Archive of Our Own

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📷NICK📷

I’m standing in my studio, double-checking my camera bag for the umpteenth time. Both cameras are here, as well as spare batteries, flash gun, memory cards, light metre, notebook, pen, and business cards. I look around the walls of the studio, at all the candid shots that I’ve taken of people out and about. There’s the woman in Trafalgar Square feeding the pigeons, the old man in the park playing chess against himself, life lines abundant on his wizened face, the woman on a swing with a look of childlike delight on her porcelain face. These are the photographs that I love. The photos I take for work are always so posed, so cold, but I absolutely cannot afford to turn down the paying gigs when the pictures that I want to take aren’t selling quite so well yet.

I start thinking back to the trial for this shoot; blimey, was that only last week?!

I had been flicking through my portfolio. The owner of a new bar was looking for someone to get them some new shots for his website, and I really needed the job. I had walked in and immediately knew that I was in trouble. The owner had come out from behind a slim bar drying his hands on a tea towel that had a series of cartoon cats frolicking along the edges. It was incongruous; most bars have very boring towels, if you’ve ever noticed these things. He’d smiled broadly and his dimples made my legs turn into gummy worms. He had black curly hair, a little longer on top than at the sides so that a couple of rogue curls decorated his forehead. A black bar had traversed his right ear, red decorative balls on the end of his industrial piercing, which paired with a hoop through his daith. There had even been a small scar through his left eyebrow. His slender waist had been accentuated by his outfit, which comprised a pair of black slim leg trousers, paired with what would have been a perfectly ordinary white shirt under a navy blue jumper. Ordinary except that both the shirt and the jumper had been cropped and sat just at the base of his rib cage, a few stray strands of thread were even artfully present around the edges and the combination resulted in me turning into an absolute puddle. How I got through the rest of the meeting is anyone’s guess, because I don’t recall much about what we said to each other after an inane exchange of “Hi’s”.

I must have been more coherent and convincing than I felt, because Charlie, that was his name, had given me the gig.

I set off, and thankfully, the bar is close by, so I can walk. Brixton, in south London, is an area that has been making a name for itself in the art scene and has become pretty damn trendy in the last few decades, considering its rather seedy beginnings.

The entrance to the bar is actually tucked away inside the Brixton Village Market, an artisanal selection of farm-to-table places, with craft shops and those amazing ‘everything’ shops that you can walk into when you just need to find a present for someone who’s impossible to buy for. The door gives absolutely nothing away despite being decorated in a riotous floral mural in sunset colours.

A set of wrought iron stairs takes me right up into the space that I’d marvelled at when I came for my trial. The exposed brick, the arch, the bar set up along the glassed-in opening of the railway arch itself so that it’s backlit and shown off to perfection and will make framing a dream. There are a few tables but mostly high tops fill out this space which is almost nothing compared to the terrace. The space is vast and easily triples the amount of space the bar has. It’s framed out with a series of arbours, each artfully decorated in garlands of leaves and florals and gives the impression of being on a South American beach. The whole thing would feel absolutely whimsical and far-fetched given that al fresco dining weather in London is restricted to a few short months, until, as Charlie had proudly informed me, I found out that the entire outdoor space can be enclosed by deploying the retractable roof, making it a year round escape to the sun.

I am early, pathologically incapable of being late as always, and consider taking a few establishing shots, but I don’t want to get out all my things just yet. I own my foibles and early as I am, I ignore the ‘Closed for Lunch’ sign on the door, since that’s for my benefit to keep the place quiet for the shoot, and walk in through the unprepossessing wooden door. If this time I’m early because I just want to spend more time with Charlie’s dimples and perfect bum, that’s nobody’s business but mine.

Charlie doesn’t immediately acknowledge my presence as I come quietly up the stairs, and I can see and hear why. He’s seated with his back to me, strumming softly on an acoustic guitar, and I hold my breath for a few seconds watching his slender fingers. He’s picking out a tune that fills me with a sense of the movements that should go with it even as I acknowledge I could not pull them off and I stand and listen for a few minutes, watching him. I’ve always had a thing for competence and Charlie is

really

good.

Eventually, I start to feel silly just standing there, so I shuffle my feet and walk around into his eyeline, making sure to make enough noise that he’ll hear me over his playing before I startle him.

“Hi!” I say, ineffectually, still feeling funny for not announcing myself sooner.

“Hi!” he replies, extending his hand for a shake. Oh, did I mention that he has a tattoo of a beautiful blue butterfly suspended in an ice cube at the base of the thumb on his right hand? No? I should have, it’s gorgeous.

“That sounded amazing, what you were playing,” I say, filling the space.

“Oh that?” Charlie asks, his sapphire-blue eyes indicating the guitar still loosely held in his lap. “Nothing with a name, I was just playing around.”

“That was you just playing around?” I ask, aware that I sound a little starry-eyed and I need to rein it in.

“Yeh, I mean, I dabble. I used to play some with my abuela when we’d see each other.”

Charlie is either being modest or hasn’t a clue how hot it is that he’s still casually sitting there with his arms around a guitar. Shake it off, Nelson, you are here to do a job and he has shown absolutely no interest in being anything other than the guy paying you to take photos of his place.

“Do you have a setup in mind for the sequence of photos that you want, Charlie?” I say, avoiding physically shaking my head to remove the thoughts of his fingers on the guitar strings and turning myself back into a professional photographer.

“I was really ready to leave you to it, to be honest, is there anything you need from me with regards to lighting or anything like that? I’ve got the place set up as it would be, but you let me know what you need.” Charlie is deferring to my artistic eye and I appreciate that. I look around. The bar and the outdoor space look absolutely stunning. The photos are going to be fairly classic. I have a thought though, and I really hope that he’s going to go for it.

“I can absolutely take some stock photos of the place like this, you have it staged beautifully and the colours and the fact that it’s a lovely day will make this patio really light up.” I hesitate for a second, but I really think that I’m right. “If you’ll indulge me though, I actually think that what you want is to draw people in, no? I need to come back when you’re slammed, when this place is full, preferably of people who don’t mind being photographed and who are okay being included in promotional photos. The scene is gorgeous, but if you want people to come then they need to see it buzzing, alive.”

Charlie tilts his beautiful face to the side, considering, and I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind his ear from where it’s fallen across his forehead.

“Go ahead with what you can do for now,” he says finally. “I’ll figure out the logistics for a shoot when we’re busy.”

“Sure thing, no pressure, it was just a suggestion.”

“No, don’t worry, it’s a good suggestion.” Charlie smiles wide enough that his dimples pop and I take a deep breath to steady myself. “I really will figure it out.”

I nod, not trusting myself to add more words at the moment, and I make a show of putting down my camera bag and getting myself centred to take the stock shots. I start in the brick arch; the lighting is gorgeous, soft uplighters are strategically placed to emphasise the curve of the wall as it floats up to form the ceiling. The lack of corners makes the lamp light bounce off the bricks and for static shots, not my favourite at any time, I’m pleased with the compositions that I’ve come up with.

I move out into the floral twined arbours of the patio. Charlie has the retractable roof open all the way, to make the most of the warmth and the sunshine, and I frame some shots using the trellising, as well as find some angles that work for wider views of the patio.

🍸CHARLIE🍸

I’ve been meaning to get new pictures done for the website since I finished the build out of the terrace. This whole thing has been a labour of love, and I absolutely will not be admitting how much time I’ve spent at the bar while it’s been in chaos. There was always something that needed my attention so it was just easier to always be here. I absolutely could not afford the elaborate retractable roof system, but without it the terrace will be ruined after our first winter, and I can no more afford that. These pictures, getting the place publicity, need to help bring in bodies so they have to pack a punch.

This guy came highly recommended and even with that I was about to dismiss the idea of hiring him when he showed up for his trial. He was a bumbling mess, falling over his words and dropping his portfolio. His photos are fine, they’re clear and competent and the composition works. I will be honest though, even with that I almost didn’t hire him and wouldn’t have had it not been for the pages at the back of his folder that he’d clearly not intended to leave in. There had been a series of photos, clearly shot in quick succession, of a family running from side to side of the Millennium bridge. The legend that the beautiful suspension bridge, opened in 2000 to celebrate the turning of the century had cables loose enough that it physically wobbled clearly causing the family to see if they could get it swinging in again by running from side to side to give it momentum. He’d captured the expression on the child’s face, pure joy even in the face of knowing the whole game was fruitless, the parents indulgent and playing along. There was life in those photographs, a vision, and that is what I need to bring people into this place.

I flash back to the photos of that family when he makes what he seems to think is an impertinent suggestion that he might come back and take pictures when the place is full. It’s brilliant and I’m kicking myself for not having thought of it. I’m thinking of the best way to get punters in and I’m having him take pictures of the place when there’s no one here, that’s crazy. My mind is immediately racing on how to organise to get consent from everyone for a couple of sessions, one during the day and one at night to get all the different types of vibes. He seems to take my hesitance as proof that he’s overstepped, so I reassure him and he busies himself with his camera and takes off.

I’m in full planning mode and well and truly in my head when he comes back over to me.

“Charlie,” he says quietly, “two things. First, do you mind going and standing behind the bar and maybe making a few cocktails? I’d love to get a few shots of someone at the bar, you’ll mostly be in silhouette because of the backlighting from the window. Second, could you close up the roof enough to show that it closes, so that I can take some shots of it half over one of the arbours?”

