The Captain and the Baker

by Catherine Curzon

  “I suppose I should make a quip about enjoying your cream horn?” Jake grinned. Locryn’s eyes sprang open, his brow quirking into an arch.

  “I think you probably should!”

  Jake rubbed the tip of his nose against Locryn’s and said, “That was the biggest, creamiest horn I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting, and I hope you’ll let me enjoy more in future!”

  “Whenever you like,” Locryn told him with keen enthusiasm. “How am I doing in the passion stakes? Not quite as prim as you feared!”

  “You’re a firecracker!” Jake tickled Locryn’s stomach. “You’re a Cornish pasty with a spicy middle!”

  “I’ve had a couple of years to simmer.” He smiled, pulling the duvet over them. “There’s no wonder I was getting a bit pent-up! Sorry I took out my frustrations on your pasties, darling. Gosh, that sounds so wrong, doesn’t it?”

  “You raged at my meat!” Jake snuggled under the duvet, his arm around Locryn. “A couple of years?”

  How could someone like Locryn be single for that long?

  “We were only together for six months.” He shrugged and said, “It was the early starts that did for him in the end, they’re not for everyone. You’ll be used to it, being in the business? Don’t you chaps head off to the market at the crack of dawn?”

  “Oh, definitely. I’ll be down on the harbor, jumping from trawler to trawler as they come in, snapping up the fish!” Jake pictured himself doing just that, until a round, white-haired old fellow came into mind. “And I’ll help Captain Cod get from boat to boat, too. I won’t take all the best catch for me.”

  Locryn turned onto his side, studying Jake’s face. “You should see the village on summer mornings before the tourists arrive. The market’s full of fresh fruit and veg, all picked along the coast. You’d love it.”

  Jake’s eyes were wide. “Really? You have time to go to it sometimes, don’t you? You’re not always in the bakehouse first thing in the morning?”

  “I used to be, but I have a little team in the village who share the load now,” Locryn replied. “And that’s as far as I go. I don’t need an empire, I just want what I have.”

  Jake remembered Fionn’s confusion earlier, her complete bewilderment as to why Locryn wouldn’t want a bakery in every town, all churning out fast food, mass-produced versions of his beloved bakes. But Jake understood, because Jake finally understood Locryn, and he was as different to Fionn as it was possible to be.

  “A little team,” Jake mused. “I like the sound of a little team. All hand-picked artisans, all excellent bakers?”

  He nodded. “Just the five of us. No qualifications needed, just a love of baking. A little bakehouse family.”

  “Five, as small as that?” Jake had lost count of how many people worked in his restaurants. “And if anyone dangled a carrot and said, Locryn, here’s a bank vault full of fifty-pound notes, they’re all yours if you open a chain?”

  “It’s happened a few times,” Locryn admitted, lazily drawing his fingers down Jake’s side. “I thought about it. I pictured the mansions and the tropical hols and all of that. And I thought about what makes my bakery special, how my café’s a one-off, not a chain that arrives prefabbed on a lorry. Then I said very politely, no thank you. The telly and the books are fun, but none of it comes before Porthavel and the bakery.”

  A very polite no thank you from Locryn was, Jake knew, the equivalent of a ranty fuck right off and keep fucking off till you can fuck off no more from him.

  “Told them to stick it. Good for you!” And as Jake kissed Locryn again, he knew that Locryn would never leave Porthavel. He’d never be happy in Jake’s warehouse apartment. Like a selkie, he would always long for the sea. But the thought didn’t stop Jake, because they both wanted this. And Jake had no idea what would happen.

  “I didn’t quite say stick it, but it was along those lines.” Locryn smiled. He looped his arms around Jake’s neck and whispered, “So at the risk of inviting more cream horn jokes, I’ve never been to bed with however many Michelin stars it is that you’ve got.”

  “Seven,” Jake replied. He didn’t want to come off as Mr. Billy Braggart, but… “York and London each have two, and Whitstable, God love it, has three. But I have to say that the team at Whitstable are bloody good.”

  “Seven’s certainly very impressive.” Locryn composed his face into a look of utmost seriousness. “But you don’t make cream horns, do you?”

  Jake chuckled. “Well, that must be why only one of them’s got three stars!”

