The Sweet Tooth Page 6

  The blonde had to laugh which turned into another coughing fit as he heard, “killing me” come from the other room.

  The two ate some soup and talked until Mathieu left for a while to check his email when he returned Solomon asked him about the box on the dresser. “Oh, I forgot all about it, sorry. It came this morning. I think it’s the photos from your mom.” He handed over the box.

  Mathieu helped Solomon open the box, inside were picture envelopes containing hundreds of photographs. “Wow. I forgot how many there were. I used most of the money I made from allowance and then part-time jobs buying film and getting it developed. Don’t be shy, dig in.”

  Most of the pictures Mathieu looked at were shots of trees, birds, flowers and a dog. “How come there are no people?”

  “There should be some shots of the family somewhere and some of the school football team. I may have thrown those out though.” Solomon frowned.

  “Why would you throw those out? I thought you said you were on the team.”

  “I was, I hurt my knee and had to sit out for a while. I brought the camera to school one day and took some shots while I sat on the bench. My mom found out and forbid me to take it to school again.”

  “But why would you have thrown the pictures out?”

  “Because I didn’t like looking at them.” Another coughing fit made him pause, “I didn’t want to sit on the bench I wanted to play.”

  Mathieu let the subject drop. He didn’t have to be knocked over the head to realize when somebody was uncomfortable talking about a subject. The duo remained on the bed passing photos back and forth until Solomon started to yawn. “That’s all for tonight I think. I’ll come back in a few hours to give you your next dose of medicine.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  “Solomon, you have the flu. I probably shouldn’t even be this close to you without a mask on.” Mathieu rested his hand on Solomon’s forehead. “At least your fever has gone down a bit.”

  “I wish I could kiss you.” Solomon yawned into his pillow as he turned over.

  Mathieu kissed him on the temple, “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  ***

  The night passed peacefully for Solomon until Mathieu came in to wake him up to take his medicine. The blonde was cranky about being wakened and put up a fuss when Mathieu held the measuring cup to his lips. “Don’t make me spill this or I won’t make you breakfast later,” the Irishman threatened. “Just take it and we can both go back to bed. It’s yummy, strawberry, remember?”

  Solomon replied groggily, “you like strawberries,” but he opened his mouth and let Mathieu pour in the liquid.

  “Now go back to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  ***-

  The next morning Solomon woke to a strange noises coming from somewhere in his apartment. He managed to untangle himself from the blankets and take his medicine. He wrapped the blankets around himself and slowly stumbled towards the living room. He changed course when he noticed Mathieu moving around in and the strange noises emanating from his kitchen. The brunette had a bowl on the counter and was removing items from a bag; two oranges, a carton of strawberries, a pint of milk, half dozen eggs, a loaf of brioche bread, a bottle of maple syrup, a small jar of something and a bottle of dark liquid. A sudden cough from the blonde startled the younger man who turned with a glare, “I’m going to get you a collar with a bell on it so you won’t scare me anymore.”

  “Sorry. Maybe your ears are clogged. Good morning, anyway. What are we making?” Solomon took a seat at his dining table so he could watch the brunette in the kitchen.

  “Good morning. We?” Mathieu laughed, “We are making French toast for breakfast. Do you think you can eat and keep down French toast? Did you take your medicine?”

  “I’ll certainly give it a try. Is there bacon too? Yes, I took it. Wanna smell my breath? Its strawberry scented.”

  “No thanks, I trust you. And no, there’s no bacon. You can have some orange slices and some strawberries.”

  “No bacon?” Solomon pouted but noticed the twinkle in Mathieu’s eye again when he said ‘strawberries’.

  Mathieu laughed as he measured out the milk, cinnamon and vanilla (his secret ingredient) into the bowl on the counter. He broke in four eggs and whisked the ingredients together. The Irishman cut the brioche into one-inch-thick slices and set them aside on the counter. Next he set a skillet onto the stove and turned the heat to medium high; adding a bit of butter when he felt the pan heating up. With the butter melting in the hot pan Mathieu dipped a slice of bread into the bowl coating it with the egg mixture; he flipped it over to soak the other side then immediately laid it in the sizzling pan. He did the same with a second slice. As he waited for the bread to brown he put the kettle on and set two teabags into two mugs. He flipped the bread over, brought Solomon the maple syrup, utensils, napkins and the milk and sugar for the tea.