“Sure, Nick.” I agree, getting up from where I’ve been sitting, out of the way doing some paperwork. I walk over and set the clattering motor of the retractable roof going and indicate with my eyes that he should let me know when it’s where he wants it. He does, with a small gesture with his large hands. Then, leaving him to take his shots of the roof, for which he practically lies on the ground to get the angle he wants, I step behind the bar. I’m happy behind a bar – there’s comfort in the chemistry of cocktail making, a joy in the way that the different ingredients interact with each other and in getting the combination to balance. He follows me minutes later and stands off to the side, watching me as I slice limes. I want to show off for some reason; something about the way that he’s looking at me is making me want to really go for it, so I’ve got two cocktails in mind. Of course, because of who I am, the first has to be a classic margarita. There are way too many bad margaritas out there, but I know that mine is second to none and mastery of the classics is just good business sense. Then I’m planning to make an Eclipse. The shaken añejo tequila, Aperol, Heering cherry liqueur and lemon juice are double strained over one of our large square ice cubes, with mezcal floated over the top.

I squeeze lemons, shake the drinks and prepare the salt rim for the margarita, and all the while Nick is moving around my bar taking photographs. He’s being thorough and I’m fairly certain, by now, that he’s taken more photographs of me making these drinks than he has of the rest of the bar. He has made it clear that he does prefer to photograph people than places. Not sure why that isn’t his focus, to be honest, but he must have his reasons.

I finish with a flourish and proudly place the drinks onto branded cocktail napkins on the bar and begin clearing down and putting away the liquor bottles. Nick takes photographs of the glasses on the bar before turning his head to me.

“May I?” Nick asks.

I think that he’s asking if he can try them, and I made them to taste good not just to photograph. “Obviously!” I say with a grin that I’m hoping makes him relax a little bit. He’s been wound tight since he got here, flitting between bumbling and purely professional in a way that’s making my head spin.

To my surprise, he picks up both glasses and takes them to one of the high tops slightly off centre in front of the bar, and takes more photographs of the bar with the cocktails in the foreground. Clearly ‘professional’ is winning out over bumbling at this moment. I finish tidying up and step out from behind the bar.

“Do you want to try them?” I ask as I step over towards the high top table. He’s shifted his weight as though he’s poised to run. “I made them, and it’d be a shame to just throw them away, plus I don’t drink alone.”

“I, um, well, I am… working.”

Nick is unsure again and I try to put him at ease. I turn his words from earlier back to him. “It’s just a suggestion, Nick.”

“It’s a good suggestion,” he says, more certain now it seems that I’ve made a suggestion that he can acquiesce to as well. “I’d love to try this one, it looks intriguing.”

He’s pointing to the eclipse, and I nod my head. He picks up the glass and takes a sip, his eyes closing in appreciation of the fruity, smoky, acid, and bitter balance. This is definitely a cocktail to be savoured, it’s absolutely lethal while tasting light and refreshing.

We stand and sip the drinks; he tries the margarita too and appears to appreciate that one as well. He’s put his camera down and we’re just talking now, gingerly taking steps outside the professional as he enquires about what made me want to open a bar and why the South American theme. I tell him about my grandparents and it connects back up to the guitar and we’ve come full circle. I ask him about the photographs, why he takes photos of commercial spaces when clearly he has an eye for movement and faces. I acknowledge his response that there simply isn’t the same money in it, at least not yet.

We’ve been talking for a while, and I'm starting to think I've not been this at ease with anyone in ages when his face suddenly shifts.

“I have to go,” he says rather quickly.

“Oh, yes, of course.” I follow him over to where he’s rather hurriedly putting his cameras away in his bag, a bag that – I notice – has a bi flag pinned to the flap. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You will?” he asks, which is odd because we still have to meet so I can see the photos he took today, much less set up the peopled shoots that he suggested himself. I say that to him and he smiles weakly. “Oh, of course! Yes, we’ll discuss that. I’m sorry I have to dash off.” With that, he picks up his bag and heads for the stairs back to the street. I’m curious about what happened to make him rush out, but I don’t push it. I get my phone out of my pocket and call Isaac, my silent business partner and the brains of the outfit, to discuss the logistics for getting in a bar full of people happy to be in promotional photos, without staging it full of actors.

📷NICK📷

I’m halfway down the stairs before I have my phone out of my pocket and I’m texting my group chat with Tara and Darcy.

Me: HELP!

🦋Tara🦋: What’s up Nickalicious?

Me: Don’t you start, you’ve been spending too

much time with Darcy

😈Darcy: I resent that and, yes she has

🦋Tara🦋: Seriously though, what’s with the SOS?

Me: I took a job doing stock photos for this

new bar in Brixton, it’s gorgeous and

I think the photos are great, but that’s not the problem.

The guy who owns the place might actually

be the most beautiful person I have ever seen

😈Darcy: Not seeing the problem here, treacle

Me: He’s employing me

He’s beautiful

I’m a bumbling wreck around him

He plays the guitar

He makes cocktails that are an absolute dream to consume

Need I go on?????

🦋Tara🦋: Um - yes.

😈Darcy: Still not seeing the problem!

Me: It’s pointless.

Even though I’m fairly convinced he’s

interested in guys, he’s shown no signs

whatsoever of being interested in

me

I just need to let it go. Do a good job and move on.

😈Darcy: You make a good point, chicken.

How can you know these things all on your own?

When do I meet him? There has to be a reason you can think of

for getting me in a room with him. Tell me where this bar is!

Me: That is absolutely not happening!

No way, no how! You must be mad!

🦋Tara🦋: They have a point, Nicky.

Me: Tara! You can’t be serious! This is a job, this guy is (hopefully)

going to pay me for photographs

How unprofessional would it be to suddenly bring my

impish lesbian friends around?

😈Darcy: I resent that accusation. I am a chaos demon,

I’m no imp, thank you very much!

Anyway, the point is, this is a public bar, you wouldn’t have to

‘bring me around’ as you so charmingly put it. I can just

be there for a drink with my dearest girlfriend

and if that results in my gaydar pinging off then so be it

Me: Well, I did set the scene for him needing

to arrange a day and an evening where the bar is full

of people who don’t mind being in promotional photographs

I said I needed to see the place alive if he really wanted the photos

to draw people in

🦋Tara🦋: Perfect!

We love being photographed, we love drinks and dancing

Plus, from what you told us after the trial, this place

is really cool, so it’s not like it’ll be a hardship to have a night out

Me: I am

so

going to regret this!

I’ll text you both the details when it’s been worked out.

I don’t know how to feel when I put my phone back in my pocket after texting with Tara and Darcy. Part of me feels better, better to have said out loud what has been roaring around in my head, better to have acknowledged that it’s there rather than continuing to try to pretend. On the other hand, I just feel more confused and I am abjectly terrified of what my dearest friends are going to do if they actually do show up to the open shoot and meet him. Darcy is the sweetest, but they are a self-acknowledged demon of the first circle crossed with Emma, of Jane Austen fame. Their track record for matchmaking is absolutely legendary in the wake of bad dates it has sent me on, despite the best of intentions and absolutely unparalleled gaydar. I am pretty sure, without having asked, and while acknowledging that my own gaydar is on the blink, that Charlie is gay; the cropped jumper-shirt that he’d been wearing when I first met him was a clear enough sign even for me, but I’m also fairly sure that that’s where any crossover in our interests stops. He showed no interest in prolonging our interaction today, although I guess he did extend our project by acknowledging the need for the additional photos. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Shake it off, Nick. Go back to the studio, get the photos from today onto the computer and start the edit, see what you’ve got and get your head out of the daydream because this is a job. He’s paying you to take photographs.

📆ONE WEEK LATER📆

📷NICK📷

It’s the day of the shoot, the one that I actually

want

to do. I edited the photos that I have so far and they’re fine; the bar looks great and I’m actually pleased with the composition of several of them. They’re just… chilly. For a bar with such a riot of tropical colour absolutely everywhere, these photos should pop. Charlie really lent into the brief that I gave him, putting out feelers and finding people to come to the bar with pre-arranged permissions so that we won’t be faffing with it at the door. They’re real people, not film extras, and I’m excited to see how the place changes when it’s full of noise. Tara and Darcy managed to wangle themselves onto the list, too, so now that’s happening whether I’m ready for it or not.

I arrive early, again, because I’m a glutton for punishment. This is a job, Nicholas, he’s not eye candy and he’s not interested. Your mission is simple: get in, take photos, get out. Do not make a fool of yourself. Go upstairs and pull yourself together.

“Charlie?” I call out into the space when I arrive. He emerges from a back room and my breath catches in my throat. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans, nothing special there, but on top, he has on a button-down shirt that’s been cropped just at his waist line. It looks like a tropical sunset, an ombre fade of coral pink into soft orange and yellow. The sleeves are short, so I can see his arms and I seriously need to calm down because I’ve been standing here like an absolute lemon for whole minutes and I’ve just realised that he’s been talking to me.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” I ask him, the blush on my cheeks now set to match the colours in his shirt, and I make a show of shifting the weight of my camera back on my shoulder and taking out my phone and putting it back in my pocket.

Pull yourself together, Nelson!

“I was just commenting that you were here early, and that you have time to set up. If you want to leave your bag somewhere when everyone gets here, you can leave it behind the bar or back in the office. Will you need to get into it during the afternoon?”

“Maybe, it depends on how the light changes over the course of the evening. I might need replacement batteries or memory cards, but I shouldn’t need to get in and out often.”

“I’ve got some security guys who are going to man the door. The good news is that everyone who signed the waiver has an invitation, so we’ll be cleared to use any of the pictures you take.”

I follow Charlie to the office, go through my bag and get myself set up.

Right, Nelson,

I direct myself with a forceful pep talk.

This is the kind of photography you want to be doing, candid photos of people in an atmospheric landscape. If these prove to have commercial application, then this opens doors and you are not going to mess this up by thirsting over the first person who’s given you a shot at it… even if he has the most delectable waist you have ever seen, and enough visible tattoos that you desperately want to know how many more are hidden under his clothes. Stop that

. I shake my head.