  “I’m sure they’ll all be bristling with stars before too long. They’re exquisite.” His fingers brushed over Jake’s hip and stroked along the length of his erection. “Just like you.”

  Jake shivered in anticipation. “Is my versatile baker ready?”

  “Ready, Captain.” He gave a louche salute. “I’ve never been to bed with a pirate before.”

  “Shiver my timber!” Jake grinned. “Sorry.”

  But Locryn just kissed his hair and told him, “Hopefully we’ll do more than shiver it!”

  “Hold tight, Loc.” Jake rolled over and rummaged in his drawer. He was always prepared. Then he turned back to Locryn, armed with a condom and lubricant. “I don’t have ones with bumps or ridges, and I certainly don’t have any glow-in-the-dark ones. Simple is fine, don’t you think?”

  “Simple is everything.” Locryn plucked the condom from Jake’s fingers and tore open the wrapper. Jake wasn’t as surprised as he might have been, given the unexpected heat that Locryn had already demonstrated. In fact, as his lover’s accomplished hand rolled the condom over his erection, he was already looking forward to discovering more of those hidden passions.

  Once Jake was ready, he kissed Locryn onto his back. “How do you like it, darling? Like this, or…?”

  “This is probably my favorite,” he admitted. “And it seems right for this evening, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, then I can put my arms around and keep them there all night.” Jake kissed Locryn, and just as he’d promised, held him as he brought their bodies together. Locryn’s arms were around his neck again and he lifted his legs around Jake’s waist, the tilt of his hips bringing them closer than ever.

  “You feel wonderful,” he sighed, his eyelids heavy. “Jake…”

  Jake slowly sank into him. Locryn was a man of such contrasts. The firm, strapping legs around Jake were such a surprise paired with Locryn’s dancing blue eyes. No wonder Jake couldn’t resist him. He was the most attractive man he’d ever seen. And Jake was so glad he’d chucked aside his reservations, because Locryn’s gentleness was his strength. And besides, Locryn wasn’t all that he had first seemed.

  However they did it, however they made this work, Jake knew that it had to. He didn’t want this to be an affair for a season, finished with autumn. In Locryn’s arms he didn’t feel anything but happy, and they had so much to learn about each other.

  Jake found the rhythm that Locryn seem to enjoy most and he moved slow and deep, catching Locryn’s moans and sighs in kisses. The encounter was so sweet, yet so intense, too, and Jake was aware of emotions stirring in him which he’d never known before. A deep, caring affection that made Jake solicitous of Locryn, concerned that his every movement would bring him pleasure and joy.

  And it was joyous, from the sensation of being held by those firm thighs to the touch of his hands as they caressed his back, every kiss deep and lingering. Locryn’s hips moved in unison with Jake’s, a soft glow of perspiration settling across his broad chest.

  Jake paused, resting his forehead against Locryn’s. “I’m so fucking glad you came back,” he breathed. Then he continued, thrusting faster, his passion getting the better of him.

  “You’re terribly sweary.” Locryn gasped, catching Jake’s lips with his own. His eyes flashed with mischievous excitement. “I love it.”

  Jake rested his head on Locryn’s shoulder, kissing the side of his neck. So many sensations ran through him, his perspiri
ng skin tingling wherever his body met Locryn’s. “You gorgeous fucker, you!”

  Locryn arched his neck against Jake’s kiss and reached down, closing his hands on Jake’s bottom. Then, as Jake sensed his own orgasm approaching, Locryn slipped one elegant finger between his buttocks.

  Jake exploded with a stream of expletives, panting out each filthy syllable as a blaze of pure joy burst through him. He held Locryn as tight as he could but as he trembled, his grip was not as sure.

  Locryn’s arms were embracing him again, cradling Jake against his chest. He kissed Jake’s hair, murmuring, “You’re wonderful, you know.”

  “And sweaty. And sweary,” Jake whispered, exhausted with effort, and very, very happy. “Loc, that was…you are really, really special.”

  He shook his head. “We work well together, don’t you think? Much better than Horlicks.”

