Chapter Three
Matt woke sometime after eight, yawning and glancing at his phone. There was a text from his buddy Sam about joining him and his partner Drew for dinner, and an email from his mom confirming plans for the holidays. It was only after he’d answered both of those that he remembered he wasn’t alone in the apartment.
Getting out of bed, he went to the bathroom, then out into the living room. Jasper was up, the sofa returned to its normal state with the linen, and Matt’s sweater, folded neatly next to it.
“Morning. You’re an early riser, huh?”
“The shelter serves breakfast at eight and then it's out for the day until dinnertime,” Jasper replied, hiding a yawn behind his hand.
“Did you sleep alright? I hope the sofa bed wasn’t too uncomfortable.”
“It was fine,” Jasper replied, looking a little sheepish. “I just don’t sleep so well in new places. Or without a lock on the door.” He looked up at Matt just after he spoke. “I didn’t mean anything—”
“It’s fine.” Matt waved that off. “I’ve heard plenty about what those shelters are like. I imagine sleeping with one eye open is a hard habit to shift.”
Jasper stood. “I should get going. I have to get to work later.”
“Work?” Matt tried to temper his surprise. Just because Jasper lived in a homeless shelter didn’t mean he couldn’t have a job.
“Yeah, I work at a shop connected to the church that runs the shelter. They sell books, candles, religious icons, that sort of stuff. It’s only a few hours a week, and it doesn’t pay a lot, but it's something.”
“What time does your shift start?”
“Eleven.”
“That’s hours away. Stay and have breakfast.”
He stepped into the kitchen space. “Do you like French toast?”
When he got no answer, he turned back to find Jasper still hovering by the sofa, looking uncertain.
“There’s no charge for breakfast, either,” Matt said with a grin. Jasper looked away with an embarrassed smile.
“So. French toast?” Matt asked again, pulling the ingredients out.
“I’ll eat anything,” Jasper replied.
“Yeah, but do you like it? Because I could make scrambled eggs or pancakes or waffles.”
When he looked around again, Jasper had moved closer. “I’ve never had it.”
“Oh. Well, it’s eggy bread. Bread, dipped in a mixture of egg, milk, with cinnamon or vanilla, and fried. It’s really good. You’ll try some?”
Jasper nodded. “Can I watch while you make it?”
“Sure, do you do much cooking?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Never lived in a place with a kitchen I was allowed to use.”
Matt wasn’t sure what to say to that. “You’ve never cooked a meal? As a kid maybe?”
“I made toast once or twice. I ate a lot of cereal.”
He seemed very interested as Matt gathered the rest of the ingredients.
“Do you want to help?”
“I don’t want to get in the way. Or slow you down.”
“You won’t. Besides, I’ve nowhere to be today.”
“You’re not working?”
“Nope. Off today. Here,” he handed Jasper a bowl, “can you crack the eggs into that? Do four.”
He’d make enough to feed Jasper twice over. If his appetite from the previous night was anything to go by, he’d devour it.
Jasper glanced around the counter before cautiously opening the egg carton as if unsure what he’d find in there. He picked up an egg and held it over the bowl. “How do I…”
“Here, I’ll show you the first time and then you can have a go.”
Jasper watched closely as Matt tapped the egg against the side of the bowl until a crack formed in it, then he neatly pried it apart, emptying the contents into the bowl.
“The trick is not to hit too hard and not to crush the shell or you’ll end up with pieces mixed in with your egg. Oh, and to make sure to keep the egg over the bowl otherwise it goes everywhere.”
Jasper picked up a second egg, tapping it gently against the bowl. Nothing happened.
“A little harder than that.”
He got it on his fourth try, prying the shell apart and getting most of the egg into the bowl and a generous amount on his fingers.
“Raw egg carries salmonella, a bacterium that doesn’t play nicely with the human digestive system, so don’t stick your fingers near your mouth and wash your hands to get the egg off once you’ve finished.”
“What would happen if I ate raw egg?”
“Best case scenario, nothing. Worst case, think bad food poisoning, ending up in hospital, all that jazz.”
Jasper made a face as he carefully prised apart the third egg. After the fourth, he diligently scrubbed his hands clean and dried them.
Matt was busy cutting slices of bread. He’d bought a brioche loaf specially to make French toast, knowing it would be a real treat and glad to have someone to share it with.
“Now we add some milk. About a cup.” He liberally poured the milk into the bowl. “Then some extras. Cinnamon goes nicely. Vanilla, too. Some people like nutmeg but I’m not a big fan.”
He showed Jasper the flavorings as he added them, noting how closely Jasper peered at the labels.
“Here, take this spoon and stir it until it’s all mixed together.”
While Jasper did that, Matt put the pan on the hob, putting some butter on in lieu of oil and waiting for it to heat.
“The next part is my favorite,” he said. “Take a piece of bread.” He pushed the plate of bread within reach and Jasper picked one up. “Dip it into the bowl, let it soak up all that eggy goodness.”
Jasper tentatively let the bread sink into the bowl, watching Matt carefully as if to reassure himself he was doing it right. “Now turn it over and do the other side. Good. And now set in on the pan. Careful, it’s hot.”
Within a few minutes, they had two pieces of French toast sizzling away. “We want it golden brown and not burned,” Matt added, turning the pieces over to show him.
He watched the pan while directing Jasper to set the table and put out the rest of what they’d need for the meal. In no time at all, they were sitting at the table with a stack of toast, fruit compote, maple syrup, and freshly brewed coffee.
“Dig in,” Matt said but Jasper didn’t move to take any until Matt did. Matt led by example, taking a slice, and pouring some fruit and syrup on top before digging in with his knife and fork.
