Akash

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DRINKING WINE IN HIS kitchen might not be a new thing, but having someone else cook for him certainly was. Akash took a sip of the sweet white wine and peered toward the pot on the hob. Hamish had handed him a tin of tea before turning his entire attention toward the meal.

Akash didn’t mind the quiet. The afternoon had been far too chaotic for him. He hoped with the twins finally finding the courage to speak to the police that the dramatics with their stepfather would be over for good.

He’d keep his fingers crossed.

They’d scrounged around in the cupboards to find the ingredients for the dish Hamish wanted to make. It appeared they’d be having some sort of pasta. Akash happily allowed his stress to drift away in the warmth of his kitchen and the mellow wine.

Akash had discovered many years ago that he could learn a great deal from observing someone working with food. Hamish obviously enjoyed being organised and in control—if his concise mise en place meant anything at all. Military life had apparently left an impression on the man.

“You don’t look even an eighth Italian.” Akash had spent twenty minutes blatantly staring at the incredibly attractive man with his angular jaw covered in rough stubble, dark blue eyes almost hidden by his brow furrowed in concentration, and his greying blond hair. “Any reason you picked pasta?”

“A lazy lad’s meal.” Hamish grinned at him before reaching out to snag Akash’s wine glass to steal a sip. “I did a tour overseas with a couple of Italians. They could make miracles happen with next to nothing for ingredients. I picked up a few tricks from them.”

Akash narrowed his eyes on the man. “Ten quid says you googled a recipe on your mobile while I was in the loo.”

Hamish took another drink before handing the glass back to him. “Found it online a couple of days ago.”

“And you still remember it?”

“Eidetic memory.” Hamish shrugged indifferently.

“Really?” Akash paused in pouring refills for both of them. “You’ve got a photographic memory?”

“Don’t tell Wyatt. He’s never figured out how I always fill out reports so quickly.” Hamish’s smile turned almost wolfish, and Akash felt weak in the knees—again. “Bit of a curse, at times.”

“I’d give anything to never forget things. I’ve the worst memory in the world.” Akash frequently left notes for himself and then lost them. “It’d be brilliant.”

Hamish looked right through him, seeming miles away in thought. “No, you wouldn’t want it. Never being able to forget an embarrassing moment? Or the worst time of your life?”

He paused to consider what it might be like to remember every single minute of each day. “Shit. I’d become a recluse.”

“I’ve considered it.”

Akash set the now full glass on the counter, just out of the way of the carefully arranged ingredients. “Why choose to join the military knowing you can never forget anything? I’d think you’d pick a safe career to avoid traumatising yourself.”

Hamish tossed a few ingredients into the pan, stirring it before answering. “Family history.”

“Your family served?”

“Not quite.” Hamish made quick work of finishing up whatever the pasta was. “An uncle—my favourite one—died in a hijacking in the eighties. I watched on the telly while soldiers tried to rescue him. I decided I wanted to be one of them when I grew up.”

“Most kids forget.”

“I couldn’t.” Hamish tapped his nose with his finger. “How about you? Did you always want to make magic with dough?”

“Yes. No. Maybe?” Akash chugged down half his glass of wine. “It’s a loaded question.”

“Oh?” Hamish gestured to the simmering sauce. “I’ve got time.”

“Family history.” Akash tapped his fingers against the rim of the glass for a few seconds. “Bakers run in the family. Not amongst the men, mind you. My father served in the military, as did his father and his grandfather. On my mother’s side, they were all doctors or teachers going back generations.”

“Not you?”

“Not me.” Akash ran his fingers through his wavy black hair. “I had to be different.”

“Nothing wrong with different.” Hamish dipped a spoon into the sauce and held it out carefully toward him. “Want a taste?”

Akash bent forward to get a taste. He had to lick the sauce off his lips when it dripped from the spoon, smiling when Hamish immediately twisted away from him. Like what you see, Mr. Marine? “Not sure I believe you only found this recipe a few days ago.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of their supper to come together. Akash ran up two plates to the twins, only to find them asleep on his couch. He retreated quietly to the bakery’s kitchen and found Hamish had already set up two chairs around one of the work tables.

They traded stories over their simple pasta dinner. Akash half expected the man to make a move—or to make one himself—but the evening had been too easy, too comfortable for it; they’d simply enjoyed the shared meal.

A sharp contrast to what Akash imagined a first date with Scottie might entail. The former rugby player had texted him four times since the night he’d stopped by uninvited, having stolen his number out of BC’s phone. The persistence concerned him; he had no interest in having his life turned upside down by a stalker.

Making a mental note to apologise to his sisters for not taking their complaints about similar behaviour from other men more seriously, Akash had sent a text of his own earlier to Tens and Caddock. He knew them the best out of the rugby players involved with the Sin Bin. They’d sort out their mate, or he’d do it for them.

“Thanks for the tea.” Akash gestured toward the tin sitting on the nearby shelf. “Do you know how bloody hard it is to get that particular type of tea? It’s perfect for making biscuits.”

“Right.” Hamish was staring at him. He nodded absently, but didn’t actually appear to have heard him.

“Something wrong?”

Standing abruptly, Hamish strode around the table to grab Akash by the shirt. He dragged him up out of his chair, causing him to stumble forward. Akash could only blink at the slightly taller man in confusion, until those wonderfully rough fingers dug into his hair and yanked him up into a kiss.

Akash surrendered to it briefly before bringing his arm up to separate their lips—and bodies—when Hamish’s fingers drifted down the front of his shirt. “We’re not doing this in my kitchen. Not yet. Well, not in the bakery kitchen, ever. Health inspectors would have a fit.”

Hamish brushed his knuckles across the bulge in Akash’s trousers. “Later, then?”

“Later when we’re somewhere else and there aren’t two nosy brats peeking through the door.” Akash pointed toward the barely visible twins, who were once again eavesdropping on them. “Off with you both. I left you dinner on the table upstairs.”

While the rest of the meal went well, the passionate moment had definitely passed them by. Hamish stayed for another hour, helping to wash up the dishes. They exchanged several heated kisses, until Akash had to quite literally shove the man out the door.

He sank back against the frame of the still open door to catch his breath after seeing Hamish off. “Well, bugger me.”

“He fucking wants to.”

Akash groaned when he spotted Scottie sitting on his motorcycle nearby. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

Scottie surged forward only to wind up on the ground, having stumbled over his bike. “Why the fuck won’t you even give me a chance? Not asking for more than a date.”

Akash couldn’t help laughing at the idiot. “You’re angry—all the time. You’re a complete arsehole to everyone. Nothing about you says you’re ready to date, let alone even contemplate a relationship.”

“Fuck you.”

Akash merely lifted his eyebrows at him. “No. Also, thank you for so eloquently proving my point. If you’re so bloody tired of being alone, Scott, perhaps you might consider dealing with whatever has you so furious. You never know, it could help you keep some of your friendships before you lose them entirely.”

“I—”

“I’ve dealt with enough angry arseholes for one day. Get yourself sorted or I’ll report you.” Akash stormed into his bakery and slammed the door behind him. “Wanker.”