  “Much better than Horlicks.” Working together? There was the germ of an idea there, but Jake was too wrung-out to grab it. All he really wanted to do was lie here in his lover’s arms, and as he listened to Locryn’s steady heartbeat, he realized that was all he had to do. Life was slower in Porthavel, and the beds seemed more comfortable too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake had wrapped one of Locryn’s scarves around his neck. It was a fresh autumn day and because it made ‘good telly’, Jake was standing on the beach, within sight of a rockpool, making pasties.

  He’d done this sort of outside cookery shoot before, which he called Extreme Fucking Street Food. The ingredients were in glass bowls on a folding table, and a miniature portable oven was set up as well.

  A few days had gone by since he and Locryn had shared his bed, and there hadn’t been much time for perfecting his pasty recipe. There’d been producing tasks to perform on top of filming the odd segment, a decision to be made about tablecloths, and emails to deal with from his other restaurants. And, most importantly of all, there had been Locryn.

  Today Locryn was part of the impromptu audience of villagers that had gathered on the beach to watch. The crowd was large and Jake recognized plenty of faces from the galleon or the village, including the bride and groom and Merryn, but of Petroc there was no sign. He and Locryn would work something out, he had no doubt about that.

  Without breaking his narration to the camera, Jake met Locryn’s gaze across the beach. He was wearing his glasses and his hair was ruffled by the wind and as Jake looked at him he was pitched back to the previous evening, wrapped in Locryn’s embrace on the sofa as the fire burned in the grate. Dorothy had been curled up there with them too, a plate of freshly made jam tarts piled high on the table just within reach.

  Am I actually enjoying domesticity?

  Bloody hell.

  “So I’m just crimping the pastry on my unCornish pasties”—Jake laughed, pre-empting the audience— “No, I lie, this is a Cornish pasty. I’m stood here freezing my fucking arse off on a Cornish beach and I’m half-sunk in the fucking sand, so Cornish fucking pasty, so there!”

  And with that, Jake clanged the oven door shut on the pasty and brushed his hands together.

  “Are you quite sure about that crimp, Jake?” called Locryn, apparently nothing more than an innocent, slightly concerned baker. “It looked a little wobbly from over here.”

  “I’m a little wobbly, I’m half under-fucking-water!”

  In a classic here’s one I made earlier move, Jake produced the pasties he’d made earlier that day, all ready to be sliced and eaten in bite-sized pieces. The camera rolled again and Jake came out from behind the table, his shoes protesting against the slurping sand as he headed for the crowd.

  “Pasties! Come on, you lot! Try them out!”

  The Porthavelans gathered round for a taste of the pasties and Locryn joined them, though he’d already tried more than his fair share during Jake’s practice runs. Jake had attempted to use the feedback forms, had done his best to absorb their comments, but this was the moment of truth. If they still complained, there was a serious chance of pasties being thrown.

  It’d make good telly, after all.

  As one by one the crowd tucked in, Jake heard a susurration of mmmmm around the audience. This pleased him, until he realized that the sound was more polite than ecstatic.

  Oh, fucking balls! Fuck me!

  He looked at Locryn again, hoping that his desperation wasn’t evident on his face. His lover was chewing thoughtfully then, unaware of Jake’s eyes on him, he looked down at the pasty in his hand.

  And frowned.

  Jake flung the remaining slice of pasty across the beach. A seagull flew down to it, pecked at it, then threw it aside in apparent disgust, and with a few easy beats of its wings, vanished into the heavens once more.

  “Bugger,” said Jake.

  The first person to speak up was a little boy who had spent the entire demonstration poking a withered stick into a rockpool. He sniffed the scrap of pasty he held and said, “The filling’s all right but the pastry’s gross!”

  Don’t sugarcoat it, will you? Say what you really think.

  “I wouldn’t say gross,” Locryn told him. “Maybe not as light as it could be but—”

  “No,” piped up an elderly woman with the curliest lavender perm Jake had ever seen. “No, he’s right, Locryn. This pastry’s not as good as yours. Yours is perfect, and compared to that, this is soggy at the bottom! I’d chuck the pastry and have the filling with a lovely fresh cobbler and some taters.”

  Seven Michelin stars and I can’t make fucking pastry!

  A murmur of agreement went up among Jake’s audience. Cobbler seemed to be the only word for it. Yet amid the complaints and the frequent repetition of the words ‘soggy bottoms’, there was a light shining.

