The Best Man: Part Two (4 page)

“I dunno…” He looks around awkwardly, at the sales assistant giving him her bland smile, to the frown on Patrick’s face. “Are you meant to do that?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “No, Noah, you wait until you’re standing before God and saying your vows before checking you’ve ordered the right size.”

“All right, smartarse,” Noah says, going faintly red.

“Here.” Patrick takes the box from Noah’s hand and opens it, retrieves the smaller ring. Then he lifts Noah’s hand in his warm, gentle grip, and he takes the ring, and he slides it on to Noah’s finger slowly, carefully.

Noah holds his breath. He daren’t look up into Patrick’s eyes.

When Patrick speaks, his voice holds a curious edge. “Looks good.”

Noah swallows, and he nods, and pulls his hand from Patrick’s grip and quickly tugs the ring off, puts it back in the box.

Very odd feeling, having Patrick be the first person to put that ring on his finger.

“What about Connor’s though?”

“You’ll have to just take the chance,” Patrick says, and then he wanders off to look at watches while Noah pays with the cheque Connor had left for him. He gives the box to Patrick once they’re outside, and he slips it into the inside pocket of his jacket, his brows drawn as if thinking something unpleasant.

“You hungry?” he asks, visibly shaking off whatever had been bothering him.

“Yeah, you wanna go to that restaurant you said?”

“No, we’re going there for dinner,” Patrick says. He looks up and down the street. “We can just get something small now.”

“But then what are we gonna do for the rest of the day?”

“This is London, Noah.” He smiles at him, eyes lighting up now. “What does everyone do when they come here?”

“See the sights?”

“See the sights. Come on,” he says, tugging on Noah’s arm. “Let’s go get a travel card.”

They buy their tickets and then stop at a small café for toasties and coffee before Patrick gets them back on the Tube again, keeps Noah protected from the crowds, and they make stops to see Buckingham Palace and The Tower of London and up onto the London Eye. Noah takes pictures everywhere, hundreds of them, tries to get Patrick in many of them but he’s a sneaky bastard and always manages to duck away. Then he surprises Noah as they reach the top of the London Eye, pulls Noah in with his arm around his shoulder, the backdrop of London behind them, takes a picture of them both on his own phone.

They go to Madame Tussauds and Noah gets Patrick to take pictures of him standing next to Britney and Beyoncé and Tom Cruise, then at a stall outside Noah buys novelty keyrings, hooks one to Patrick’s belt loop. They head back to the river as the sun falls in the sky and walk along it for thirty minutes or so, Patrick talking about the other times he’s been to London, the places he’s visited, his favourite museums, the one memorable summer he spent running a club in Soho. He tells Noah he’ll bring him back one day, take him to the places the tourists don’t know about, the hidden gems of London he’s discovered alone and with friends, make a weekend of it. Noah agrees to go, anticipation for it churning in his gut. They don’t mention Connor, and when their hands brush together as they walk, Noah’s not the only who notices, Patrick’s eyes twinkling as he looks at him.

They sit for a while on a bench in a small park, watching people pass by under the canopy of twilight. It’s more peaceful here away from the bustle of tourist traps and the air smells less like exhaust fumes, cleaner and richer with nature. Patrick’s relaxed and peaceful beside him and when Noah shivers with the cold, he shifts closer on the bench, comes close, presses his body heat into Noah’s side and asks him about Julie, and Lenny, and what his life was like before Connor.

“Shame Connor couldn’t be here today,” Noah says during a lull in conversation. He feels compelled to talk about him now, because he’s barely mentioned him all day, and there’s an element of guilt setting in to his skin.

Patrick shifts a little on the bench beside him, doesn’t speak or move away.

“I mean, not that you weren’t…” Noah adds. “I had a good time with you.”

Patrick looks at him, and he smiles, and there’s an ease to him now, his eyes open and bright, as if he’s different here, away from the flat. Less restrained. “Well it’s not over yet,” he says softly. “Time for dinner.”

