It’s strangely intimate, perhaps even more so than sharing the bed to just sleep, because now they’re choosing to share the same space.
Before Christopher can ponder that further, Nash says, ‘Thanks for nagging me last night.I’m finding it hard to switch off from some work stuff, so on this occasion, it was appreciated.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Nash gives him a heavy-lidded look that Christopher can’t translate, but doesn’t say anything else for a few beats.Eventually, he says, ‘Where did you get those pyjamas?You look like Kevin McCallister.’
Christopher huffs.‘You’re the blond one here.’
‘All right then, you look like a child from some kind of period drama.Or Christopher Robin.’
‘That’s who I was named after.’
‘Of course you were.’
‘My mother bought me them last Christmas,’ he admits.‘We always do Christmas pyjamas.’
A pleased grin spreads across Nash’s face.‘Oh, that’s far too easy.Want anything?’
Christopher ignores the churn in his stomach.‘Make me a tea?’
‘Okay.I’ll make breakfast too, so we’re fuelled up for the day.’
‘That’s kind of you.’
One thing he’s quickly learning about Nash is that he takes compliments and criticism similarly – always with a little dose of snark in return.If he were a cat, the fur on his back would bristle.He mumbles something that sounds like ‘No problem’ mixed with ‘Whatever.’
Christopher reaches over to the bedside table for his phone and checks the time.It’s late for him, though still very early in the day.Normally, he’d be putting loaves in the oven having proved them for hours, ready for them to be served hot and fresh when the bakery doors opened.It’s a Saturday,too, so prime for people popping by doing their shop or heading down to the beach.It feels weird to be in bed this late.He misses the routine of a day running the bakery, as much as the lie-in is nice.
First thing they should do today is check in at the community centre so that Tamara can direct them.
He gets out of bed with a stretch, and when he opens the curtains he sees another fresh layer of snow has fallen over the town.It’s no deeper than before, but it’s no better either.Just to be sure, he runs through the various transportation and weather websites he’s been repeatedly checking over the last few days.The roads are being cleared in some places, but there’s still a very cleardo not drive unless there’s a serious emergencywarning in place due to black ice across the whole country.The trains are still a mess, and only a few lines down south are running a very small timetable.Everywhere else is frozen over.And obviously no planes are going either.
It looks as if Nash is going to be stuck here through Christmas, and perhaps it’s better if they accept that now, rather than carry on with the pretence that he’s just staying one more night, just one more night.
He fetches his suitcase from the living room, where the majority of his clothes still are, and puts on a clean navy shirt paired with some nice, but admittedly not particularly warm, chinos.December 23rd feels ever so slightly too early to break out the Christmas jumper, but he opts for a Christmas-adjacent Fair Isle red-and-white knitted jumper.
On the side table, his phone buzzes.
Kit:Hey, can you message us back, maybe in the group?I know you’ve checked in with Laurel and Ambrose, but I’m just a bit worried about you, and you know how I hate it when I must feel something.X
Well, that sounds as if Ambrose and Laurel haven’t spilled the beans on his accidental lodger.That’s one bigconversation he needs to have today, but there’s a bigger one he needs to get over and done with first, with said lodger.
He finds Nash in the kitchen standing at the hob, where he is heating up one of the big cast-iron pans, a square of butter swirling in the middle like molten gold.He wears one of Christopher’s aprons over a thick knitted cardigan, the sleeves rolled up almost to the elbow, revealing the soft golden hair and unseasonal tan on his forearms.Or, presumably, seasonal for LA, where they don’t seem to actually have seasons.Though to be fair, he’s quickly learning that Wales doesn’t have many – there’s the cold rainy season and then, apparently, the warm rainy season, which he is supposed to look forward to.
‘Nice sweater,’ Nash says.
‘Jumper.But yes, thank you.An old Christmas present from Laurel.’
‘I’m making pancakes.American style, I can’t do the crepe thing.You want?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
He slides a cup of tea across the counter towards Christopher.
‘I thought I’d better get you full of breakfast and caffeine if we’re going to be driving around and cooking all day.’
‘Careful, Nash, or you’ll have me thinking you’reconsiderate,’ Christopher says with a smile, hoping it reads as a callback to last night.He can’t be sure though, because Nash just looks kind of blank this morning.‘Do you need any help?’Christopher adds, when Nash responds with nothing.