While I’ve been in the office, the first of the punters arrived and the atmosphere in the bar has already shifted. It was an inviting space before, now it’s warm with the bustle of moving bodies and the clinking of cocktail glasses and the babble of voices. The late afternoon sun is filtering through the arbours and the floral garlands and the roof is open wide so there’s a slight breeze rustling hem lines and shirt sleeves.

I set myself up so that I am at an oblique angle to the bar, and watch the crowd dynamics. There’s a striking girl behind the bar, with short neon green hair, cropped wild curls forming a frame around her face, and, is that snake vertebrae as a choker? That’s new. She’s an absolute master with a cocktail shaker and I spend a few minutes capturing shots of her in silhouette against the light from the arc of the window, pulling flashes of her neon green hair into focus in contrast. Charlie had done a great job and the people he’d invited were from all walks of life and they’d chosen a wonderful mix of clothes. There are folks in summery dresses and wedge sandals, others straight from the office in suits with their collars loosened, ties in pockets and blazers slung over their shoulders or the backs of chairs. There are those for whom a night out isn't cause to dress up, in shorts and t-shirts, and others dressed to the nines. Brixton is such a home for creativity and acceptance these days that there are people from all walks of life and every part of the gender spectrum, Charlie has outdone himself.

Then Tara and Darcy arrive. I’d managed to block out that they were coming to this, and I decide that the best thing for me to do is to pretend I don’t know them, at least for now. Tara has on a simple red dress with a flippy skirt that I’ve seen her wear before; the crimson fabric is striking against her deep skin tone and her braids are decorated with little silver rings. Her eyeliner is bold, a graphic line of aqua blue that sweeps along her lash line and then arches over the top of her lids. Darcy’s cropped and bleached blond hair is as shaggy as always and they’re wearing a long-sleeved sequined top, black shorts and their traditional high tops. I leave them to it, letting them scope things out and aiming not to get involved. I snap a few photos of them from across the bar.

The afternoon flies by, the lighting shifting into evening across the roofs is absolutely delicious, turning the scene into molten gold and lengthening the shadows.

“How’s it going?” Charlie appears at my side. The volume in the bar has increased as it’s filled up, and I jump as sparks run up my arm from where he’s brushed against me to get close enough to be heard.

“Great!” I’m not even making it up. The energy is brilliant, everyone is ignoring me, which is exactly what I’d hoped, and I’m increasingly confident that the photos are going to make this place somewhere that hits its fire-safety capacity more often than it doesn’t.

“Can I get you anything? I could make you a cocktail?”

“Well, since I’ve got a few more hours to work, a mocktail?” I laugh and I melt all over again as his face lights up in an indulgent smile.

Tara and Darcy materialise next to me and I am immediately on edge.

“And who might you be, talking to our dear Nicklenackle tree?” Darcy launches.

“Nicklenackle tree, huh?” Charlie smirks, his insanely blue eyes full of amusement.

“Darcy!” I admonish, far too late. “Charlie, these are two of my best friends, or at least they

were

until they crashed my work and embarrassed me.” I say the last part pointedly, glaring at Darcy.

“Nice try, you love us!” Tara laughs. “It’s lovely to meet you, Charlie. We hear that you’re the owner of this place and the instigator of this soiree.”

“Guilty as charged,” Charlie grins, open and easy in his demeanour and I am left in awe of his open and easy familiarity. “How are you enjoying it?”

“The place is incredible!” Tara continues. “The outdoor-indoor vibe is incredible, it doesn’t feel like we’re still in Brixton.”

“I don’t need this, since I’m delightfully happy with my love over here,” Darcy is indicating Tara as they say this, “but have you found any lucky boys to take home from here, Charlie? Is the bar lucky? Or do you have a lucky guy waiting at home?”

“Darcy!” I say again, knowing it’s hopeless, but needing to try.

“No guy waiting at home,” Charlie says with a smirk, “also, I don’t tend to cruise my own bar, Darcy,” Charlie says, laughing and moving to change the subject. “Listen folks, your vessels are empty and Juni makes a mean cocktail. What are you in the mood for?”

“I’ll take a paloma,” Tara says, “and they’ll take a large water!”

“Aaargh!” Darcy entones, indignantly. “Rrrrruude!” They roll their r’s, but they’re also nodding, acknowledging that water probably is a good idea.

“You must let us know how we can follow and promote this place on socials, Charlie,” Darcy says, the veneer of innocence thin from my perspective, but after they’ve been so forward with him Charlie will absolutely be able to go with it.

Charlie shares his Insta handle with Darcy, and I think it’s going to be the one for the bar and I’m surprised when it is but he follows up with his own. I wait until he’s walked my friends over to the bar to introduce them to Juni before surreptitiously taking out my own phone and looking him up. I don’t follow-him, but I do take an initial scroll through. The feed is predominantly dedicated to photographs of an enormous British shorthair cat who is apparently called Ms. Ma'am.

I put my phone away before I hit like on all of the photographs and turn back to the bar. The evening has progressed and the drinks have loosened the ties of the last of the folks who were still sporting them. Sleeves are rolled up now and all the patrons appear loose and relaxed. There isn’t a dance floor, per se, there’s not really room, but the music has been slowly working its way up in volume as darkness has fallen. The latin American atmosphere of the decor is now matched with the drums, synth and guitars in the music and hips are moving to match. I watch as a few couples, including two Latin gentlemen, take to the gaps between tables and I find a place where I have an unobstructed view to photograph them. I’m engrossed, and the rest of the night absolutely flies by as I fill up a memory card and replace it with another. I won’t know until I get the pictures onto my computer and start to edit, but I am convinced that I’ve got something here that’ll make an absolute splash on Charlie’s new website.

🦋TARA🦋

I lead Darcy away from Nick so that he can focus back on his pictures, since that’s why he’s here and we really are here to support him. I nudge Darcy, who’s chatting Charlie’s ear off, to try to get them to go easy, but I know really that it’s fruitless. They’ve already got his social media handles and the name of his cat, it won’t be long before they have his siblings’ names and the age he was when he lost his virginity. Okay, so I may have taken that too far, but Darcy is an actual wizard at making friends. They have literally never met a stranger. They’ve pulled off this trick at the check out at a supermarket or with a receptionist at their GP, and what’s even more infuriating is that they’ll remember it all. All the minutiae that they pull out of people, the way that they share with them, they’ll be able to recall it all the next time they see them so that they can ask about how their grandkid’s birthday was or some such relevant question. It is a skill and they are employing it to the fullest. Charlie, it turns out, is single, lives alone with his cat, has a best friend who’s the ace love of his life, and is, indeed, gay. Didn’t really need extra special gaydar to prove that, not with the cropped sunset ombre shirt, but Nick will be happy with the report.

Nick has definitely had more ridiculous and hopeless crushes than Charlie. He’s gay and beautiful and attentive and single, all of these place him firmly in the potential win column. He owns and runs a successful business, which is a win in and of itself. He also seemed attuned to Nick’s need for a drink when we crashed their conversation, so that’s another green flag.

I zone back into the conversation too late to stop them as Darcy invites Charlie to join us next Thursday at the pub quiz that we regularly bomb at. Charlie is asking if we need another, indicating that his friend Isaac is a prolific reader and that as a result his general knowledge skills are well-honed.

“Actually, I was about to tell you that you didn’t need to come and that Darcy was being very forward, but if you and your well-read friend want to come and help I am not going to turn that down!” I jump in. Nick’s going to kill us, but somehow I can’t bring myself to care. He’ll get over it, especially if it turns out that we’ve actually managed to get him some more face time with Charlie outside of this pesky barrier of Charlie employing Nick. Aside from the fact that we really

could

use the help at the pub quiz. The job will be done - barring the endless editing - by the end of tonight, so that excuse isn’t going to wash for much longer anyway.

“I love a good pub quiz, and I think I could talk Isaac into putting his books down for an evening, not that he won’t bring one with him,” Charlie says, and I look over at Darcy and we use our girlfriend-telepathy to mentally high-five. I have to give them this, it’s meddling without being a direct set up and they’ve had much worse ideas. American Football tournaments in the science corridors at school and games of spin the bottle on school trips being just the tip of the iceberg.

“Great,” Darcy says. “I’ll DM you the details.”

We’ve reached the bar and Juni has finished shaking up cocktails for a bunch of lads in a corner, turning to her boss as he leads us up to her.

“Tara here will take one of your fabulous palomas, Juni, and Darcy’s in the market for a large glass of water. Oh, and could I get a mocktail that’ll taste like one of our margaritas for our hard-working photographer?” Juni seems to take the hint he didn’t even say and makes Nick’s drink first, passing it across the bar in time for Charlie to turn to us and add, “I have to go take this drink to Nick then go mingle, but it was fabulous meeting friends of Nick’s and I look forward to getting those details for the pub quiz. Have a fabulous rest of your evening and thank you for coming!”

With a grin that shows off his dimples, he’s sashaying off to schmooze with the rest of the partiers. I’m an absolute lesbian and that arse is fantastic, Nick’s an absolute fool if he doesn’t find a way to fool around with that! The bar really is fabulous too and all meddling reasons aside, we’ll be coming back after tonight.

“I hope this is to your liking,” Juni says, passing me my cocktail. “Here’s your water too, Darcy, on the rocks for a little flair, and I put an umbrella in.” I laugh and grin at her. Darcy isn’t usually one for alternating their cocktails and waters, despite the number of times they’ve demonstrated that they’re a lightweight. Juni making it fun for them is a nice touch, and I seriously need to consider taking that on.