Jasper was more careful with his, and Matt was almost halfway through his first slice before he took a bite. Matt was mesmerized by the expression on Jasper’s face as the taste hit his tongue. His eyes lit up, his lips curling up into a smile before he licked a trace of fruit juice from his lips.
“Good, huh?” Matt asked.
“It’s… what’s better than delicious?”
“Scrumptious,” Matt suggested.
“Scrumptious,” he repeated as if testing how the word rolled off his tongue. “I feel like, if I died right now, I’d die happy,” he added with a sigh as he took another bite.
Matt enjoyed watching him eat more than he enjoyed the eating itself. Watching Jasper’s tongue slide across his lips to catch any runaway syrup and juice, watching the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. And then there were the sounds he made. Sighs and moans that went right from Matt’s ears to his groin. He took a long swallow of coffee and tried to get a hold of himself.
Jasper was almost sad when his stomach started to protest its fullness. There were still slices of toast within reach, even though he’d eaten four already. Matt had stopped at three. Maybe he should have too, but the other man encouraged him to take more if he wanted it. It was just so good, sinfully good, like that time he’d had ice-cream with chocolate sauce or when Betty had brought homemade brownies into the shop. How could something so delicious be considered a breakfast?
The last few bites were a struggle, his stomach insisting it had enough food for now. He looked at the plate then up at Matt. The other man wouldn’t think him rude for stopping, would he?
“Full?” Matt asked.
“Yeah, thanks. That was amazing.” He felt almost sad to be leaving the rest uneaten. In a few hours’ time, when he was hungry again, he’d regret it.
“I’ll pack the rest up and you can take it with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely, I made extra just for that reason. You’ll be hungry later on.”
“Thanks. And thanks again for last night.”
“Don’t mention it, I’m glad I was able to help. So what will you do now?”
“I’ll try to get back into my room at the shelter and get my stuff if it’s still there. Then go to work. And after work see if I can get a bed somewhere else.”
“What happens if you can’t?”
“I’ll be okay. I’ll talk to the church, they might be able to help find me somewhere.”
Matt nodded at that, but didn’t seem too happy.
“You should try the police again. The hospital can give you a report about your injuries.”
“I lied to the doctor about how it happened.” He felt bad about that. Lying wasn’t in his nature. But the truth had a way of causing hassle that lying would avoid.
“That doesn’t matter. Your injuries are still on record. Think about it, okay?”
“Okay.” He still didn’t believe it would help. Once they heard St. Jon’s shelter, they lost interest.
Together they did the washing up, Matt washing the dishes while Jasper dried them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done dishes. The shelter had one of those industrial dishwashers and they weren’t allowed anywhere near it, just like they weren’t allowed near the kitchens. He enjoyed the activity. For all that it might be boring and tedious, there was a simplicity to it and a shared sense of accomplishment as each newly clean dish found its way back to where it belonged.
Father Martin had often spoken of moments like those. Moments where the body did work that helped the mind contemplate. He said it was a meditation of sorts, even a sort of contemplative prayer, no matter what you were thinking about. Which was good, because other than thinking about the dishes, he was thinking about Matt. Or more specifically, about Matt’s broad shoulders, and his strong hands.
He watched those hands as they disappeared under the soapy water, doing battle with dishes both easy and stubborn. Those same hands had found his shoulders, had pressed against them, a steady weight that had halted Jasper’s attempts to escape the hospital. And mere weeks later, those same hands had wrapped him up in a warm coat and hat, had settled around him, holding him tight, giving him such a sense of security that it was nothing for Jasper to give in to it, to sink into that embrace, that sense of peace.
After the dishes were done, and the kitchen set to rights, he went into the bathroom to wash his hands.
“I should be going,” he called to Matt as he came out, the other man nowhere to be seen.
“Just a minute,” Matt called. He came out of his room a few minutes later, holding a small bundle of clothing in his hands. “Just an old jacket of mine, a scarf, some gloves and a hat. They’ll be a little big but they’ll keep you warm. Can’t send you out in that,” he added, gesturing to Jasper’s T-shirt.
Jasper reached for the coat and went to put it on. “Hold on, that first,” Matt said gesturing to the sweater still folded on the sofa. “You need to layer up.”
“That’s yours,” Jasper said softly. “Your favorite.”
“You can borrow it. I’ve plenty of sweaters, I won’t go without.” Matt picked it up and held it out.
Jasper took it, slipping it over his head and tugging it down. It felt so soft on his skin, and so warm. Still, he felt it was too much to take and vowed to get it back to Matt as soon as he could.
The coat went on next and Matt stepped right up to him, helping to fix the twisted collar. Then he wound the scarf around Jasper’s neck, tucking it under the coat. The hat was last, pulled gently onto his head with those hands that Jasper couldn’t get enough of.
“There,” Matt said, settling his hands down on Jasper’s shoulders. “That’s much better. I didn’t want to find you a frozen icicle outside the door the next time I left the apartment. How does it feel?”
“Warm. Nice. I’ll bring them back as soon as I get my own stuff.”
“Don’t sweat it, Jas. Like I said, they were spares. I won’t miss them.”
His hands squeezed Jasper’s shoulders at the word ‘miss’ and he got the sense Matt was telling him something but he wasn’t sure what.
“You’ll miss the sweater,” he pointed out softly.
A smile lit up Matt’s face, and he leaned closer to whisper in Jasper’s ear. “Keep it warm for me.”
Jasper shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the way Matt’s voice rolled over him. Deep and full of promise.