Well, that was sooner than expected...
Busy as he appeared with the dishes and the leftovers and the eager pooch at his side, Nate's ears were pricked like a cat's as the Kay and Matthew talked. He had a habit of keeping an ear and either eye on any guest in their house; Jorka seemed to do the same. Not that he was expecting anything physical trouble from Matthew, but...
"Oh, for..."
The cut-off curse had no effect on Kay, of course. She plowed on and with all sincerity queried about Matthew's rates. Thirty gold-rimmed? A count's ransom down in Sunset, but what about if Nate wanted to find himself a nice length of-
"Oh, please, my fucking sides," he said without any pain but a hefty dollop of sarcasm in his voice, hoping it would be enough to signal Matthew now to honestly answer the mad old lady's questions. "Ignore her, Matt. Gets a few glasses in her and she forgets to be nice."
Took him some effort, too. Big Davey had worked his sides like a human beef tenderizer that night. Even touching them in pantomime was like pressing a poker into his ribcage.
"Ah, and you're the expert, are we?"
Nate turned sharply, but saw no malice in her eyes. There could have been, so easily. All he had done, all he had been guilty of and carried out not only with no reason but grinning enthusiasm... oh, yes. She was right on that point, but... she never bought it up. She needled him and she groused and sometimes, in her bad moments, she cursed him.
But she never judged him in a way that mattered. She looked on him with fondness over the rim of her cup, toasting him with a cocked eyebrow...
Fuck. How was he meant to stay mad at that?
"Alright," he said in a voice near a huff, "Nearly time for bed, love."
"Hark at 'im, Matthew?! We get some company and suddenly the boy is telling the grown up when beddy-byes is."
Nate knew getting red-faced and offended wouldn't solve this, so he took a page from her book. "You've been working hard all afternoon cooking, you had a spell earlier-"
"Nathaniel?!"
"Well, you did, and Matt probably worked that out for himself, so... yes, now you are head to bed. It's near the witching hour as it is."
"What about dessert?"
Nate's eyes narrowed. Intractable, this one... but he couldn't disappoint her. The meal wasn't complete in her eyes without the rough pastries she'd tried hard to made delicious, as fancified as she was sure Matthew was used to.
She tried so har. Nate spent a fractured tick marveling at just how in awe of this woman he was, then shook his head with a smile.
"Urgh... fine. The buns, and then sleep. Deal?"
"Sold, to the man with the fresh bruises!"
Nate grinned wide and several teeth waggled. Fucking Davey. But by the time he was wincing in pain, he'd turned his back and opened the oven, carefully withdrawing the baking tray with plump, rounds, golden bums, topped with icing she'd had to spend a little more on, just for them.
"Always the sod-"
"Nate?!"
"... flipping comedian..."
Busy as he appeared with the dishes and the leftovers and the eager pooch at his side, Nate's ears were pricked like a cat's as the Kay and Matthew talked. He had a habit of keeping an ear and either eye on any guest in their house; Jorka seemed to do the same. Not that he was expecting anything physical trouble from Matthew, but...
"Oh, for..."
The cut-off curse had no effect on Kay, of course. She plowed on and with all sincerity queried about Matthew's rates. Thirty gold-rimmed? A count's ransom down in Sunset, but what about if Nate wanted to find himself a nice length of-
"Oh, please, my fucking sides," he said without any pain but a hefty dollop of sarcasm in his voice, hoping it would be enough to signal Matthew now to honestly answer the mad old lady's questions. "Ignore her, Matt. Gets a few glasses in her and she forgets to be nice."
Took him some effort, too. Big Davey had worked his sides like a human beef tenderizer that night. Even touching them in pantomime was like pressing a poker into his ribcage.
"Ah, and you're the expert, are we?"
Nate turned sharply, but saw no malice in her eyes. There could have been, so easily. All he had done, all he had been guilty of and carried out not only with no reason but grinning enthusiasm... oh, yes. She was right on that point, but... she never bought it up. She needled him and she groused and sometimes, in her bad moments, she cursed him.
But she never judged him in a way that mattered. She looked on him with fondness over the rim of her cup, toasting him with a cocked eyebrow...
Fuck. How was he meant to stay mad at that?
"Alright," he said in a voice near a huff, "Nearly time for bed, love."
"Hark at 'im, Matthew?! We get some company and suddenly the boy is telling the grown up when beddy-byes is."
Nate knew getting red-faced and offended wouldn't solve this, so he took a page from her book. "You've been working hard all afternoon cooking, you had a spell earlier-"
"Nathaniel?!"
"Well, you did, and Matt probably worked that out for himself, so... yes, now you are head to bed. It's near the witching hour as it is."
"What about dessert?"
Nate's eyes narrowed. Intractable, this one... but he couldn't disappoint her. The meal wasn't complete in her eyes without the rough pastries she'd tried hard to made delicious, as fancified as she was sure Matthew was used to.
She tried so har. Nate spent a fractured tick marveling at just how in awe of this woman he was, then shook his head with a smile.
"Urgh... fine. The buns, and then sleep. Deal?"
"Sold, to the man with the fresh bruises!"
Nate grinned wide and several teeth waggled. Fucking Davey. But by the time he was wincing in pain, he'd turned his back and opened the oven, carefully withdrawing the baking tray with plump, rounds, golden bums, topped with icing she'd had to spend a little more on, just for them.
"Always the sod-"
"Nate?!"
"... flipping comedian..."