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Compared to the healthy ratio of parents and children gathered at the meeting place, Rhys Kirkland - eight years old in forty hours - was being escorted by, in comparison, three much older and much grumpier brothers.
For various reasons, Mr and Mrs Kirkland had found the time between a Michelin Guide Inspector (Mrs Kirkland) and a university professor in Sheffield (Mr Kirkland) to rekindle their vows after fifteen years of marriage and three sons, leading them to have Rhys so much later than his three siblings. A perk of having a fourth son so late was that the family now came with three complimentary babysitters: that is, Alistair, Seamus, and Arthur, who were currently tasked with taking Rhys to a birthday event they had booked for Rhys.
As was the same with many young children, Rhys was fixated on a mildly mythological type of creature. It had been bloodthirsty unicorns with Alistair, vicious snowy owls with Seamus, and evil flying rabbits for Arthur. Now it was the youngest's turn, and he had picked dragons, because of course he had. Dragon themed pyjamas, worn to bed or at a shrieking sleepover, a massive red stuffed animal that had been hidden at the top of the attic for his upcoming birthday, heaps of dragon picture books in the dresser, a set of three posters with charming illustrations that Mr Kirkland had over-enthusiastically bid for on eBay. (He had been the only bidder).
Unfortunately, owing to the fact that dragons were not real, the Kirklands could not give their youngest his dream of riding on a dragon for his birthday. A perfectly reasonable alternative that the Kirkland parents had picked out, however, was enrolling Rhys into a children's horseriding session at Hyde Park the day before his birthday. To make things worse for the three elder Kirkland brothers, both parents conveniently had been double booked for the day, and so the task had been left to them.
Arthur had just finished signing the release sheet for the activity - as his two other brothers had squabbled over whom had to sign it, leading to him losing his patience and grabbing the pen - when an unmistakably American accent drifted into his ears.
"Welcome, everyone!" the American guide called out, waving cheerfully. "Now how are y'all doing today?"
An American? Arthur could not help but scowl, giving his loose coat a shake. Since it was late February, it was still rather chilly. To have an American with the usual American twang seemed unfathomable, let alone one that was to...to guide the youth!
"How now, brown cow," Arthur muttered mockingly under his breath, folding his arms. This was the elegant and refined Hyde Park, not some ranch infested with tumbleweed. American twang that itched at his ears did not belong at the function.
To his dismay, an approving chorus rang out from the gathered children, including Rhys. Alistair was on his phone, possibly texting that pompous French one-night stand he had had last month and had been mortifyingly moping over, and Seamus was too busy taking photos, presumably for Mum. Did this not vex any of the parents watching admirably from the sides that a cowboy had been supplanted into the heart of London?
Arthur was so caught up in his scowling that he did not hear the quiet ahem coming from the American guide before it was too late.
"Hey now," the American grumbled, though his face still shone like a sunbeam. "That's not very nice of you, I'm just doing my job here, man. Let's not give the kids a bad example, yeah?"
With a hiss that could have belonged to the housecat, Arthur bristled, shaking his shoulder away. "What's all this got to do with you? How on earth would you know what I said, after all...you were standing all the way over there?"
"Ears like a owl," the American's face morphed into a grin. "'Sides, I'm proud of my craft. Not every kiddo that grew up on a rural ranch can say they've got a gig working with horses in London, y'know?"
"It's good to see that you've got some respect for the opportunity," Arthur retorted. Still, the embarrassment of being caught and chided had stifled his irritation, and like any hopefully well adjusted young gentleman, he knew when to concede in a gentlemanly fashion. "I apologise. It was curt of me, shall I say. Improper."
The American nearly guffawed, which was not a word Arthur would have commonly used to describe the throaty laugh from most people. "Curt? Proper? Man, you guys sure do all speak like the Queen. Uh, King, now, was it? Yeah. Anyway, apology accepted. Just don't be mean to me in front of the kids, and we won't have a problem, 'kay?"
