Daisy is now the full-time bar manager, meaning Owen has a lot more evenings free, and Daisy is having the absolute time of her life.
“I’m living the dream,”she told me one afternoon.“Find a job where working doesn’t feel like working, yeah?”
In the evenings, Owen and I will chill out at Fernbank Cottage. He’s rediscovered Lego as an adult, and I watch YouTube reviews on whichever tech I’m looking into buying next.
It’s what we have planned for tonight after this morning’s training. I bought Owen the LegoTwilighthouse, and I’m still researching 3D printers. Still think a 3D printer would be really cool.
At least that’s what Owen thinks we have planned.
“Good morning,” I say to him. “Happy one year anniversary. Also, happy DILF’s day.”
“Morning, Wild Card. You remembered our anniversary.” His voice is gravelled by sleep, and his laugh is even huskier. “Did you get me a present?”
“Yes, actually,” I reply, and his smile drops in surprise. I hop out of bed to fetch the box I’d tucked under the dressing table. I’m only wearing boxers and a scrappy vintage Garbage T-shirt, and Owen’s eyes follow the line of my thighs.
“Why don’t you come and sit in my lap?” He throws the covers off himself, and he too only has an old tee and a threadbare pair of underpants on.
I hand him the box wrapped in Pokémon gift wrap, because that was all they had in the Tesco garage on the way back from training.
“Swimming goggles . . . and a rubber ring, and . . . SPF?” he says, pulling each item out and inspecting it as though it might in fact be something else. A bottle of suncream masquerading as one of those pop-up snakes in a can.
“Factor fifty, for your pasty white skin,” I say.
“What? Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve booked us a holiday. The girls told me you haven’t been away for anything not rugby related since that caravan break you went on to Brean.”
Owen’s mouth opens. Hangs there. Closes again.
“Daisy said she was seven, and that you and Kirsty were still together.”
He shakes his head like he wants to deny it, but he knows I know the truth. “That’s . . . I can’t . . . I just never had the time. I couldn’t leave the pub, or thegirls—”
I stop him with a hand on his chest before he can find any more excuses for never resting. “We’re going to Santorini, in case you’re wondering. I’ve booked one of those cave hotels for us. It’s the executive pool suite. I did a lot of research to find the best hotel, and I’m actually thinking of branching out my research topics to include holiday destinations, because I had so much fucking fun. Daisy’s gonna run the bar full-time for the week we’re away—”
“A whole week?!” I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or impressed. Or perhaps he’s worried about what condition his pub will be in on our return.
“She’ll be fine,” I say, hedging my bets on the latter option.
“It’s just . . . a lot. Too much. You shouldn’t have . . . but thank you.”
“We fly from Bristol in two weeks.”
“Oh my god!” He’s getting out of bed, pacing. “I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t even consider we might do gifts. I’m gonna pile so many roasties on your plate today.”
I hop to my feet and pull him back to the bed. “Listen, letting me research and plan a holiday is honestly the best gift you could give me, so we’re quits. And I’ve wanted to do Santorini for ages now. I always travel alone, unless it’s with work, but it’ll be nice to go with someone I don’t need a social battery for.”
Owen’s eyes get a little glassy. He sits down on the edge of the mattress.
“Fair warning,” I say, because I’m about to burst our bubble a little. “It’s the busiest time of the year.” I hate crowds, but I can only take holidays during the off season, like a teacher, so I don’t have a lot of choice. “But I’ve looked up all the best places to visit and to eat, and I’ve already booked restaurants, and boat trips, and private guided excursions. I don’t think we need to worry about other people spoiling our fun.”
Owen’s never bothered by crowds, and that’ll be a good thing. He can help to ground me, and reassure me when I reach sensory overload.
“I don’t know what to say. How to thank you . . .” I see the idea as soon as it enters his brain. “Actually, let me show you.” He places his hands either side of my hips, moves his face a little closer to my boxers.
“Oh no, nuh-uh, that’s not how things are happening today,” I tell him, grabbing his forearms and flipping him onto his back.
Owen squeals like he’s being tickled, but he doesn’t stop me as I wiggle his underpants down and take his cock into my mouth.
