning.
“Have a safe flight. Ring me when you get home.” Morgan smiled brightly as they reached Dominic’s car, forcing back his guilt and confusion. He’d know, when that call came, whether it would generate longing and desire, or just the hope that Dominic would forget about him and that bloody ship. Maybe the bloke wouldn’t ring at all, too disturbed by the revelations of the night before.
“I’ll do that. Thanks for taking care of me so well.” Dominic fiddled with his car keys, although he seemed reluctant to get going. The “is there going to be another time?” moment had arrived, and neither of them seemed sure how to approach it.
“Are you planning to come back to carry on your research?” That was a safe enough question.
“Planning to, yes. I have to find out more about John Lawson, set things straight. I can use the time in between to work out how and where I’m going to find what I need.” Dominic’s smile leavened another uncomfortable lump of a pause, although there was still no mention of Can I treat you to a proper dinner instead of fish and chips?
“I was . . .” they both said in unison, then laughed, nervously.
“Go on, you first,” Morgan said.
“I was going to propose . . .” Dominic’s suggestion got nipped in the bud, as Morgan’s mobile went off in his pocket. “You answer that—I need to get away. I’ll ring later, I promise.”
“Yeah.” Morgan fished out the phone. “Now get a move on before I lose a client.”
Dominic slapped him on the shoulder—maybe that was in lieu of a hug—and got himself into the car just as Morgan went through the whole “Hello, Cadoc Design” routine. Morgan watched through the open door, only half a mind on his customer, as the hire car pulled out onto the road, and his guest disappeared from sight. Would it be safer if that were the last view he ever had of him?
He finished the call, then got to work on his sadly neglected email inbox, trying to ignore the question of what to do about Dominic. The sound of his mobile insistently announcing the arrival of a message got initially ignored, Morgan habitually avoiding reading texts while he was working, but once bitten was twice shy. He checked the message. Nothing to do with his mum, this time, but the other problem. Dominic. The bloke must have got his phone out to text almost as soon as he’d arrived at the terminal building.
Dominic: Didn’t finish my sentence earlier. Wanted to offer to buy you a proper meal next time. Still owe you. Don’t feel you have to say yes. I’ll be down here anyway, chasing midshipmen. Dom.
The words leaped off the screen and into Morgan’s ears, in Dominic’s distinctive, shy tones. He hadn’t the heart to turn the bloke down.
Morgan: Sounds good to me. What about the next bank holiday? His fingers hovered over the keys, then seemed to take on a life, and mind, of their own. There’s always room for you at the house. Don’t feel obliged to take up the offer. Bloody English reserve—were they always going to be pussyfooting around things? He got his head down over his inbox before any answer could come, ignoring the inevitable text tone until he had dealt with some more of his incoming post.
Dominic: Late May might work. Have to check no parental three-line whip on for that weekend. Would love to stay again, if that’s okay. Do say if you have second thoughts. I’d understand. Don’t want to cause any more nightmares. Dom. X.
The sudden appearance of the kiss made Morgan smile. What a pair of pillocks they were. He decided to read the second message before replying to the first.
Dominic: You can’t tell me off in person for saying sorry so . . . sorry if I flushed out elephants again. Won’t mention the dreams if you don’t want me to. Dom. X.
There were the get-out clauses, if he needed them. Dominic seemed content to come back here and play at finding two-hundred-year-old midshipmen, while sharing the benefits of a double bed. Or not, if that’s how things panned out. If he was worrying that Morgan was losing his marbles or agonising over the fact that their falling into bed was a mistake, he wasn’t showing it.
Morgan stared out of the window, unseeing.
“Do you want to go out with him?” Well, that, to coin a phrase, was the question.
He liked Dominic, liked him a lot. The bloke was good company and sympathetic, so what wasn’t to like? Last night had been cracking in the bed department, and cathartic in the heart-to-heart section. So why had they been so bloody awkward with each other this morning and why was the thought of seeing him the next bank holiday tinged with a pint or two of dread?
Morgan left it as long as was decent before answering—about two cups of coffee and a batch of washing—and then he kept his answer light and noncommittal.
Morgan: Sorry for delay in reply. Was being domestic. Let me know when you have arrangements for the bank holiday sorted. Speak soon.
That would have to do until he got his head screwed on right. Any hopes that maybe Dominic would stall on his answer were soon blown out of the water.
Dominic: Will do. Just landed. Now for the fun and games with the baggage carousel. Have had some ideas about getting gen on Lawson. I’ll expand anon.
Morgan groaned. Was this the way the next three weeks would go, texts flying the breadth of England every five minutes? That’s how it had been with James, the first few days, but this didn’t feel like those mad early stages of a fledgling romance; it felt as though they’d actually known each other for years and somehow the first signs of autumn frost had tinged their relationship’s blossoms.
The pragmatic approach would be to defer his replies, be friendly but not “in your face,” keeping things simmering but strictly on the back burner, then wait to see if the great healer—time—would also bring a dose of wisdom.
It didn’t, at least in the short term. Dominic’s phone call came three days later, with apologies, naturally, for the delay in getting in touch. Yes, he was free of commitments for the bank holiday, no his family didn’t mind him jetting off again.
“To be honest, my mother seems pleased I’ve got myself . . .” there was a short, telling pause, “a sympathetic ear for the ship stuff.”
“Look . . . Dominic . . .” Morgan hated talking over the phone—there was something about not seeing the other person’s eyes which meant you could never really get across what you were trying to say. Almost as bad as exchanging texts.
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s all right. I mean, if you only want us to be friends.” He sounded like he was disappointed but trying to put on a brave face. That was horribly poignant.
“Truth is, I’m confused, mate. Monday night was great, all of it, even the dreams. You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to about them. You have no idea how good that made me feel.”
“It made me feel good too.” There was a pause, as though Dominic was weighing up how much of his heart to heave into his mouth. “Is this about Tuesday morning?”
Morgan gasped, which must have echoed down the phone. “I’ve always said you were a mind reader. Yes, it is. Where did the big dose of awkward come from?”
“Ah. That would be me, I think. Sorry.”
“You’re banned from using that word, remember?”
“Well, how am I to apologise, then? I’ve been worrying I’ve made the situation difficult for you. You were at a low ebb, because of the dreams and everything, and I’ve a feeling I forced your arm. Don’t often get any really nice guys responding to me and I took my chance.” Dominic’s sigh rattled the phone. “If your confusion means you’ve had second thoughts about wanting to be involved with me, tell me now and put me out of my misery. I can handle us being friends.”
“You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I was worried things were the other way round. Or something.” That something would have to cover all the other whirling thoughts. “Keep in touch, eh? And then, when you come down here, we’ll see how we feel.”
“That works for me. As long as you remember I’m not good with relationships. Don’t particularly understand what I have to do.”
“Just be yourself.”
While they were at it, maybe Morgan could work out what being himself meant. And if that involved a descent like his mother had endured.