"What about being mean to you in private?" Arthur snarked before he could help himself. The meaning did not dawn on him until he saw a similar pinkish tinge on the American's - blast it all, Arthur had to stop calling him the American in his head, though that was what he was and Arthur didn't know his name and blast it, he was staring at him like a fool - tanned face. "I - er, that is, I meant to say-"
The sound of the other riding instructor's voice flitted over Arthur's hot face and ears. "And so today, we'll just be exploring with the horses!" she said, thankfully for Arthur's beating heart, a typical middle class English accent, The last thing he needed was further embarrassment. "As always, just let me or Alfred know if you need any assistance, or want us to walk with you, and we'll help. I'd ask you to not be shy at all, there's not an issue if you'd like to take it slow, all right?"
"Yes, Miss Alice!" a choir of eager little voices rang out, and that was Arthur's cue to clear his throat, blinking furiously. At least he had managed to garner a name from the American - Alfred. How...American. However, being able to connect a name to a face like that, with the sun filtering onto his very blue eyes through the trees was-
Alfred cleared his throat. "Uh, that's my cue," he said, tossing the words behind his shoulder. "See ya around."
Before Arthur's mouth could rise up from his arse and make himself even more of a fool, Alfred had returned back to his impeccable showmanship and began to assist the first set of children onto the ponies.
"How long d'ya reckon before one of them falls off?" Seamus remarked, squinting through his camera. Mum and Dad had ordered the three older brothers to take photos of their dear wee lamb Rhys, and so far, Seamus was hogging it like he always did at trips. It was just as well that their parents had demanded they'd bring along their fancy camera that they had used for a recent cruise so that Seamus wasn't able to snicker at ridiculous, unfunny memes between half hearted photos.
"As long as it's not our Rhys, then I'll find it in meself to cackle, unfortunately..."
Arthur tried to scowl, his bare, smooth legs scraping against the wood of the bench the three brothers were sat on, alongside the banks of the Serpentine. Since the queue of ponies had gotten rather long and the sun was beginning to shine down on them, the three had opted to sit until Rhys had passed them. Yet at the same time, he knew he'd be cackling along with Alistair and Seamus. Given the ridiculousness of the situation, really. Three grown young men watching their baby brother being carted around on a pony by an American.
"I would hope that they are all professionals..." he began to say, words trailing off as he noticed Alfred bringing up the rear of the pack, "...mind you. For the rather hefty fee Mum and Dad are forking out."
The way Alfred rocked up and down on his steed - proper riding etiquette from the brief years Arthur had spent at summer camp in the Cotswolds - made his Adam's apple hitch. From how the strands of his blond hair and a stubborn cowlick thrashed from side to side, obscuring his bright blue eyes, made it look like wheat in wind...
...not that it meant anything, mind you. Arthur did not have a penchant for wheat in wind, the imagery of freedom and lawlessness it brought to his well-educated mind, for the slight dimple that tugged at the American's rosy cheeks. Nothing of that sort.
Abruptly, the three brothers fell quiet, all for different reasons. Alistair received a saucy text on his phone and immediately thumbed his phone, clad in bright green Celtic F.C. finery, open. Arthur was far too captivated by the sight of Alfred's Hyde Park Riders! red sports bib falling down one powerful shoulder. Seamus was standing a few steps away, capturing an unnecessarily high quality photo of a squirrel scampering up a tree.
Dear God, was he fancying the American he'd just grumbled about in his mind scarcely an hour ago? Had he (Arthur James Kirkland, thirdborn of the Kirkland household, born and raised in Notting Hill) thrown all decorum and national pride to the wind and begun to ogle an American? A very attractive American to be sure, Arthur was ashamed to admit even to himself, as his affection for the nation's people ranked somewhere between a day-old sock and the French. At least said affection was far above what electrons he held for the French.
Then Alfred had to turn his head, as if he were able to read the storm in Arthur's mind, and gave him a grin. Riding on top of the horse. During his dressage days, Arthur partly gave up because he was convinced he looked like a leaf being blown around in the wind. For Alfred, the strong grip of his thighs and the straightened back he rode with told Arthur that he was fully in control of the steed, with no risk of losing control.
A man having full control...Arthur's mind drifted. Between his frequent tempers and bristles of annoyance, it would be a helpful skill indeed, having unnecessarily ruffled some feathers in his time. Being in control. Hm. It would be a very good idea, really. What if Alfred were in full control of him...