I take a sip of my cocktail and it is absolutely exquisite. It’s the perfect balance of sour grapefruit and sweet, a kick of spice from the tequila she’s used, and smooth as silk. We stand at the bar for a while, getting to know Juni, complimenting her on the steampunk boots and her aesthetic in general. We also watch the room, taking in the way that the night falling has brought people up out of their seats and now the crowd is more fluid, moving like liquid through the space and between the tables. There’s dancing and it’s getting harder not to join in. We’ve been taking salsa lessons together for years now. Screw it, why are we holding back?

“Dance with me?” I ask Darcy, who’s downed their water and is twiddling their umbrella in their beautiful fingers.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Darcy grins at me, their deep brown eyes flashing with renewed excitement. “Do you want me to lead this evening, darling?”

I love it when they lead; their confidence sizzles through them when they take my hand, and I’d follow them anywhere when they pull me out into a slightly open space between the hightops tables under the dramatically vaulted ceiling. Neither of us has heard the track before, but the rhythms are familiar and we move together easily, practised steps allowing us to flow around each other. They lead with tiny changes of pressure in their hands and shifts in their body position and we can read each other so well after all these years that I always know where they want me to end up. I am lost in them, lost in the way that they feel in my arms, in the way the music has wrapped itself around us and whole tracks go by before I notice two things. The first is that we have much more space to dance in now, we’ve apparently drawn a crowd and there are people backing up to allow us to move more freely. The second is that Nick has shown up in a corner and is crouched down in the stance I know only too well. I grin at Darcy, and they shake their head indulgently and we go back to ignoring the world outside of us and focusing only on the music and each other.

📷NICK📷

I had a feeling that this place would be fabulous to photograph when it was full, and I was absolutely right. The movement in the crowd, the relaxed and informal atmosphere, the familiarity of the patrons were all so viscerally alive. The way that Charlie has set up the lighting means that there are strong angles and frames through which to take the pictures. The crowd themselves are having absolutely no trouble ignoring me either, I’d had very few people see me and insist I photograph a static pose, mostly the women with their angled front legs and popped hips and social media smiles. I take the photographs and show them the back of the camera, but I know that they won’t be showing up in the reels that I show to Charlie as potentials for his publicity.

I think I’ve almost got everything I need when I notice that Tara and Darcy are inside the railway arch, and they’re dancing. I love watching them dance, their understanding shines through their movements and Tara is giving Darcy a look right now that absolutely confirms that they’re getting laid when they get home. Having briefly shared a flat with them while I was waiting on mine to be decorated once, I am now way more familiar than I thought possible with how their night is going to go. I reposition myself and take some photos of them. Their eyes are on only each other, no matter where Darcy spins Tara, their hand is exactly where Tara expects it to be to bring her out of it again. I

will

find that kind of connection with someone, some day.

Breaking away from my best friends, who’ve drawn quite a crowd justifiably enough, I scan the room and the terrace in search of Charlie. I want to let him know that I think I have all that I need. This was absolutely the right move and I hope that he’ll agree when he sees the photos. Ultimately, he’ll have the stock pictures too if he really doesn’t think this worked, but I’m feeling confident and I’m glad that I pushed for this. As if sensing that I’m looking for him, Charlie materialises at my side and I try to ignore the little static shocks that I feel along my arm when he accidentally brushes up against my side.

“They’re good, Tara and Darcy!” he says, loudly above the music.

“They’ve been dancing together for years - and a couple for even longer, I think they read each other without trying at this point,” I say, not that it really needs stating, they’re proving it with every new face that turns their way to take them in.

“How’s it going?” he asks me, seeing that I’ve started to put the covers on my lenses.

“I have all I need.”

“Oh good, that means you’re off the clock for the rest of the night,” Charlie enthuses. “Come on, let’s go into the office and put all your cameras away, then you can come back out and join in.”

“Oh, I hadn’t really planned on doing much else besides going home and crashing,” I say, not really meaning it. The idea of staying for a drink and maybe having a chance to spend more time with Charlie is absolutely not going to let me slink off into the night. “Okay, you’ve twisted my arm,” I laugh, as if he’s actually had to do any twisting.

“Great, come on, let me unlock it for you.”

I follow and stow my cameras in my bag, closing the flap and suddenly feeling rather naked without them. This happens a lot, and I really try to shake off the feeling and relax. I follow him back out into the bar area, and he steers me straight over to Juni and her cocktail shaker.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

📆ONE WEEK LATER📆

📷NICK📷

I’ve been madly editing the photos for Charlie’s bar for a week now. I have outdone myself, and I don’t mind saying it. If he doesn’t prefer the live shots over the cold ones I took while the place was empty, I’ll eat my hat. I don’t understand that phrase - who would actually eat their hat, and who did in order to put the phrase into common usage? Still, I’d do it, because there is so much life in this place and I know that these pictures will bring people in in droves. The day to night transition, the way that the energy shifted from casual after work beer, to dancing and cocktails was just magic and it all shines through the sequence that I’ve put together. I ended up taking a couple of thousand photos, about what I’d expected, and I’ve got it edited down to a few hundred now. I’ll whittle it down more before I show him, but I’m pleased with the progress.

Tonight is our weekly tradition of going to the local pub quiz and I am absolutely not ready to forgive Tara and Darcy for inviting Charlie and his friend to join our team. I mean, I am, because we could use the help. It also gives me
a chance to see Charlie and for him to see me in a non-working-for-him capacity, which is intriguing, but it’s also daunting and I just don’t know if I’m ready. I survey myself in the mirror on the back of my door. I don’t know why, it’s not like my uniform of jeans and a t-shirt paired with my trusty Vans has actually changed much. Today, the t-shirt is aqua green and I’ve managed to find one that doesn’t have a logo. I swipe my fingers through my hair to brush it off my face and consider whether or not to shave. Deciding against it, leaving the artful stubble that I’ve been building up in place, I pick up my phone to put it in my back pocket.

DARCY😈: You on your way?

Me: Hold your horses, Darce, yes I am

I’m not late yet, you know!

🦋TARA🦋: They know that, they’re just being impatient

Charlie just arrived with his friend and it’ll be weird doing this

now without you since you’re the reason that we even know him

Me: He’s there already?

(breathe)

Okay, I’m leaving now, be there in 5

DARCY😈: Faster!

I laugh and put my phone in the side pocket of my jeans, add my keys to the other and my wallet in back and I’m heading out of the door and down the road. The pub really is only down the end of my road, so I’m there in no time and I walk in, scanning the tables without really needing to. Our table has been our table for years and it’s basically got an unofficial reserved sign on it on pub quiz nights. I see Charlie immediately, sitting with Tara and Darcy and another man who must be his friend Isaac. Isaac is talking to the others but has his finger holding his place in a book at the same time.

I wave to Darcy to make sure that they know I’m there and head to the bar for a pint before I go to sit down. I’m tempted to order a quick shot to go first, a little additional Dutch courage, but I’m terrified that I’ll make an absolute prat of myself if I let alcohol dictate any of my decisions tonight, so I order my usual local sour and take the reassuringly cold glass over to the table.

“Hi,” I say as I place my glass on the battered wooden surface.

“Hi,” Charlie nods over at me, seemingly unphased by the confluence of our friend groups and the escalation of our interactions to something more personal. I settle in, determined to match his energy.

“Nick, this is my friend Isaac. He and I have known each other since secondary school. He’s almost always got a book open, save for the moments when he finishes a book and needs to open a new one.”

“Nice to meet you, Nick,” Isaac acknowledges me, without offering his hand. That’s fine, not everyone’s into the whole physical touch thing.

The pub quiz proceeds just as all the others that Tara, Darcy and I have attended, only this time we have wild cards on the team. Charlie’s knowledge of music manages to ace us the music round, and Isaac is so well-read that his general knowledge is absolutely on point. I manage to limp us along with some of the film and TV questions, and Tara and Darcy jump into random questions. We still don’t win, but we come second, which is significantly better than last and since that’s been our standing position since we started coming here that feels like a win to me. The evening winds down with more drinks without getting raucous, except for the moment when Chappell Roan's Good Luck, Babe, comes on and Tara, Darcy and I burst into impromptu song. I'd had enough to drink to not even be embarrassed about it. We parted ways for the evening with the promise that Charlie and Isaac will join us again next week. They leave together, and I am disappointed not to have had more of a chance to talk to Charlie, or maybe offer to walk him home.

📷

The next month seems to fly by. Right after the pub quiz, Charlie and I had one more meeting, just the two of us, at the bar, so that I could show him the photographs. I came away so flustered by his compliments and my overwhelming urge to savour the scent of his hair and show him my tattoo that I had to fein a headache and leave. My tattoo is not somewhere that I can show people without undoing my trousers and I absolutely could not do that! I had dashed back to my flat and thrown myself into the shower, taking myself in hand to relieve the immediate tension. After that, simultaneously sated and

more

frustrated, I had had a lengthy discussion with Tara and Darcy. They had insisted that if I wanted to find out where this could go that I needed to find ways to be in social situations with him, maybe in groups to start with to remove the pressure.

Having included Charlie in one social outing, to the quiz, invitations seemed to flow back and forth naturally from there. Tara and Darcy insisted on including him on an afternoon trip to the cinema to see the latest slasher flick, knowing how much I hate them and hoping that I’ll do exactly what I did and hide in his shoulder throughout. Later that week, I plucked up the courage to invite him and Isaac to my place for Sunday lunch, a tradition I’ve held onto with Tara and Darcy since our student days. The atmosphere had been light and easy and conversation flowed surprisingly easily. I have been working hard to put my crush on him on the back burner, still having had no signs from him that he reciprocates, or indeed has any interest in me.

🍸CHARLIE🍸

I hadn’t expected to make friends with the guy who took photographs of the bar. I hadn’t expected anything to come of it at all, really. Then his friends invited me and Isaac to a pub quiz and he demonstrated that he’s sweet and funny, and he had astute observations to make and smart answers to questions during the quiz. He’s kind to his friends and clearly cares about the people in his life very much.

