Tell Me Our Story

“. . .”

Twinkling eyes. “Of course, if you’d prefer me to tie you up—”

Jonathan snatched the scarf and steered O’Hara around. Laughter thrummed between them as Jonathan made efficient work of knotting the blindfold in place, ends trailing halfway down O’Hara’s back.

O’Hara dropped into a freefall against Jonathan; a surprised breath puffed out, but he made the catch, arms circling O’Hara’s chest. More laughter fluttered under his palms. “You were too hasty, Jonathan. You should have made me put my boots on first.”

Jonathan steered him upright and reached for the scarf—

O’Hara jerked, spinning on his heel and lifting his hands to feel for Jonathan. “No-no-no. You’ll just have to help me.”

“That scarf isn’t big enough.”

Confusion.

“To cover this.” Jonathan whispered the tip of his finger over O’Hara’s cheeky dimple.

That only made it deepen.

“This is good stuff,” Savvy said from the other side of the island.

Jonathan dropped his finger swiftly. “You’re recording already?”

“Duh.”

His belly hopped. When he watched later, he’d . . . simply cut this interaction out.

“We should get going,” O’Hara urged. “Midday deadline!”

“Plenty of time.” Taking hold of O’Hara’s arm, Jonathan guided him to the front door and down onto the bench.

“I kinda wish I could see you on your knees, servicing me like this.”

Jonathan almost ripped the zipper off O’Hara’s ankle boot.

“Luckily, I’ve been gifted with a vivid imagination.”

“If only this challenge were Muted By Love.”

O’Hara’s feet shook with his next laugh, making it difficult to steer the second boot on. “You’d totally miss my voice.”

Jonathan flattened his lips and asked Savvy how cold it was outside.

“No wind. Around fifteen degrees.”

He donned casual sneakers and hauled O’Hara to his feet while Savvy opened the door, camera still trained on them.

“Wait,” O’Hara said. “If we let go, how will I know it’s you I grab onto?”

“I won’t let you go.”

“But I’ll probably let you go. And you’re not exactly talkative, so I won’t hear you . . . Oh, I know!” O’Hara grabbed his forearm and felt down to his wrist. Jonathan jerked and stared at O’Hara’s seeking fingers. A warm, dexterous hand wrapped around his watch and wriggled against the strap. “There, this can only be you.”

Savvy made a choking sound and coughed it into non-existence at Jonathan’s frown.

Gently, Jonathan pried O’Hara’s hand off, pausing at the last finger over the buckle. “If you need assurance.”

He steered O’Hara out into the sunshine.

They walked to the market that filled half the town square with homemade food stalls—and the other half with buskers and live acts—every Sunday. It was a renowned affair; tourists flocked to enjoy the festivities. Which was why Jonathan usually avoided it. Too crowded. But the sky was bright, the scenery picturesque. A beautiful backdrop for their challenge.

And the crowds had freed him from Mr Cranky, who’d caught sight of him a street back and given chase.

Jonathan could still hear him somewhere in the distance.

O’Hara laughed. “He’s persistent!”

“He’s bored.”

O’Hara walked beside him, easy, turning his head to the din of local laughter and the scent of baked goods.

“I bet I can tell you . . . we just passed a cheese stand?”

“Mm.”

“And now . . . honey?”

Jonathan’s gaze flashed to the stall to their right. “Beeswax candles.”

“Oh my God. Donuts. I smell donuts!”

He was right. Fresh donuts were wafting off a glorious cinnamon-and-sugar scent.

“You have to buy me one.”

“Not right now.”

“But I’m huuuungry.”

“You just had breakfast.”

“Fruit and yoghurt. Come on, Jonathan!”

O’Hara swatted air until he’d found the front of Jonathan’s shirt and clutched it, pleading. “We can share one. I just need one bite.”

“I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“My day is ruined!”

Jonathan suffered the exaggerated yanks on his shirt—until he lost a button. He gripped O’Hara’s wrists and, eyeing the donut stand, dragged him over. Quarters had been cut up on a taster platter and Jonathan pinched one up and brought it to O’Hara’s mouth.

Warm breath funnelled between his fingers and he almost dropped the sugared morsel.

O’Hara smiled and swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, catching fine grains of sugar. A breeze made the scarf ends flutter around his shoulders.

“Are you going to feed me?”

Jonathan pinched the donut so hard it crumbled. This time, it did drop to the ground.

O’Hara sensed its loss and grumbled, “Hey, you missed.”

“Ah.”

“Try again.” Full lips parted, waiting.

Jonathan took another piece, aware of the stall owner watching them, of Savvy somewhere to the side.

He steeled himself and made quick work of it.

O’Hara’s mouth closed over the donut and his thumb, teeth lightly grazing the pad. He yanked free but the moisture lingered and tickled. He took hold of O’Hara’s arm, trying to wipe it off on his sleeve, while O’Hara moaned.

“More!”

Distractedly, Jonathan thanked the stall owner and hauled O’Hara off. No more walking through food stalls!

He navigated them around inquisitive gazes and moved toward the central causeway that crossed the stream to the other side of the square.