The Best Man: Part One Read Online Free PDF

the knife down through the carrot like he’s trying to slice away at this conversation. “You don’t. Fuck, shit .”
    Blood blossoms over the tip of his finger instantly, drips onto the chopping board and over the blade of the knife. He lifts his hand to his face and sucks his finger into his mouth, eyes watering against the sting.
    Patrick takes his wrist, tries to pull his finger out of his mouth. “Let me see.”
    “It’s fine,” Noah says, inspecting his finger, tasting blood that hasn’t stopped leaking out of the cut.
    “Let me see , Noah.”
    The authority in his voice makes Noah go with it and he allows Patrick to pull his hand across to his view, stands there as Patrick twists it and looks at it from all angles before pulling it under the tap, runs ice-cold water over it. Noah flinches, and it’s like the pain has sucked away his anger. He’s quiet inside now, and he stands there with his finger under the tap, Patrick holding his hand steady in his gentle grip.
    Noah looks up into his face. Patrick’s not looking at him, his attention caught by the blood siphoning off Noah’s finger. His brows are drawn, the corners of his lips tight, and Noah lifts his uninjured hand to Patrick’s face, brushes against the very edge of his jaw, the designer stubble.
    Patrick’s only reaction to the touch is to flick his eyes across to him for an instant.
    “How long have you had this thing for?”
    The tightness of Patrick’s lips eases, his face smoothing out. “I was born with it.”
    “Suits you.” Noah can’t help but smile, and he can tell by the softness of Patrick’s eyes now that he’s resisting a smile of his own.
    He shuts off the tap, lifts Noah’s hand to examine the cut.
    “You’re fine, it’s not deep. Got any plasters around here?”
    “That cupboard there. Top shelf.”
    Connor comes in while Patrick’s in the process of securing a plaster around Noah’s finger. “What’s going on here?” he says, dropping his keys into the fruit bowl and frowning at what Patrick’s doing.
    “Cut myself, didn’t I?”
    “Idiot.” Connor’s tone is fond, and he lays a soft kiss on Noah’s temple as Patrick steps away, throws the plaster wrapper in the bin. “This looks good. What are we having?”
    “Stir-fry.”
    “I’ll just go get changed.” He gives Noah’s backside a tap and wanders out of the kitchen. “Pat, you sticking around for dinner?”
    Patrick looks at Noah, a question in his eyes. Noah smiles and gives the barest hint of a nod.
    “Yeah.”
    “Have we got any beers in, Noah?” Connor calls from somewhere near the bedroom.
    Noah sighs, turns back to the cooker, checks his vegetables haven’t burnt during all the commotion.  “Don’t think so. I’ll go to the shop.”
    Patrick’s hand settles on Noah’s back suddenly, warm and heavy. “I’ll go,” he murmurs, and it’s as if it’s for Noah’s ears only. “You’re cooking.”
    It’s a gentlemanly notion, and it surprises Noah so much that he forgets to object.
    * * * * *
    Noah doesn’t see much of anyone over the following week. Connor’s models are busy with their winter shoots, and Patrick always seems to be doing something or other, as evasive as ever. Noah occupies himself with work during the day, solitary wedding planning in the evening. He reckons he’s got the seating plan down, and the invitation responses are starting to come in, so he’s gathering final numbers for Lenny’s catering.
    The only real time he gets to spend with Connor is when they have tea at Connor’s parents’ one afternoon, an awkward two hours that has Noah biting his tongue and his skin itching by the time they leave.
    Patrick he sees fleetingly. Early in the morning; coming in late at night. Noah doesn’t know what he does, doesn’t want to know. It’s not his business.
    Julie comes into the coffee house on the Thursday. She’s in a panic, because life’s getting on top of her, unable to pay rent, college costs