Then he came back to the bar to show me the photographs and they’re incredible. He has this eye for movement and framing that just brought out absolutely everything that I loved about the space when I was looking for a venue. He was so right about needing to photograph it full, though. He showed me the empty, cold shots that he’d taken the first day and they’re

fine

. The ones he took that day when we had the place packed are vibrant and absolutely exactly what I need for publicity in order to keep it that way all the time.

He’s been nothing but professional in these interactions, though. I almost got the impression that he wanted to say something about all of that, but he’d claimed to suddenly have a headache and had dashed away with barely a goodbye.

After the third group social invitation – always with a group – I am now so deep in the weeds of whether or not Nick is just being friendly that I settle in against the pillows on my bed with Ms. Ma’am in my lap and call Isaac.

“I-saac!” I whine into the phone after he answers and we’ve come through our standard salutations.

“Char-lie!” He mimics me affectionately.

“Isaac, I’m serious. This is no time for mockery.”

“I think you’ll find it is, dear one,” Isaac teases me. I flip him a middle finger even though we’re on the phone and he can’t see me. It makes me feel oddly better to retaliate, a silent rebellion against the way that he reads me. “You started it anyway, and you can flip me off all you like you know you did,” he continues.

“I didn’t see it coming, Isaac,” I say, unhelpfully for some but hopefully Isaac will use his best friend magic to correctly interpret my coded message and steadfastly ignoring that he knew me well enough to know what my hand gestures were.

“That you might fall for Nick,” Isaac says, and it very rudely isn’t phrased as a question, as if I’m

that

predictable.

“I have not

fallen for

Nick,” I say weakly. I know it’s pointless, Isaac knows everything and always has. I’m already running an inventory in my head of the ways that I’ve inappropriately taken in his muscled forearms, the way his jeans hug his peach-rounded bum, the way that his brain works so quickly during a quiz.

“Okay, Charlie, we’ll go with that, although I’m not sure why. Nick’s a great guy, you could absolutely do worse.”

Isaac is sweet and doesn’t add that I absolutely

have

done worse.

“Honestly, I didn’t think anything of it,” I say, trying again to explain how this feeling has crept up on me and is now holding me in a vice. “I saw the bi pin on his camera bag when he showed up for the first shoot, but that’s literally been the extent of it. The first time we saw each other outside the photographs, it was his friend's idea and every other time there’ve been other people around. He’s shown no signs of wanting to spend time together, just the two of us.” I’m rambling now and fear I might not be able to stop. “I don’t even know if I want him to want to do that. Do I want that?”

Isaac is quiet for a second, as if he’s waiting for me to go on. When I don’t he says, unhelpfully, “Oh, sorry, I thought that was a rhetorical question.”

“Isaac!” I exclaim, the sudden elevation in the pitch of my voice makes Ms. Ma’am turn her fluffy head towards me with disdain as I disturb her nap. “That was not a rhetorical question. Tell me what I want!”

“You know that I’ll never do that. If I were the kind of person who would do that, then I would absolutely have told you that anyone who prides themselves on being Marc with a c instead of a k was not worth your time, and that you absolutely did

not

want to go to bed with that guy from the coffee shop.”

I can practically hear Isaac visibly shuddering at the thought. My dearest ace friend has always been an ear for me after these experiments of mine blow up in my face, but he prefers his romances on the pages of his books. He may not want one, but he desperately believes in romance.

“The only question you really need to answer,” Isaac continues, “is whether or not you want to continue to torture yourself with these group settings or find a way to figure out if he wants you too.”

“Thank you, love, for putting that so succinctly, while also making it sound so easy,” I say, a little sarcastically. It’s halfhearted sarcasm though, because just as he always is, Isaac is right. I cannot get my hot photographer off my mind. Oof,

my

photographer, getting ahead of myself already. “I did just get that batch of tickets to Chappell Roan’s concert in Brighton at the end of next month that that promoter sent me as an attempt to convince me to sell. I’ve enough that I could invite him as well as Tara and Darcy, you too if you want to come. We could get an AirBnB or something?”

“Going with continued torture. Got it,” Isaac laughs.

“Shut up!” I say, laughing too hard to him to think that I mean it. “Would you come?”

“You know, I think I won’t. I will make it an odd number, and the four of you will have fun.”

“You suck, and I love you,” I say to him in quick succession. “ And honestly, can I do this? It’s a massive escalation from pub quizzes and Sunday lunches, to an invitation to go away for the weekend, albeit with his lesbian best friends, to the beach for a concert.”

“Charlie, get over yourself. You’re a catch. Either he’ll jump you or the four of you will jump around at the concert and it’ll just be a really fun weekend.” Isaac is never one to pull punches. “Honestly, if Tara and Darcy are the only ones who get laid then I will be very surprised.”

“Shut

up

!” I shout again.

“Whatever you say. I will look forward to the report when you get back, barring all the gory details of course!”

We talk for a few more minutes and then I hang up and sit with my phone in my hand for even more minutes, leaning up against the headboard. Ms. Ma’am is hot and heavy on my lap and the weight of her is grounding as I reflect back on the conversation. Damn Isaac always being right. I have fucking fallen for Nick Nelson and I have no idea if he thinks of me at all. Now I’ve bloody well got to do something about it and try to find out, or perish in the attempt.

I sit with the feeling, letting Ms. Ma’am purr in my lap in response to my fingers running mindless circles on her head. Then I sit up a bit straighter and pick my phone back off.

Me: Hi Nick. Is there a good time for me
to drop by your studio tomorrow?

I have an idea that I wanted to run by you

I hit send before I can overthink it. Maybe he’ll reply, maybe he won’t. I’ve barely had time to put my phone down when it vibrates, two buzzes indicating an incoming text.

Nick N 📷: I’ve got a client meeting until 11,

but I’ll be free after that

Colour me intrigued

See you tomorrow, Charlie

Me: All will be revealed

See you tomorrow, Nick

That’s that then, now I just have to not chicken out, and actually follow through, actually invite him to the concert.

📷NICK📷

I barely slept last night, tossing and turning with questions about what Charlie could possibly want to discuss, in person no less. My job for him is finished; he’s paid for the photographs and he seemed to like them. More than like them. So far, we’ve met up socially a few times but I’ve been careful to ensure there’s always a group, either Isaac or Tara and Darcy or all three. I triple check the message that he sent and it definitely mentions a singular person and not a group.

I made it through my client meeting without being an actual wreck, and actually secure a job taking photographs of a new hotel that’s going up in town. They’ve got a local artist in to decorate the lobby and hallways and the mock-ups look great. It’s almost finished and so I’ll be starting the project soon. Having the meeting at least means that I don’t sit and watch the clock waiting for Charlie to arrive. I’m nervous enough without that tension. I don’t even know why I’m nervous. I suppose it just comes down to absolutely not wanting to make an idiot of myself revealing my horrifically one-sided crush.

Right at 11am, I hear the buzzer on the door to the office that I converted into a space to meet clients, display some of my photographs and where I do all my editing and marketing. I hit the button to release the door downstairs and hear his footsteps on the treads. He’s wearing black skinny jeans with holes in the knees, a tight grey t-shirt and an oversized checked shirt over top with the buttons open. He has on his high top Converse, which appear to be a uniform for him outside the bar where he tends to have on more formal shoes. He looks comfy and beautiful and I just want to hold him. I get to, for a second anyway, as we’ve advanced in our friendship at this stage to the point where we can bookend our social interactions with hugs. He fits into my arms so neatly, our height difference is exactly right, and I let myself have an absolute microsecond to simply stand in the hug before I know it’s time to let him go. He’s only been able to put one arm around me anyway, the other hand carefully holding what looks to be a pastry box from the bakery down the road, which was one of the reasons that I chose this space for my studio. I honestly have to ration the number of times that I go there. I breathe in and I’m hit with the combination of citrus from his shampoo, the more woodsy notes from his aftershave and the heavenly buttery scent of the pastries in the box. The combination is intoxicating.

“Hi,” I say, eventually realising that so far we’ve skipped over those pleasantries.

“Hi,” he says in return. “I brought pastries from the place on the end of your road. I was walking by and got drawn in.”

“That’s how they get you!” I say. “Thank you, these smell amazing.”

I take the box from him and head off towards the tiny little corner where I’ve set up a makeshift kitchen. Enough to be able to give a cup of tea or coffee to clients and heat up lunch when I’m here all day. I pull out a chair at the little round kitchen table by the worktop and indicate for him to sit, while I busy myself getting plates and firing up the coffee machine. I know, since he’s come to my place for Sunday lunch, that he drinks his coffee black and I’m now especially glad that I splurged on the good machine because I got a 10 minute lecture on the evils of instant coffee when he’d come round, not that I even offered him instant then.

Coffee made and pastries on a plate, I sit opposite him and we spend a few minutes getting enjoyably covered in buttery crumbs and using the coffee to cut through the lingering effects of the sugary confections.

I have no more clients today and the silence between us is so comfortable. We’re just here and I’m usually someone who absolutely has to fill all gaps in social settings. I don’t feel like I have to with Charlie and apparently, he doesn’t either.

“While this is absolutely delicious, you asked to come over because you had something to talk about,” I say, eventually realising that there had been a point to this.

“I did,” he begins, pausing to brush a crumb off his suddenly flushed lip. I close my eyes because the sight is doing funny things to my insides, taking a breath and letting it out slowly before opening my eyes again. “Running the bar and having turned it around the way that I have, and with a few places that I’ve done up and sold in the past, I’ve got a few people scouting to buy the place.” He says this without coming across as arrogant, an absolute feat, it’s just a matter of fact and not a humble brag and I admire that. “They tend to woo me by sending me gifts and I just got the latest one. It’s a batch of tickets to Chappell Roan’s concert at the Brighton Dome down in Brighton. It’s not until later this month, butI wanted to see if you, and maybe Tara and Darcy, would want to go?”