He gets up, and so does Noah, stretching the aches of the day out of his back.

“This place better be amazing, the way you’re talking it up.”

“It is.” He puts a hand on the small of Noah’s back, steers him forward. “It’s so good that if you haven’t come in your pants by the time we’re through—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

They get back on the Tube, and Patrick leads him to a quiet street, and tucked away in a corner is a small, unassuming restaurant.

The food’s amazing, as Patrick promised, but it’s not holding Noah’s attention quite as much as Patrick’s face is when lit by candlelight.

“Seriously,” Patrick says, and Noah doesn’t think he’s entirely oblivious to Noah’s distraction, “try this.”

He offers his fork to Noah, pasta caught on the end of it, and Noah leans forward and takes it into his mouth and doesn’t look away from Patrick’s glowing, candlelit gaze.

They order dessert, and Patrick decides to have an espresso, and halfway through the tiramisu Noah asks, “So what is it you’re actually doing in America?”

Patrick’s in the process of pouring umpteen sugars into his tiny cup of coffee. “I took a six-month lease on a theatre in Vegas.”

“Wow,” says Noah, suitably impressed by it.

“Yeah. The lease ended just when Connor called about being his best man.” He smiles at Noah. “Perfect timing really.”

There’s a chance Noah might believe in destiny.

“Now what?” he asks.

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll make a decision after the wedding.”

Noah hesitates. “But you’re going back to America?”

“Yeah.” The look in his eyes when he gazes across at Noah now is carefully guarded. “There’s not really anything here for me.”

“There’s Connor.”

Patrick pauses, and then says, “Connor has you now.” His tone holds a curious heaviness.

It starts raining as soon as they leave the restaurant, thin and light at first, gentle enough for them to walk through it as they head back to the Tube. But it escalates to a downpour in a matter of moments and Noah pulls the collar of his coat up against it, ducks his head, feels the rain seeping through and the Tube’s not close enough for them to make it without getting drenched.

Patrick pulls him into the darkened doorway of a closed shop, pushes him into the corner and crowds in close to protect him against the rain. Always protecting him.

Noah looks up at him. There’s a tiny raindrop clinging to his eyelashes, and his hair’s a bit flattened, and his eyes are cast in shadow, and he’s so beautiful that sometimes Noah can’t think through the weight of it.

“I had a really good time today,” he murmurs now, and it sounds like a secret here in this secluded corner, hidden from the rest of the world.

“Me too.” Patrick smiles, but it doesn’t look like a happy one. “Back to reality now though.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick lifts a hand to Noah’s face, hesitates a moment before placing the very tips of his fingers against Noah’s cheek, trails down to his jaw and rubs his thumb along the cut of it. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he says, and Noah’s leaning up on tiptoes before he has chance to consider it, breath caught in his throat and Patrick swallowing and leaning in, eyes drifting shut—

A startling clap of thunder tears through the night, making Noah jump and let out a small whimper. Patrick leans away from him, out into the street and then up at the sky.

“Come on,” he says, taking Noah’s hand. “Let’s brave it now while it’s not too bad.” He pulls Noah out of the doorway and into the rain, and they hurry down the street to the station. The train’s near enough empty when they get on so they manage to grab a seat; Noah’s shivering with cold and rain and Patrick considers him, brows furrowed, before he peels off his coat and drapes it around Noah’s shoulders, tugs the front together to try to warm him up.

The car ride back to the village is silent and thick with the unspoken, and eventually Noah falls asleep, the streetlights and the rain lulling him into a sense of calm.

When they get out of the car near the flat, the rain has stopped, and Noah gives Patrick his coat back.

“Here,” he says, and Patrick’s fingers close over his own as he takes it.

“Thanks.”

They look at each other there in the courtyard, one final moment before heading back to the real world. Patrick gives him a soft, knowing smile, a secret between them, and eventually they come away from the car and go home.

