“I talk to customers at work. That’s enough sometimes. Listening to their problems and trying to solve them can be difficult. And like I said, I game. Usually online, so I talk to people then.”
His shoulders had dropped, no longer up around his ears, and he’d folded his legs beneath him. I hoped that meant he was more comfortable with me being here.
“And you live here alone?”
“Yep. I should go check on the dinner.” He swept out the door, leaving me to look around the room. There were photos of what I assumed were his parents, an elderly lady, and a photograph of a small boy enveloped in the arms of a woman. Her smile was bright, as was the boy’s. There was no mistaking Harvey.
His eyes were the same, but without the heaviness they conveyed now. Death and grief had taken a toll on him, that was clear but then losing your loved ones in such a short space of time, of course it would.
I still carried the grief of my brother’s death, although I’d tried to hide it with drugs, alcohol, and sex. If I was high, I sensed nothing, but as soon as I came down, the feelings of loss, the bone-deep ache of no longer having my brother around, would tighten the hold on my heart until I was sure it would fracture.
And now? Without that barrier, memories long buried invaded my dreams to the point of exhaustion. The temptation to go back to how I was was an ongoing struggle. Maybe Harvey was the distraction I needed.
“Killian? Dinner’s ready.”
I hurried into the kitchen to see him struggling to get the pie out of the oven. I dashed over to give him a hand, completely forgetting the dish would be scalding hot.
“Ow, fuck.” I jumped backwards and fell on my arse. I shook my hand out and looked at it. A blister had already formed.
“Jesus. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Harvey looked at me with wide eyes, then covered his face with his hands, the pie now safe on the work surface.
“It’s grand,” I said and winced as I held my hand under the ice-cold water from the tap. It did nothing to stop the burning sensation. The blister might only be small, but it fucking hurt.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologising, Harvey. It was all my fault. How about you dish up, and I’ll join you in a minute.” The frigid water hurt more than the burn, but the moment I removed it from the water, it stung like a bitch.
He didn’t move and stood off to the side, his arms in front of him. He nibbled on a nail, concern on his face. “I knew something would go wrong. I shouldn’t have said yes.”
“Harvey. Just breathe through it. I’m fine, and it wasn’t anything you did. Please, let me see to this, and we can eat as we planned.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure, and I’m starving.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
I watched as he set the plates out and scooped a serving of bubbling shepherd’s pie from the dish. No wonder it had burnt me. He served up the vegetables and carried them into another room.
I followed him into a dining room where a table for two was set. Not an intimate setting. Two sets of cutlery, a jug of water, and two glasses.
“This looks great, Harvey.” Despite his objections, he had tried to make it look good.
“Does it? I’ve never entertained anyone before. I couldn’t even find a tablecloth.”
“You wouldn’t find one in my place either. I don’t even have a table.”
“Really?”
“Really. This smells amazing.” And it was.
We barely spoke throughout the meal. My finger stung, and I could barely hold my fork, but eventually, we were done.
“I’ve not had a home-cooked meal for… actually, I can’t remember.” I sat back in my chair and patted my stomach. “That was so fucking good, but you’ve barely touched yours.”
He’d made a good show of pushing his food around the plate, but he’d hardly eaten anything.
“I don’t eat much, and I was saving myself for dessert. Sticky toffee pudding okay?”