I am stunned by the invitation. I was not expecting it and it feels like an escalation in our friendship. It’s Chappell. I am absolutely not passing up the chance to see her in concert. I must have paused for longer than I should to internally squeal with excitement, because he’s looking at me with concern that he’s overstepped.

“I am so in!” I say quickly. “Let me text the others.”

I pick up my phone and instantly open up our group chat.

Me: You two up for a trip to Brighton to go and see

CHAPPELL ROAN??!

(I’m not really asking)

I only have to wait approximately twenty seconds before I have double pings on my phone.

🦋TARA🦋: That isn’t actually a question!

DARCY😈: Does a bear shit in the woods?

I laugh out loud and show Charlie my screen. “I guess they’re in,” I say. “Did you have ideas about the logistics?”

It’s Charlie’s turn to pause. “I was thinking we could look into an Airbnb, or rooms in an actual B&B. I am flexible. We could take the train down that morning, get settled in, and come back the following day?”

“That sounds good. Should we do some Googling and swap what we find and pin it down? I imagine accommodations are going to get booked up for that weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

📆ONE MONTH LATER📆

📷NICK📷

It’s the week of the concert, and Charlie and I have been texting nonstop. Over the last month, we’ve met up for drinks a few times and enjoyed Sunday dinners at his place and attended the pub quiz too. We still haven’t won, but it’s so much fun now that we’re actually in contention for it.

We settled on an AirBnB, the four of us finding a two bedroom place with a pull-out sofa bed that Charlie has insisted on taking. The train tickets are booked and we’re all set. I am absolutely fizzing with anticipation. I cannot believe that I’m going to be in the same room as Chappell, and I am absolutely ignoring that there will be thousands of other people also in that room.

The four of us meet at the tube and catch the Underground, taking the Victoria Line the four stops to London Victoria station. There we avail ourselves of the M&S for fancy train stacks and head to the platform for the train down to Brighton. It’s only an hour, and yet we’ve picked up fancy crisps, veggies and dips, G&Ts in cans and the absolutely essential

Percy Pigs.

We’re rowdy as we sit around a table on the train, sporadically bursting into fits of singing as random Chappell songs occur to us. We catch some absolute corkers of looks from the other passengers when we launch into the chorus of one of her classics.

🎶

People say I'm jealous, but my kink is watching

You crashing your car, you breaking your heart, you thinking I care

People say I'm jealous, but my kink is karma

🎶

I’m laughing so hard and Tara and Darcy are so relaxed and Charlie is fitting in so well, it’s like it’s always been the four of us and I am having the best time.

Almost too soon, the train arrives in Brighton and we alight to perfect, and therefore almost wholly unexpectedly perfect, beach weather. It’s sunny and clear and there’s a breeze and the seagulls are squawking. Our AirBnB is on West Street down by the water, a short straight shot down towards the promenade and a short eleven minute walk from the Brighton Dome where we’ll be going this evening. It’s a classic beach town high street, shops, fast food places, a Waterstones bookshop, a pub called the Quadrant that has a picture of a seagull on the sign, and from about halfway down we can see the sea. I grab Charlie’s hand on instinct and start running towards the water, dragging him with me.

“Wanna race?” I ask him without thinking. He’s grinning at me like I don’t know what I’ve proposed and I regret it instantly, but it’s too late.

“You wanna race me?” he asks, smirking at me. Then he’s off and I’m running after him. He’s laughing and I’m very quickly realising that I’ve underestimated how much further down the road the sea actually is, and see that Charlie is pulling away effortlessly.

“I’m dying!” I gasp out, still laughing.

“It’s ‘cause you’re old!” the cheeky sod quips back, barely out of breath.

He takes pity on me and slows back down to a walk and I am pulling air into my lungs in alarming gulps and he’s looking completely unruffled. Thankfully, our little sprint has given me an excuse to hover and really slow down so that Tara and Darcy can catch up, neither of them seemingly having been inclined to join us. They’re both grinning when they do catch up with us and looking at me like I’ve gone slightly mad. Maybe I have. Either way, we’ve managed to pull up only a few houses down from the building where our AirBnB flat is, and we find the lockbox and head upstairs.

The place is just like it was in the pictures. White walls with graphic corners carved out in bold blues and golds. Tara and Darcy pick the gold room, Charlie is still insisting that I take the blue one and that he’ll be just fine on the sofa. I am having to physically bite my tongue to prevent myself from suggesting that we simply share.

We have a few hours before the concert and Tara and Darcy have planned to nap. Charlie and I settle onto the sofa and I think he’s going to suggest turning on the TV but he doesn’t; instead, we just talk. We take turns sharing about each other’s families; I tell him about mum and the dogs, and he tells me about her sister travelling with her speed-skater partner.

“My little brother, Olly, he’s a free spirit. He’s off backpacking or, should I say, sleeping his way around Europe in order to find himself.” He doesn’t put air quotes around ‘find himself’, he really means it and respects his brother’s self-exploration. “Apparently, he’s having an absolute whale of a time and increasingly convinced that he’s pan, which based on the fact that so far he has settled on attractive and up for it as two of his key criteria for who he hooks up with, that seems to fit.”

I smile over at Charlie as he describes this and think a little about all the deep-diving I did into my own sexuality, and my Google search engine, when I was coming to realise that I was bi.

“Seems like Olly has the right idea when it comes to figuring himself out,” I say, meaning it entirely. “I certainly agonised over my labels for a lot longer. Not convinced I’ve had as much fun testing it either.” I laugh, it comes out a little more self-deprecating than I mean and I deflect with a question. “When did you know, that you were gay I mean?”

“Oh, that,” he sighs. “It’s always been boys, not that I always knew what it meant. I just never had any questions about it. I take it you haven’t known since you were little?”

“That I was bi? No, not exactly. Then again, when I realised that I was crushing just as hard on the male

and

female leads in some of my favourite films, and looked back and realised that I’d probably worked

really

hard at rugby summer camp because the instructor, Damien, was an absolute fitty, I sort of had to check in with myself a little.”

“There’s no right way to find yourself, Nick,” he says, softly. “Not everyone is going to do it by finding a new bedmate in every European city.”

“That’s fair. All power to Olly but I’m not convinced that was ever me, much less now,” I grin.

We continue to talk and it’s comfortable and easy and I never want to do anything to ruin this. We head out onto the high street and find a place for a quick dinner, knowing that we’ll be drinking and wanting to get in somewhere now. Then it’s time to get ready; Tara and Darcy are awake and there’s a general widespread bustle around the flat as we’re all swapping in and out of the bathroom, jostling for space in front of mirrors and in and out of the bedrooms to get changed. It’s chaos and yet it’s easy. We’ve got the stereo blaring Chappell songs as a warmup for this evening, and we’re happily swaying along as we get ready.

Darcy’s ready first, which surprises me. They have on a pair of slim black trousers, Doc Martens and a black sequined crop top with long sleeves. They have smoked out waves of neon oranges and pinks around their eyes in a way that looks airbrushed and feminine, while contrasting strongly with the severe line of the trousers and the heavy boots. They’ve never been one to bend to gender stereotypes and I love them for that. Charlie emerges from the bathroom and I physically have to turn away and pretend to busy myself in my bag. He, too, is in black trousers, only he’s paired his with a lacy long-sleeved black top with a high neck. The top is tucked into the trousers and is absolutely see-through. I can tell that because his perfectly round nipples are showing through the florals in the lacework. He’s lined his blue eyes with a deep blue liner that makes them absolutely pop. This whole evening is going to be really, really
hard
difficult!

I have kept my outfit simple, while in keeping with the occasion. I’m in a pair of blue jeans and a white vest and I’ve had Tara line my eyes and smoke them out to give them a little drama. Despite the eyeliner I can see Charlie eyeing me quizzically, wondering if I’ve not quite understood the assignment. I bend down and take out the pair of black feathery wings on wide elastics that I thread my arms through to complete my outfit and his eyebrow lifts in a smirk as he sees the full effect. Tara emerges last, only because she’s been helping Darcy and I with our makeup, in a silky green dress and a pair of silver kitten heels; her makeup, too, is flawless, with her signature graphic liner in a vibrant lavender to set off the emerald green in her dress.

We stand and appraise each other, small nods of approval passing around the room.

“Shots!” Darcy exclaims, never one to pay full venue prices for drinks when they can pre-game, as they pull a bottle of tequila out from behind their back.

“A couple!” I warn them. “I am not planning on missing this concert because you get too far gone and need carrying home!”

“Fine!” they mollify me. They’re pouring hefty pours into highball glasses; the flat hadn’t come equipped with shot glasses, and we see off the drinks and head out.

🎵

The concert is absolutely out of this world. Not that I’d expected anything less. Chappell is an absolute queen and her songs are all so brilliant and the venue was ornate and full of queer and inclusive joy. I could not have wished for a better experience. We danced and sang along and laughed and had the time of our lives.

As we leave the Dome, the air has cooled slightly, but we’re all so hot that none of us notice. It’s a short walk back to the flat and the line for taxis is so long that we skip it and head off. Tara and Darcy are skipping along, literally, holding hands ahead of Charlie and I and we’re all relaxed and happy, buzzing with the adrenaline from the concert, ears ringing from the volumes. Tara and Darcy up ahead of us have stopped and they’re wrapped in an embrace that tells me that they’ll appreciate Charlie and I not immediately being in the flat.

“You two go on ahead!” I yell out to them. Darcy doesn’t break their kiss but they do stick up their middle finger in my direction and then reach their other hand down to take Tara’s, and the two of them head off towards the flat.