  Solomon watched as Mathieu move around the kitchen like it was his own; plating up two slices of French toast and adding two more prepared slices to the hot skillet. The brunette was so changed from the two previous days it was like watching another person entirely. Mathieu exuded nothing but confidence; he was in his element, safe and secure. Solomon never wanted to see him any other way. “Did you ever dance, Mathieu?” Mathieu froze and Solomon stumbled to explain, “I mean, the way you move around the kitchen, you’re so graceful, like a dancer.”

  Mathieu plated the two pieces of bread from the frying pan and brought both plates over to Solomon after adding some of the sliced fruit. He poured the hot water into the mugs before seating himself next to the blonde. “I took lessons when I was younger and I danced in a few competitions. It’s one of the things that make my condition so hard to deal with. I was so….I don’t know, outgoing, social?”

  “I’m sorry.” Solomon could hear the frown in his friend’s voice.

  Mathieu sighed, “Please don’t be sorry. There was no way for you to know.” The Irishman laid a hand on Solomon’s thigh and squeezed. “Eat. If you’re still hungry when you’re done there is enough batter for more slices.”

  After breakfast Mathieu sent Solomon to rest on the sofa with another cup of tea while he set about cleaning up the kitchen. “I’m going to go back to mine to make more soup and so some work. It’ll be easier there than bringing everything I need here. Do you want to come or are you okay there?”

  “I’ll come. Your sofa is more comfortable than mine.”

  Mathieu finished the dishes, dried them and put them away. He packed the ingredients he didn’t use back into the bag to take back home. “Ready whenever you are.”

  “Ready.” Solomon bundled the blankets closer around himself and Mathieu helped him off the sofa and down the hall.

  Solomon settled himself on Mathieu’s sofa so he could watch the Irishman in the kitchen. His opinion didn’t change as Mathieu danced around from sink to fridge to counter to stove. The only thing missing was the music. The blonde let the warmth and comfort of his surroundings lull him to peaceful sleep.

  ***

  Over the next few days the couple settled into a comfortable routine and Solomon got better and better under Mathieu’s nursing. Adrian and Anders phoned daily to check in and see if they needed anything. Anders even sent Mathieu flowers as a thank you which made Solomon just a little bit jealous. Days were spent at Mathieu’s with Solomon resting and napping on the sofa while Mathieu cooked, worked on sketches or research. Nights were spent at Solomon’s, lying on the bed going through the photographs. Saturday afternoon Adrian called and informed Solomon that since it was his, Adrian’s, turn to choose where to have Sunday brunch he chose Solomon’s place. “You know I can’t cook.”

  “Well, it’s my turn to choose and since you shouldn’t go out yet you’re going to have to think of something.”

  “I think you’ve already thought of something. You think I’ll ask Mathieu to cook. That would be so wrong and you know it.”

  “C
ome on. Anders met him. I want to meet him too,” Adrian whined.

  “Then just come over and meet him. I can’t ask him to cook brunch for us. He’s spent all week cooking and caring for me. It wouldn’t be right. He’s not my personal chef.” Solomon was getting heated.

  “You can invite him to join us.”

  “Invite him to join us and ask him to cook too? Adrian, get this through you’re thick skull. I am not asking Mathieu to cook brunch for us on Sunday.”

  “Put him on the phone, I’ll ask him.” Adrian figured it was worth a try.

  “Good-bye, Adrian.” Solomon hung up shaking his head at his friend’s nerve.

  Mathieu, who couldn’t help but hear half of the exchange, draped himself over the back of the sofa. “Adrian wants me to make brunch on Sunday?”

  “You are not making brunch on Sunday. It’s his turn to choose someplace to go but he’ll just have to wait until I can go out next week. If he wants to meet you he can just come over.”

  Mathieu said hopefully, eyebrows raised, “I could, I would if you wanted me too.”

  “You’re not and I don’t.”

  “I could.”

  “Not,” Solomon looked up at the lounging Irishman. “That face isn’t fair.”

  “What face?” Mathieu asked even though he knew exactly what face.

