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Tris looked between them, and his brow furrowed. “How are you going to Tate’s bachelor thingy?” he asked, pointing at Harry. “Doesn’t Jack’s family think you’re evil incarnate?’
“They’re not coming,” Jack said. “It’s just Tate and a few of his mates. Dad thinks buck’s parties aren’t appropriate for ministers.”
“Well, he’s right—not the good ones, anyway,” Tris said. “So you’re going on an actual date? That’s so cute.”
Warmth flooded Harry’s chest as Jack squeezed him a little tighter.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I guess it is an actual date.” Then his brows tugged together. “God. Our first date is the Powerhouse. That’s so lame.”
“I went on a first date once to the library,” Cohen piped up. Then he grinned. “I’m now banned from all libraries in the local council area.”
“I don’t think we’ll be doing anything that will get us thrown out of the Powerhouse.”
Harry nodded.
“You know, that really would make an incredible name for a club,” Tristan said. “It’s probably copyrighted or something though. Well, enjoy your first official date, you pair of cutie-pies!”
“We will,” Jack said.
Three hours later, Harry was shitting himself as he and Jack got off the bus in Ultimo. He wished Tris hadn’t pointed out it was their first real date, because now it felt weird. Like it wasn’t just him and Jack going out in the afternoon to meet Tate and some of his mates—it was significant. There were expectations now, or something, although Harry didn’t know what they were. He was only sure that he’d fail to meet them. He was wearing jeans and one of his nicest T-shirts, and Jack was dressed the same, but should he have done something more than that? Should there have been a corsage involved?
No, that was probably just his panic talking.
Also, how was he supposed to act when he was on a date with someone he lived with? Why was there no clear marker between the ‘living with you’ part of the day and the ‘and now we are on a date’ part? There should have been a gong or something, so Harry knew exactly when things changed.
Then Jack reached out, took his hand and said, “Do you want to go somewhere nice for dinner after this?” and everything fell into place, just a little bit.
“Okay,” he said, and they walked towards the museum together.
The Powerhouse display was pretty much what Harry had been expecting. But Tate seemed to really be into it, and he was the groom, so that was what mattered, even though Harry figured they’d both heard Tate rhapsodising enough over the Model B3 Hammond organ from 1955 to last a lifetime. Harry and Jack held hands as they went around the displays though, and that alone made the outing worth it. Afterwards Tate invited them for drinks with his mates, but Jack shook his head. “We’ve got dinner plans.”
The restaurant was about a kilometre away, just off Broadway.
“I always thought tattoo artists were meant to be badarse and edgy, but he’s so boring,” Jack said with a laugh as they walked. The late afternoon sunlight made everything look golden and lengthened the shadows. “I can’t believe Mum and Dad were so worried about the whole tattoo artist thing, when Tate is actually the most boring person in the entire universe.” He said it with a smile, though.
“I guess boring isn’t a bad thing when he’s going to marry your sister,” Harry said.
“Boring is perfect.” Jack smiled. “I mean, I think they’re crazy to get married this young, but what the hell do I know? Just because I don’t have my shit figured out, that doesn’t mean Mia and Tate don’t.”
“Mia does seem to have her shit together,” Harry said, “so I guess as long as they’re happy, that’s what counts.”
“Mia’s far more together than me,” Jack agreed. “God, she’s getting married in a week. I still can’t believe it.” They stopped in front of the restaurant, and he turned wide eyes on Harry. “I wish I could take you.”
Harry laughed. “We talked about this. I went out of my way to make your parents hate me. I’m not going to show up as your date at your sister’s wedding. It would be a disaster. We’re saving telling them until after the wedding, once Mia’s dropped the baby news.”
Except, a small and crazy part of Harry wished Jack could take him too. He felt like he’d aced this first date thing, so surely that meant he was ready to level up to family events. Well, the wedding was out, but maybe he had the baby’s christening to look forward to? Mia and Jack’s dad was a minister. There would probably be a christening. Harry hoped that Jack had talked to them by then.
The restaurant Jack had picked was French, but not so intimidatingly French that the menu wasn’t also in English. Harry hadn’t been there on any of his bad dates, which was partly why they’d picked it. It was nice. It was also unquestioningly romantic. Their table had a candle and everything, which Harry felt was a bit of an overkill considering it was still light outside, and they were both in T-shirts and jeans, but maybe they could come back another time at night, wearing suits. Nice suits. Not ones from the op shop.
They had a table for two in a little alcove that overlooked the window onto the street.
Harry ordered duck, because that seemed safer than snails. He wondered who first saw a snail and decided it looked like it needed to be drenched in garlic butter, because it was one of the worst ideas he’d ever heard. Which was stupid, because he’d eaten Moreton Bay bugs before, and no way in hell did that sound any more appetising than snails. Snails were probably nice—millions of French people couldn’t be wrong—and they were no grosser than seafood, but Harry didn’t really want to test it out right now. All he knew was that if he ever saw kids eating snails on the playground, he yelled at them for it. He didn’t go scurrying over with a frypan, a knob of butter and instructions for a gentle sauté.
Jack ordered the duck too. Harry wasn’t sure if it was anti-snail solidarity, but he liked to think so.
Once the waiter left, Harry fidgeted and straightened his cutlery.
Jack smiled at him and reached out and put a hand over his. “I’m guessing this isn’t like your usual dates.”