“Do you want to take a walk along the prom with me, Charlie?” I ask him, although it isn’t really a question. He nods, laughing softly at the way that I’ve just handled my friends, clearly seeing my plan to give them some privacy.

“I’d love to, Nick,” he says and we head past the flat towards the seafront and down on to the pebbly beach. There’s a soft breeze off the water and the moon is high and glittering off the waves. We’re not talking much at this point and the silence is comfortable. We can see the lights from the pier along the shore and little bursts of the music from the rides is flying across the little gusts of air that are making Charlie’s curls dance across his forehead.

I look over at him every now and again as our footsteps crunch on the beach. I take in the way that his hair curls around his beautifully formed ears, take in again the series of piercings in his left ear, realise that I still haven’t discovered how he got the little scar that means that his left eyebrow has a little line through it. His face is soft and relaxed, his blue eyes shining in the reflected glow of the streetlights.

He catches me glancing at him and grins. “See something you like, Nelson?” he asks and it’s so gently teasing that I open and close my mouth a couple of times, not knowing how to respond.

Yes,

my heart wants to say,

yes, I absolutely do and I would like to see more of it and preferably without these pesky clothes in the way.

I resist, however, deciding that I’m not ruining this day with his inevitable rejection. Oh, who am I kidding? “Yes,” I say, simply.

I duck my eyes down and study the cracks in the pavement and focus on the feeling of the feathers on my wings tickling the back of my neck. I can’t make eye contact with him even though ‘yes’ is hardly a suggestive word and he is just objectively hot, so seeing something I like isn’t even an admission that I’d like to take him apart with my tongue.

Oh,

I am in so much trouble!

The words Charlie says next cause my brain to short circuit. “I do too, Nick,” he says, reaching a finger out and placing it under my chin to encourage me to look at him.

I am now almost entirely offline and even my feet have ceased to cooperate so I’ve stopped fully in the middle of the pavement. “You do?” I’m incredulous and I don’t really even mean it to be, but it just feels like it’s all coming out of nowhere even though we’ve been getting closer and spending more time together and there’s been some flirting and he could have invited anyone to this concert and instead invited my best friends and me.

Finally, I look up and almost black out again as I’m met with the unwavering and now decidedly heated vision of his piercing blue eyes staring back at me.

“You didn’t think that I was this attentive to all the cute photographers who come around making life-changing photos of my bar, did you?”

“Since when?” I manage to get out articulately, overwhelmed by the revelation that he actually genuinely likes me back.

“Oh, probably since I came to your studio and saw that photograph you took of the family on the wobbly bridge. You see the world in such vivid, alive flavours. It all looks so magical through those warm hazel eyes of yours.” He pauses, looking me in the eyes the whole time. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful.”

“I really like you, Charlie!” I say, throwing caution to the wind and going all in. “Do you like me?”

“Yes! Obviously!” he says, his eyebrows raised in incredulity. “I wanna kiss you so badly right now.”

“Charlie! Please!” I can barely get the words out. Charlie Spring wants to kiss me. Here, on the beach in Brighton of all the perfect places for us to have our first kiss. Anywhere would have been perfect for us to have our first kiss, but this scene just feels like it was tailor-made for this moment.

I run my fingers softly through the curls above his right ear and his hand has made it up the side of my neck, holding my jaw. His fingers are cool to the touch and it feels delicious against the heat flaring in my skin everywhere he touches me.

I don’t know who kisses who first; both of us are moving and it’s like we’ve done it a thousand times before and never at the same time. There’s no second-guessing, no moment of awkwardness when one person’s nose is in the way, no clashes of teeth. His lips are soft and I can taste the tequila on his tongue when we both start to explore each other’s mouths. I feel his other hand come up and grab the strap of my wings, holding me closer and tighter as if I have even the smallest inclination to move away from this.

We’re communicating so much with this kiss. For me, it’s full of months of longing yet of holding back. For him, apparently, it’s full of revelation and the slow building of a fire I hadn’t known was ablaze in him as well. I run my tongue along his top lip and he catches my bottom lip between his teeth gently. I moan into his mouth and his answering hum of satisfaction is enough to make my already weak knees almost give out.

We break apart breathless and panting and only far enough away so that we can inhale great lungfuls of sea air. I lean down slightly and touch our foreheads together and our eyes are still closed and I cannot believe that that just happened and how badly I need it to happen again.

“So beautiful,” he breathes as we pull apart a little more. He still has hold of the strap of my wings.

“Me? Have you

seen

you?!”

“I saw us tonight, saw me reflected in your eyes at the concert. Can I also just say, I invited you to this and I knew her music, but I didn’t know exactly

how

into her music you were.”

I know that I’ve got a sheepish grin on my face now because he really has no idea. “Oh, Charlie,” I laugh. “I have something that I can show you that’ll out me as the superfan that I know I am. Something that goes beyond the fact that I’d have come to this concert with you even if I hadn’t had a crush on you the size of a blue whale. I can’t show you here.”

Charlie looks equal parts amused and curious and I take his hand and lead him back along the prom towards West Street and the flat. Tara and Darcy had better have had their fun because I’m not about to call them to give them a heads up that we’re on our way back. We head up the stairs and let ourselves in. The flat is quiet, thank goodness, and Charlie still has his hand in mine as I lead him into the bedroom.

“Nick,” he says softly. “I absolutely do not want to slow this down, but I am not doing one more thing without washing my face. How about we both get ready for bed, then we can talk some more?”

I let my breath catch.

Cool it Nichola

s, he’s not saying stop, he’s saying pause, and it’s a good idea! I nod and smile at him as he steps back to the living room where his overnight bag sits on the sofa. I really hope that he doesn’t still think that he’s sleeping out there, even if we don’t do anything but talk.

Charlie grins shyly at me as he takes his pyjamas and a small washbag into the little bathroom. I take off my wings and change into my own pyjamas. It’s a few minutes before he comes out and then he’s rummaging around in his bag in the living room again. I dip into the bathroom where I’d left my face wash and toothbrush before the concert and I rush through my evening ablutions quickly, knowing he is waiting. I look in the mirror and give myself a quick pep talk on not setting my expectations too high. Oh but it’s so hard, poor choice of words
or very apt,
but you know what I mean. Charlie Spring likes me too,

has

liked me too! I’m kicking myself for not being brave enough to demonstrate that I was interested sooner, but this is no time for that kind of talk.

I walk out of the bathroom and look around the living room but I don’t see him. I step into the bedroom and there he is, tucked into the bed, under the covers. Good, he did get that memo. He’s looking at me intently and, for a minute, I’m a little surprised, until I remember that the reason that I dragged him back here was because I promised to share. He’s lifting his eyebrows at me, sending me a question without using words. I’m slightly self-conscious because when I show him he’s going to see the extent to which I really hope that we’re not going to just be sleeping in this bed tonight. We’ve come too far tonight and he’d figure that part out the second I got into the bed anyway, so screw it. Yes, I see all the puns in that sentence, just go with me here, I am working on a seriously reduced capacity to my upper brain at this point.

I bite down on my bottom lip gently. “You really wanna see?” I ask him, knowing the answer but feeling like this is a moment where consent needs to be established. He’s nodding at me and smiling warmly. I hook my thumb into the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and tug down on the right side. I’m really trying to do this without just simply flashing him but it’s difficult. I manage eventually, to arrange the fabric so that my tattoo is showing. Tucked into the crook of my right hip flexor is a line drawing of an old school alarm clock, its bells connected by a hook. The time on the clock is two minutes past twelve.

He is staring at my groin and it’s doing nothing to make the rest of me calm down, and then he takes his finger and lightly traces over the clock. “You have a tattoo for Chappell’s After Midnight, on your hip!” he says softly. For a fleeting second I’m concerned that he hates it, until he shifts on the bed, swinging his legs over the side and sitting on the edge of the mattress. He moves closer to me and presses his lips to the inked skin. It’s soft and would have been so sweet had it not been for the fact that he’s kissing my groin and his cheek is almost resting against the glaring evidence of my attraction to him. His hands come around my legs, holding me still then shift upwards a little until he’s cupping my bum.

I moan, deep in my throat. “Charlie!” I gasp.

His fingers climb ever higher and he’s looking up at me through his ridiculously beautiful eyelashes and there’s a question in his gaze. “Yes!” I sigh out at him before his fingers are tugging at the waistband of my pyjamas, and then his mouth is around me and his tongue is lapping at my slit and I’m mumbling his name and telling him how incredible he feels around me and how long I’ve wanted to know how he feels.

He’s kneading my bum with his fingers until he’s suddenly reaching for my hands and putting them in his hair. I gasp as he seems to encourage me to hold him and tug just so. I groan and he’s humming around my cock and the sensations of that combined with the way that he’s flicking his tongue around my tip and all of the times that I’ve fantasised about similar moments combine into a building of sensation that I am powerless to control.

I tug on his hair a few more times, relishing the sounds he makes in response and then I’m calling out his name and telling him that I’m going to come and he’s taking me all the way down his throat. That does it for me, and I’m telling him that he’s so tight and then I’m incoherent as I come voluminously down his perfect throat. He holds me through it, sucking gently on my tip and using his tongue to clean me up and waves of aftershocks are rippling through me. My knees are jelly and I feel boneless and sated. I sink to the floor in front of him, noting with appreciation that he’s clearly more than a little turned on.

