Chapter Text
Glancing out of the window for the fifth, no sixth, time that afternoon, Harry can see that the man is still lurking. That’s why he keeps looking, because there’s a man lurking, not because said man is gorgeous, with his close cropped brown hair and chiselled jawline. And definitely not because he’s wearing a Fire Department jacket, because Harry definitely doesn’t have a thing for sexy fireman.
The sexy lurking fireman takes a step towards the door, and then hesitates again and goes back to admiring the display in the window. He almost looks nervous. Maybe he’s just entranced by the spectacular array of sugary treats: from doughnuts to mille-feuille, banana bread to Battenberg, angel cake to devil’s food cake and even some sculptural pastry creations, posh strawberry tarts really. Harry’s outdone himself this week.
A few moments pass and the fireman doesn’t move, so Harry shifts his attention back to the dough he’s kneading for tomorrow’s bread, his strong fingers stretching and rolling until he feels just the right texture. Scooping the moist dough off the counter and into a basket to rise, he looks up and finds himself staring into determined chocolate-coloured eyes. Sweet.
“I want to commission a cake,” he says, more assertively than most customers deem necessary.
Harry forces himself to break eye contact as he replies, “Okay Mr…?”
“Payne.”
“Mr Payne, what can I do for you?” He’s trying to be professional, but the question, the absolutely standard, usual question, sounds like an innuendo.
Mr Payne swallows. “I want a rainbow cake, like a pride cake, you know, stripy inside, and it needs to say ‘To my favourite fireman’ on the top.” He smirks to himself as he gets to the end of his request.
Oh, that’s it. A camp fireman, the enduring stereotype of strip shows and bad porn. It’s absolutely none of Harry’s business, but he spent too many years at school biting his tongue, saving face, laughing along with the casual homophobia of the footy team, a poster boy for closeted toxic masculinity. “A gay fireman,” he drawls, disapprovingly, “hilarious.”
The smug smile vanishes and is replaced by something else, something that looks a lot like anger. “Do you have a problem with that?” Mr Payne asks, clipped tone betraying the tight rein he’s keeping on his reaction.
Now Harry’s confused. “No,” he says quickly, “of course not, but you’re not serious?”
There’s a hint of a question there, but the apparently irate fireman misses it. “We’re very serious, out and proud, together, and if that bothers you…”
“No, no, no bother, not a problem.” Harry’s words fall over each other. “Just surprised. I mean, a fire station, kind of a traditional, manly environment you know? Not that you’re not manly or that being gay isn’t manly…” he’s rambling, and judging from the look he’s getting, it’s not helping. “Let’s start again,” he suggests. “I’m Harry, I’m gay and I’m very pleased to meet a gay fireman, especially here, in a small town like South Shields.” He stops, before his tongue runs away again.
The fireman looks at him for a long moment, then decides his verbal incontinence is sincere. “Liam. Gay fireman. One of two recently transferred to the small town of South Shields.” He pauses, and his lips quirk slightly, not that Harry’s looking at his mouth. “Are you going to bake the cake for the other one’s birthday, Harry?”
“Definitely. Whatever you want - I’d love to do that for you.” Smooth, Harry, smooth, he berates himself.
Liam, the gay fireman, is grinning now. “Lovely,” he decides, “so what do I owe you?”
A number of very inappropriate replies whirl through Harry’s mind before he says, without thinking, “Well, that depends how big you want it.” Oh god, he wants the floor to swallow him up now.
Suppressing a snort, Liam answers him very seriously, “How about just slightly larger than average?” he suggests, almost keeping a straight face.
Harry is still mortified. “Absolutely. And I’ll do that for the standard price, to make up for the earlier misunderstanding.” Nodding happily Liam hands over his credit card and arranges to collect the cake in a few days. He lingers once Harry hands over the receipt, staring at the pastel kaleidoscope of cake under the glass counter. “Do you want to do a taste test?” Harry offers, silently cursing his traitorous mouth that is somehow making everything sounds suggestive. “It’s included in the price when you order a cake.” He doesn’t mention that they don’t usually offer that to customers who have already paid.
It’s worth it for the genuine smile that blooms on Liam’s face. “Oh god, yes,” he says far too enthusiastically, “I love cake and this all looks so good.”
The shop’s quiet so Harry spends the next half hour impressing Liam with morsels of cake. He sighs contently when he bites into the rich but airy chocolate sponge and closes his eyes in bliss when Harry finally whips out his pièce de résistance, a simple strawberry cheesecake, but exquisitely executed with sweet but not cloying creamy cheese on a crunchy ginger biscuit base, topped with a tangy strawberry coulis and a touch of, “Is that basil?” Liam asks, “It’s perfect.”
“Uh huh,” Harry confirms, blushing at the praise, “good palette.”
There’s that smirk again, but this time Harry approves. “Well, I’m fussy about what I put in my mouth.” Harry blushes more. Then Liam’s phone buzzes, “Oh, I should go. I’m so late,” he says apologetically. “I’ll see you around, Harry?” The question is nonsense, given that he’s coming back in four days to collect his cake, the cake for the other gay fireman who is almost certainly his boyfriend - “out and proud, together” - Harry reminds himself.
Still, it’s not a surprise when their eyes meet. “Jade’s?” they suggest simultaneously.