Connor’s in, and he wanders out of the bedroom, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Hey, you’re back,” he says, dropping a kiss on Noah’s cheek. “Did you get them?”

“They’re really nice. Patrick’s got them in his pocket if you want to see.” He feels exhausted all of a sudden, and there’s a weight tugging on his heart, and he just wants to go to sleep, put this day to rest. “I’m going to bed. Long day.”

He exchanges a glance with Patrick before he leaves. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the hint of melancholy in his eyes.

* * * * *

The flat’s empty when he gets up the next morning, and he doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved. He doesn’t get much chance to wallow in it, though—a text from Lenny saying he’s back from his holiday has Noah calling over at catering unit down the street before going to work.

He knocks on the locked glass door, grinning when Lenny spots him and rushes over to open it, stepping out and pulling him into a hug.

“Hey, good to see you.”

“You too.” Noah claps him on the back, pulls away to observe him. “Nice holiday?”

“Yeah. Recharged the batteries, you know.” He swells his chest, flashing Noah a grin of pride. “Wrote my best man’s speech while I was out there.”

“Nothing embarrassing I hope,” Noah says, laughing.

“
Everything
embarrassing, my friend. You got the final headcount for the catering?”

“Yeah, I’ll bring it over later. And we’ve got the tux fitting on Friday.”

“Okay, great.” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “You coming in for a coffee?”

“Yeah—” he says, and then he spots Patrick walking by, and his attention’s caught. “Hey, Patrick,” he calls, and when Patrick stops and looks across at him, Noah beckons him over. “Patrick, I want you to meet Lenny, my best man. Lenny, this is Connor’s best man, Patrick.”

Lenny eyes him, shakes his hand. “Ah, my competition. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Patrick drawls, a vague frown on his brow.

“Where you headed off to?” Noah asks him.

Patrick cuts him a look that gives nothing away. “Nowhere special. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“You’re actually gonna eat my food today?”

“You sold it to me yesterday with all your talk of meatballs and garlic.”

The mention of yesterday makes Noah’s blood heat, but he doesn’t know if it’s from embarrassment or the memory of how the day made him feel. He can read nothing in Patrick’s expression, and it frustrates him.

Lenny, oblivious, says jokingly, “Noah here definitely knows the way to a man’s heart, doesn’t he?”

“Uh, yeah.” Patrick scratches his forehead, head bowed, meeting no one’s eye now. “I’m gonna be late, so—”

“Yeah, see you,” Noah says vaguely, watching him walk away.

Lenny nudges him. “He seems nice.”

“He’s all right.” He has no idea what else to say, how to put into words his opinion on Patrick without getting himself in trouble.

“Sticking around, is he?” Lenny asks, and it’s with a hint of bitterness that Noah says no, he’s not, he’s going back to the States after the wedding.

Leaving Connor without a best friend. Leaving him.

Although he doesn’t say that part to Lenny.

Connor comes into the shop later, surprisingly. He never pays Noah visits at work. But he’s here today, and he gives Noah a grumpy kiss over the till.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you properly for ages. You wanna go out for dinner tonight?”

“Ah I can’t,” Noah says awkwardly, goes back to laying out the brownies he baked that morning. “I already told Patrick I was making meatballs.”

“Oh. Well tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, okay. We also need to sort out the music for the wedding.”

Connor’s face scrunches up. “Uh…Saturday?”

“It’s Christmas this weekend, you idiot,” Noah says, laughing a little.

“Shit, ‘course it is. It’ll have to be Friday then.”

“I’ve got the tux fitting with Lenny during the day,” Noah reminds him.

“Yeah, and I’ve got a night shoot. Jesus.”

Seems like finding time for this wedding is becoming an impossible feat these days.

“After Christmas?” Noah tries.

“Not really any other option, is there?” Connor grouches. He checks his watch. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tonight.” He plants another kiss on the corner of Noah’s mouth before hurrying out.