  “That pouty face with the big eyes and the bottom lip. I’m not going to change my mind. Adrian can wait.” Solomon crossed his arms and pouted himself.

  “You’re crankier today than you were when you were sick,” Mathieu pulled himself off the sofa to return to work.

  “Not cranky, selfish. I’m not ready to share you or your cooking with anyone yet.” Solomon stuck his tongue out at the back of the retreating brunette.

  “I saw that.” Mathieu chuckled.

  CHAPTER 8

  It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Solomon when Adrian showed up at his door the following day at 11 but it did. He was thankful that Mathieu was in his own flat at the time because he didn’t want the younger man to witness the not-quite-fight. He quickly sent off a text asking the brunette not to come over yet. “What are you doing here? I told you that I was not going to have Mathieu make brunch.” Solomon was still achy and coughing and not in the mood to put up with any of Adrian’s shenanigans.

  Adrian held up his hands in a surrender gesture, “You said that I could come over and meet him.”

  “Yeah but I thought you would come at some other time not at brunch time on Sunday.”

  “Well, you didn’t specify and since I wasn’t doing anything around brunch time today I decided that this was as good a time as any.” Adrian smirked.

  Solomon was about to reply when another knock sounded on his door. Anders stood in the doorway holding out a bottle of champagne. “What are you doing here?” Solomon asked; his voice full of suspicion.

  The smile dropped from Anders’ face, “I thought we were having brunch?”

  “And why did you think that?” Solomon coughed.

  Anders looked past Solomon to Adrian who offered no help at all, “because I got a text?”

  Solomon scrunched up his eyes, “from?”

  Anders didn’t want to get anyone in trouble so he just held out the bottle of champagne again and smiled from behind him came his saving grace as Mathieu said, “from me.”

  Solomon wasn’t exactly angry at the Irishman as he was exasperated at all three men. “Don’t any of my friends ever listen to me?” He fisted his hands into the pockets of the loose hoodie he was wearing and slunk over to the sofa.

  Mathieu brushed past Anders and Adrian to kneel next to Solomon, “I’m sorry. I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.”

  Adrian pulled Mathieu up from the floor, “don’t pay any attention to the drama queen. I’m Adrian. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Solomon huffed from the sofa, “I am not a drama queen.”

  Mathieu looked from Adrian who still had his arm in a firm grip; to Anders who was still standing by the door with the champagne; back to Solomon sitting on the sofa; with no idea what to do. He had thought that it would be a nice surprise but now he wasn’t so sure, “Solomon? Solomon.”

  Solomon was up like a shot removing Adrian’s hand from the Irishman and guiding him to the sofa, “it’s okay, just sit here next to me and breathe with me, in….out….in….out. That’s it. You’re doing great.” The blonde rubbed a hand along Mathieu’s back and drew him into a one armed embrace. Without moving his attention from the trembling brunette next to him he said, “I think brunch will have to be postponed.”

  Mathieu straightened up, “no, no. I’m okay. It’s okay. I can do it. I want to do it.”

  Anders approached the sofa and squatted down, “Are you sure?”

  Mathieu looked up into Anders’ eyes, “Yes. I want to. Can we go into my flat though?”

  The artist made to stand but was held back by a firm hand on his thigh, “Anders, Adrian, can you wait for us in Mathieu’s?” Without a word the two men left the flat. “Mathieu?”

  Mathieu turned his golden-brown eyes to Solomon’s crystal blue, “I can do it Solomon. I just felt stressed because I thought I had done the wrong thing by inviting them here without telling you. I just wanted to surprise you. I didn’t want you to miss out on your Sunday brunch.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the blonds.

  Solomon threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of Mathieu’s head to bring the younger man closer and to deepen the kiss. When they broke apart Solomon said, “I’m not going to apologize for doing that.”

  “I would hope not.” Mathieu leaned forward again but Solomon remained back.

  “We have company waiting to be served brunch.” Solomon reminded him.

  ***

  Mathieu had made quiche with broccoli and bacon which he served with a side of fruit salad (Solomon didn’t fail to notice the abundance of strawberries) and mimosas (Solomon had to have plain orange juice because he was on medication) made with the champagne Anders had brought. The trio of old friends shared stories from their college years with their new friend and the men laughed into the afternoon. Mathieu was tempted to ask Adrian about the donkey story but he kept quiet; not wanting to get Solomon in trouble for telling him about it.