  “That filling though,” an old man with a nostalgic gleam in his eye was saying to his younger neighbor, her head bobbing in enthusiastic agreement. “Just like my old lady used to do. Brings back some memories.”

  And gradually the gripes and moaning gave way to a new consensus, one of appreciation and approval.

  “Perfect if not for the pastry,” said Captain Cod’s equally round wife to her nodding husband. The camera turned on her and she beamed into the lens. “You want to ask Locryn for his recipe, Captain Jake!”

  Jake folded his arms.

  But Mrs. Cod wasn’t finished. She and the camera now looked toward Locryn and she told him, “And you want to ask Jake for his filling. Your pasties are nice enough, but this…this is like a pasty filling that floated down from heaven!”

  High praise indeed.

  Jake beckoned affectionately to Locryn. “Come over here, pastry whisperer!”

  He could almost hear what Fionn would’ve been saying at this moment. Give him a hard time, really bollock him, get in his face. Who does he think he is? Give the public a bit of that Jake hairdryer treatment.

  But how could he do that to Locryn? Locryn in his dark-blue overcoat and rainbow scarf, Locryn with the twinkling eyes and occasional spectacles? Locryn whose chest felt so good to snuggle up against?

  With a look of exaggerated apprehension, Locryn picked his way over the beach toward Jake. He still held a small piece of pasty in his hand and even from here, Jake could see that they were right. The pastry was soggy.

  “Hello, chef,” Locryn said. “That’s a cozy scarf you’re wearing.”

  “Watch out, Locryn,” David called, teasing. “I’ve seen his shows! It’s never good news if he’s smiling like that!”

  “Cover your ears, kids!” Merryn called, and everyone laughed.

  “I think it’s time Locryn showed us how he makes his not-soggy-at-all pasties!” Jake arched his eyebrow. “Loc, you up to the challenge?”

  Locryn looked like a rabbit in the headlights. He pressed his hand to his chest and said, “Me? I wouldn’t dare go against a man of your talents!”

  “Go on, Loc!” Merryn shouted. “Go on, you do lovely pastry!”

  Jake went behind the table and held up a glass bowl.
“Come on, Loc, I’ll even do the washing up!”

  “Come on, boss!” Zoe joined in the cheers of encouragement. “I bet you can teach Jake a thing or two about how we do things in Porthavel.”

  And when she and her mother exchanged a glance, it carried more than the promise of Cornish pasties. They’re matchmaking us, Jake realized. A bit late for that!

  Locryn was beside Jake now, taking his time as he folded the arms of his spectacles and slid them into his pocket. He surveyed the ingredients on the makeshift bench, enough for a couple of extra takes should they be needed, and took a deep breath, considering the challenge. Then he shook his head.

  “No, the pork goujons were a fluke. I know Jake’s filling is the best I’ve ever had.”

  Jake blinked at him. Then he realized.

  “Oh, the pasty filling!” Jake recovered himself and patted Locryn’s shoulder. “Just give it a go!”

  Merryn wagged one of her perfectly painted nails at them. “Jake, you do the filling, and Locryn, you do the pastry. There you are!”

  Jake glanced at Locryn. “Not a bad idea. Two-person pasties. Loc?”

  “Oh, go on then.” He nodded, already taking off his coat as a runner approached with a radio microphone. As Zoe stepped forward to take his coat and Locryn rolled his sleeves, he said, “Let’s see what magic happens when London and Cornwall collide.”

  Jake gave Locryn a discreet tap on his bottom. “Excellent! Off you go, Loc. And I’ll crack on with the filling.”

  “Can you tell us a bit about pasty history?” the director urged Locryn. “And, Jake, maybe give us a bit more about Dave and Zoe’s wedding dinner. And have a yell at Locryn if you like. Fionn said to remind you it’s good for box office to hear a bit of a roasting.”

  “I’m only going to yell at Locryn if drops that rolling pin on my foot!” Jake tried to sound light, but his intent was serious. And he’d have a word with the director later. No more fucking shouting. Then he put his ingredients together and started to talk. “David and Zoe have asked for a Cornish wedding so we’re working on the perfect Cornish pasty. I’m using local, fresh ingredients. And, Locryn, you’re on the pastry. How do you get it so light?”