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Harry picked up the suit, but she held up a hand. “Wait one minute. Don’t you want the bag?”
“Bag?”
“It comes with the suit bag. Do you want it or not?”
“Oh! Yeah, yes please!”
Beryl sighed, hauled herself off her stool as if Harry’s very existence were inconveniencing her, and went and fetched the suit bag. She unrolled it and shoved it at him aggressively. “Go on, then. Or are you going to stand there all day holding up the line?”
Harry looked around him at the otherwise empty shop and back at Beryl. She just continued to glare at him until he grabbed the bag and his fancy new suit and scurried out the door, grinning from ear to ear.
Harry wasn’t sure, because with Beryl he could never be sure, but he thought he might actually have won that round.
On the bus on the way home, an old man gave Harry a dirty look for answering his phone. And he wouldn’t have answered it, not usually, except it was a Bad Boyfriend call.
“Hi,” he said.
“Harry, it’s Gino,” said Gino. Gino was weird and anxious and wanted to be left alone for the rest of his life so that he could paint Lord of the Rings miniatures or something. Harry actually liked him a lot. Gino’s family did not like his life plan and wanted him to be more ambitious and dynamic. This involved impressing his grandfather at some business lunch, because his grandfather was head of the family business. Which was making pre-packaged puddings, it turned out, and not the sort of family business Harry had assumed when he’d heard the name ‘Gino Moretti’ and caught a glimpse of Gino’s dark good looks.
“Just checking we’re still on for Saturday,” Gino said. He sounded stressed. “And I need you to be really, really awful.”
“We’re still on,” Harry assured him. “And I’ll be awful, I promise. Your grandfather isn’t going to promote you to the board if he thinks your boyfriend is a gold-digger.”
“God, I hope not!” Gino sighed. “Okay, thanks, Harry. See you there.”
“See you,” Harry said, and ended the call. He stroked his suit bag dreamily, ignored the old man still giving him a dirty look, and smiled out the window the rest of the way home.
Chapter Eighteen
The week passed quickly. At work, Jack was as busy as always, but he loved it. At home, Harry had moved back into his bedroom with him, and they kissed and cuddled before falling asleep every night. There were a couple of times Jack thought about maybe doing more than kissing and turning up the heat, but he hesitated, not quite sure if they were back where they had been yet. Then one of them would yawn, and sleep suddenly looked a lot more attractive anyway.
Besides, Jack had a surprise planned for their weekend away. He’d booked them into a nice hotel. Well, nice by Goulburn standards, which wasn’t saying a lot. But he’d booked the nicest room they had. Harry thought they were staying at a cheap motel—the sort of place where the doors opened straight out onto the car park and the list of features started and ended with ‘free parking’—but Jack had booked a newer place. It was four stars, which was as fancy as things got in Goulburn, and certainly a hell of a lot fancier than the house they lived in. The hot water probably worked and everything.
God, they really did live in a shithole. But the rent was cheap, and at least tonight they’d get to stay somewhere without mildewed ceilings and knocking pipes and Tristan fucking someone at full volume—or getting fucked. Either was likely.
Jack grabbed his phone and squinted at the time. Just after eleven. He wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. Harry had gotten in late from last night’s bad date and Jack had waited up for him, because Harry was always so pleased when he did, then they’d wound down with a couple of ciders. But he knew Harry had a lunch date at twelve, and they were driving to Goulburn right after.
He reached out and shook Harry’s shoulder gently. The dark mop of hair poking out of the blankets moved, and Jack heard a mumbled, “No.”
“Harry,” Jack whispered. “We have to get up. You have a date.”
Harry made a dying whale sound and flopped onto his back. He was adorably disoriented in the mornings. Jack nudged him again, got out of bed and then turned the light on.
“Come on,” Jack said. “You have to go to the grandad lunch.”
Harry sighed and hauled himself into a sitting position on the side of the bed, pushing his glasses onto his nose. “I’m getting up.” He staggered upright and out of the door to the bathroom, and a minute later Jack heard the pipes rattling.
By the time Harry was out of the bathroom, Jack had made coffee and toast. Harry took his cup gratefully, more awake after his shower, and stole a piece of Jack’s toast. “What?” he said with a grin when Jack raised an eyebrow at him.
“Aren’t you getting fed at lunch?”
“Yes, but I might be super-efficient and get thrown out before the food arrives,” Harry said. “Which I wouldn’t actually mind, because it means we can leave earlier. Have you got the check-in details?”
“Yeah. Are you all packed?”
“Just gotta throw my stuff in the car. I’ll text you when I’m done on my date, and you can come get me.” Harry put his cup down, slid off his stool and wrapped his arms around Jack, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m nervous about your parents,” he admitted. “What if they hate the real Harry as much as bad-date Harry?”
“Impossible,” Jack said staunchly. “You’re a delight. A treasure. A Disney princess.”