I tug on his own pyjamas, looking the same question up at him and gratified at the hoarse, “oh god yes, Nick!” that I get in response. He lifts his hips off the bed to help me tug the offending fabric off his strong slender legs. I want to just mention here that Charlie has beautiful feet, delicate toes, muscled, and I take in the tattoo over the top of his left foot, a line drawing of what looks like a backwards bass clef tucked, facing, into the bottom crook of a less exaggerated ‘s’ shape. I recognise the symbol, so that’ll be something to ask him about when my brain is back online. Now though, my eyes track back up his legs until I’m faced with his absolutely glorious dick. It’s standing straight out, heavy and wet from a crop of neatly trimmed black curls. I take in the sight of him before me, relishing the freedom to look in all the ways that I’ve desperately wanted to look since almost the moment that I met him. His breaths are coming out short and ragged and I’ve apparently made him wait because I hear him say, “please!” from above my head.

“Oh, baby,” I whisper. “Eager much?” I know I’m being a hypocrite, given that I just begged him to take me, but I can’t help it, he looks so good and I just want to take him in.

Yes, okay, I caught myself with that pun too.

He whines and I lean forward, kissing his tip and tasting the briny drop of precome that glistens there. I let my tongue linger in his slit, drawing more sighs and moans from Charlie. Then I set to properly exploring and run the very tip of my tongue along the length of the sensitive vein up the underside of his pretty cock. He’s long and slender and curved in a way that I can only anticipate is going to feel so so good and he’s babbling above me and his hands are in my hair.

I pull off him long enough to lick my palm, wrapping my hand around the base of him as I drop my mouth down over the rest of him. He groans and I hum around him as I get into a rhythm, working him with my hand and mouth in tandem. I use small twists of my wrist and subtle changes in the way I move my tongue on his tip to mix things up and apparently it works for him because he’s calling my name and babbling expletives and tapping my shoulder before he’s coming. I gently guide him through it, holding onto his hips as his own aftershocks flutter through his nerve endings and somehow his pleasure triggers extra ripples in me too and we’re shuddering together. His hands are suddenly under my ears and he’s tugging me gently up off my knees and into his arms and we’re falling back into the bed, pyjama bottoms abandoned on the bedroom floor and we’re kissing. I can taste a heady mix of myself and Charlie on my tongue and I’m sighing into the kiss. Sated in a way I don’t recall being in a very long time.

Through the adjoining wall, I suddenly hear wolf whistles and clapping and I’m brought back to the reality that my two best friends in the world are right next door and we did not hold back on the volume.

“Screw you!” I yell through the wall at them.

“Charlie just did,” Darcy yells back.

I look over at Charlie to make sure that he’s okay. I'm too happy right now to be embarrassed, but I’ve also known them forever. He’s grinning at me.

“Damn right I did,” he yells in their general direction.

I am laughing so hard now that I’m having trouble drawing breath. That’s the icing on the absolutely decadent cake, Charlie holding his own against Darcy in a battle of who can embarrass who first. I am so gone on him now, and I hadn’t had far to fall.

I reluctantly roll away to turn off the bedside light and move back towards him. He has his arm out to the side and I can take a hint; I lift my head and lie on his chest, I sling my arm over his waist and my leg over his and his arm is over mine and he’s kissing into my hair.

I have so many things that I want to say to him and suddenly absolutely no words. Maybe none of them are needed, maybe now is just the time for snuggling into his chest and smelling sex on our skin and feeling his finger trace lazy circles over my shoulder as he holds me close to him. There’ll be more talk, but we have time for it now. We drift off to sleep and, while almost nothing about how we’ve gotten here matches the lyrics, there are two lines from After Midnight flit across my brain.

🎶

Yeah, we'll make a move, then we're making out

Yeah, we're makin', make love (it's what I want)

🎶

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

🍸CHARLIE🍸

Nick hasn’t let me get much of a word in as he’s told this story, so I’m taking my turn now.

We wake up the morning after the night before and it feels like we’ve always slept wrapped up in each other like this. From what he’d said last night he’s been suppressing this, sitting with it for a while and, okay, so it came up on me a little more subtly. When I realised what was happening though, the crash was instantaneous and I haven’t tried to resist. Apparently, I could have done a better job of indicating my receptiveness to his advances, since I was clearly so subtle that he missed any cues I did send his way. We’re both naked from the waist down, and sometime in the night he’s shed the t-shirt that he’d been wearing when we went to sleep, so we’re wrapped tightly together and there’s no mistaking our morning erections. He hops out of bed as we wake and snuggle and rub together and I’m briefly affronted that he’s leaving, until he rummages in his bag and comes back to the bed with a tiny bottle of lube. I whip my t-shirt off too so that we’re both fully naked for the first time. He’ll see me, it’s light enough in this room that my slender frame is on full display, but he’s already seen that tattoo on my foot and my body is a place I feel comfortable now after a lot of therapy and a lot of distance.

“What?!” he asks indignantly as I shoot my eyebrows up at him. “Everyone needs a little bit of lubrication, even on their own. I didn’t bring it thinking I’d be using it with you, but now I’m very glad I came prepared.”

“Ever the Boy Scout!” I grin over at him, glad that he was prepared too but still wanting to tease him a little.

He’s kneeling on the bed and I wrap myself around him, my legs over his hips bringing us close together at our cores so that he can use his now well-lubricated hand to hold both of us together. His fingers wrap around me and the combination of his hand and his dick sliding against me have me feeling absolutely everything all at once. He’s kissing my neck, morning breath preventing the full on snogging that I want to be doing, and my head is thrown back and he’s speeding up and I know that neither of us is going to last long. He’s being delicate with his rhythm, switching up his tempos, and adding in subtle twists to his wrist. We’re both breathing in shallow gasps, intermixed with whispered grunts and I’m aware that not all the words he’s groaning are English, or my ears aren’t working. He kisses up my neck and takes my right earlobe into his mouth, biting down gently and this is such a trigger for me that I am calling out and coming all over his clenched fist. Clearly the sensation of me losing control is what lets him follow me over the edge and we’re messy and laughing and breathless and I can’t quite believe that we’ve not been doing this all along.

There’s a handy box of tissues on the bedside table and we clean up as best we can, knowing we’ll need showers before we’re presentable.

“Fuck, you feel good!” he says to me as we catch our breath. My legs are still wrapped around his waist and I’ve got my face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in our combined scent on his skin.

“You too, babe!” I say, meaning it.

We untangle our limbs and straighten out a little so that we don’t cramp as we gather our wits and collect our breathing from where it had scattered around the room. He’s got me tucked close in at his side and I’m in a cocoon that I am distinctly reluctant to escape from. I nuzzle into him and he tightens his arm around my shoulder and we sigh in a contentment that seems to be functioning without words. Eventually, I lean up, kissing his firm pec and looking up into his molton brown eyes. There’s so much we probably need to talk about, but it can wait.

“Ready to face the music?” I ask, instead of any of the myriad bigger questions that we’ll discuss in time. They’re his friends after all, but clearly we were not subtle or quiet last night, so it isn’t as if there’s a secret to keep.

“To tell the world that Charlie Spring likes me? Born ready!”

I wasn’t prepared for him to be a full on sap, and as soon as he’s said the words I wonder why not.

“Come on then, lover boy,” I grin at him, untangling myself from him and reaching for my discarded pyjamas from the night before.

Once he’s dressed too, we open the door and we’re greeted by Tara and Darcy, who are sitting at the tiny kitchen table with matching cups of tea and smug expressions on their faces. He reaches for my hand and we walk out into the frey.

🌺

All of that was five years ago now, and it’s absolutely incredible to me to think about everything that changed so rapidly after that weekend in Brighton. The first thing that changed was the obvious; once it was established that we liked each other as more than just mates *

internal shudder at the word

* we came back from Brighton and we fucked like bunnies. Everywhere.

Nick and I took that first step and apparently there were very few locations that were off limits. I am disturbingly unique in the bar owner realm in that what I’d said to Tara and Darcy the night I met them was true. I’d never used my bar to scout for dates. As such, it had never been the location for a casual hookup or any other kind of sex. Let’s just say that’s not true anymore and leave it at that.

It wasn’t all sex, although it could have been and I’d have had no complaints. He took me out to dinner at fabulous restaurants I hadn’t heard of. For one of our first dates when we got back to Brixton, we went to an incredible southern Indian restaurant where the meal was so tactile. It was a series of curries served with chapatis on a large round tray, no cutlery needed as the whole meal was eaten with our fingers. We fed each other morsels of the incredible fragrant rice, tadka dal, saag paneer and chana masala. It was delicious, even if we did have to shower when we got home, washing our hands a little more thoroughly before bed, no one needs spices and sex to go together in that way.

We saw each other as often as we could, and in much less time than anyone would reasonably have thought we were figuring out the logistics for moving in together. Neither of us could come up with a reason not to do it; we were together all the time, and this was despite the fact that my schedule and his are largely polar opposites. We found a routine for it that works and it’s an understanding that I never had from any previous partner.

This year, we took a trip across mainland Europe, a river cruise, and it was stunning and historic. We ate well, drank wine, soaked up the sun, and generally shagged our way from Amsterdam in the Netherlands, to Basel in Switzerland. It was at our stop in Rüdesheim, Germany, that we were walking around Burgruine Ehrenfels, a ruined hillside castle, where I finally found my moment. I dropped to one knee to ask him to make me the happiest man in all the world and be my husband.

I let him know that being surrounded by all of this history, this majesty of a building that has refused to fall, I wanted to find a way into a new part of our future, a sturdy part. That I wanted to put down roots with him and make a life that we design for ourselves. Nick, of course, cried and pulled me up into his arms and whispered “yes, of course, yes” over and over again and my heart was so full of love for the man in my arms that I still am not entirely sure what to do with it all.

The plans for the wedding are well underway. Darcy is insisting on officiating and I’d have been nervous about this when I first met them, but they’re astute and they love us and, while they are an
imp
chaos demon, they’re

our

chaos demon. Tara is standing up for Nick and Isaac for me and our friends and family will be there and I simply

cannot wait

to say I do.