  Anders had to leave for the restaurant around 3pm, said his good-byes to Adrian and Mathieu and asked Solomon to walk him to the door, “have you talked to him yet?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t exactly been well lately. I would love to not have to ask; for him to just open up and talk to me.”

  “He may open up but you may have to prod a little first.” Anders hugged the shorter man and wished him luck.

  Not long after Anders left Solomon kept giving Adrian the eye and subtly nodding toward the door. Adrian got the hint and said his good-byes.

  As soon as Adrian left Mathieu felt the tension between himself and Solomon building and he dreaded what he thought was to come; Solomon was going to be mad at him for inviting his friends over and keeping it a secret. He concentrated on doing the dishes, drying them, putting them away, cleaning the sink, countertop and dining table. He thought if he stopped moving something was going to happen but he came to the end of his tasks he couldn’t think of what else to do without bothering Solomon who was resting on the sofa. As he tried to think of something to do his head started to spin, his heart pounded in his chest and he gasped for breath. He stumbled toward the living room, trembling and sweating. He tried to call out for Solomon but his voice got stuck in his throat when he gasped and tears stung his eyes as he collapsed to the floor.

  Solomon couldn’t pinpoint exactly what woke him from his doze on the sofa but something in the atmosphere of the room had shifted. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around; Mathieu wasn’t in the kitchen, dining area or living room, “Mathieu?” There was no response. “Mathieu!” Again there was no response. Solomon threw the cover off himself and slowly stood, “Mathieu?” He moved around
the side of the sofa and spotted the artist lying on the floor between the living and dining rooms. He knelt on the floor as quickly as his aching body would let him and struggled to turn the unconscious man over. When he couldn’t he laid on the floor next to him and held his hand.

  As he lay there on the floor Solomon studied what he could see of the Irishman; the silky, curly hair, nicely shaped eyebrows, long eyelashes, freckle just under the right cheekbone and full lips. The hand he was holding had long but delicate fingers with neatly trimmed nails. The skin was smooth and soft.

  Mathieu slowly opened his eyes to see Solomon lying on his stomach next to him with their fingers interlaced. Tears welled up in his eyes and he began to apologize but was cut off by the blonde, “I know you want to apologize but don’t. There’s no reason to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned onto his side and thumbed away the tears that had started to fall down the artists face.

  The two lay on the floor for a while, Mathieu trembled and cried and Solomon wiped the tears away and told him that he was safe and everything was okay. When Mathieu said he felt strong enough to get up Solomon suggested they take a nap. Mathieu was exhausted from his attack so he readily agreed. They helped each other up off the floor and into the bedroom. Mathieu curled up and fell asleep immediately. Before climbing into the bed Solomon looked around the room. The wall with the door had floor to ceiling bookcases with some books on art and computers and a full set of encyclopedias but most of them were history which testified to Mathieu’s love of the subject and his job as a history researcher. The furniture was an older style but looked like it was in good condition and well taken care of. Mathieu moaned from the bed so Solomon joined him as the big spoon offering what comfort he could to the Irishman.

  ***

  Mathieu woke unnerved by the restricting arm around him until he realized that it was Solomon. He relaxed back into the pillow with a sigh. He slowly rolled over so he was facing Solomon. “Sleeping beauty, it’s time to wake up.” Solomon grunted and tried to wriggle closer. Mathieu stifled a giggle and put a hand on Solomon’s cheek, “Sol, time to get up.” Solomon moaned again and Mathieu slapped him gently on the cheek; pulled his hand back quickly and clutched it to his chest. Since the slap did nothing to wake the sleeping man he decided to try a different tactic; he leaned over and placed a kiss on the same cheek. Solomon just harrumphed and turned onto his back. Now that Mathieu had a wider field to play with he took full advantage. The artist carefully straddled the sleeping man’s waist and leaned over to place a proper kiss against his lips, cheeks, chin, forehead and nose. He stopped before each kiss to whisper, “Solomon, wake-up.” But Solomon wouldn’t wake up. Mathieu straightened himself and frowned. The game wasn’t fun anymore because Solomon wasn’t playing fair.