"Oh my fucking God," Arthur sniffed to himself, pushing his white-knuckled fists into his bony lap and tailored trousers. This was ridiculous. Arthur was making a right fool of himself. He was so consumed with glaring at himself that he didn't notice Alfred's gaze drifting to where he was sitting on the bench along with his brothers.
Just then, Rhys trotted into view, causing Alistair to pocket his phone, bright red blush in place, and jab Seamus, ruining his perfect shot of some daisies. Seamus opened his mouth, about to scold him, only to notice Rhys's blond hair glinting in the sun along with his big smile. As if they were part of the royal guard, the three brothers snapped to attention, Seamus finally using the film for its intended purpose, while Alistair waved intently and Arthur watched. For all his disappointment of not getting a dragon, Rhys seemed rather chuffed to be atop a horse.
"He's cute," Arthur conceded, to agreeing grunts from his brothers. At least that they could see eye to eye on. "I don't suppose we should start following him?"
"I, sounds good. Though perhaps we should keep a good distance. Don't want to give off a bad impression."
As the three brothers walked, joining the small gaggle of parents and caretakers that had already been following the procession, Arthur felt his gaze being naturally drawn to Alfred once more. It irritated him to no end, how much the other man looked on the horse. No jitters, no shaking, none of the sort - he looked perfect in the sun, while Arthur burned. Slathering sun cream was not particularly a sight behooving a gentleman. While Alistair and Seamus were happy enough to keep up with the pack on foot, Arthur found himself trailing more and more behind in lockstep with Alfred.
"How are you finding it?" Alfred called after him, leading the rear of the pack. "Your little bro enjoying it?"
"Yes, I daresay he's enjoying it," Arthur tried to not look Alfred directly in the eye, out of concern that Alfred would cotton onto the fact that Arthur's heart was pounding and his cheeks were begin to turn rosy. He internally blamed it on the sun, though he knew he was a terrible liar even to himself. "Don't you find this sort of work monotonous?" At Alfred's confusion, judging from the mildly unhinged jaw, Arthur rolled his eyes, adopting a faux American accent. "Or should I say, boring?"
"Oh!" Thankfully, Alfred seemed incapable of picking up the heavy spoons of sarcasm Arthur was heaping onto him. "Well no, not at all. I mean, it's nothing like the fields from back home, but the kids are cute, and I get along with my coworkers, so. There's way worse out jobs there, y'know what I mean?"
"Do you...did you mean the humans, or the horses? Since I'm certain you work with both equally."
Alfred grinned. "You're pretty funny, mister," he said, as if Arthur was an antique in a garishly written and shot old Western. "They're both nice. Though horses are cuter, I have to admit. Those big ol' eyes, the sounds they make, I like combing their mane after the last rides are done..."
It was as if the American had pulled out a comically large magnifying glass and was reading the words Arthur had been thinking about him the whole time they had met. Alfred's very blue eyes? The twang of his accent, which Arthur would rather be damned than admit he was attracted to? The softness of his honey blond hair?
Arthur cleared his throat, forcing his gaze back down to his leather shoes, the tip glinting in the sun as he crunched against the gravel. Seamus was taking photos, Alistair was on his phone again, and Arthur found himself abruptly tongue tied, something he could not say of himself usually. There was always a neatly curated yet vast library of sharp barbs and insults Arthur had prepared in his mind, but in the presence of Alfred, he suddenly could not turn the pages in his mind any longer.
He didn't notice Alfred's blue eyes soften underneath his hat. "You like horses, too?"
Arthur felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Inbetween the cheers and the chatter of the children, Alfred was setting his work aside and speaking to him. Despite how rude and ungentlemanly he'd been behaving this afternoon.
"They're all right, I suppose," Arthur replied. "Magnificent beasts. I - look. For the way I behaved earlier, I'd like to express remorse. Apologise. It was not appropriate."
"Apology accepted," Alfred gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Bad day, huh? I'm guessing."
"No, it's all right, it's just that I wasn't expecting to see a cowboy working in Hyde Park," Arthur heard himself snorting, adjusting his trench coat over the flap of his wrist. "Not that there's a problem, mind you, it was simply a touch shocking."
Alfred tilted his head to the side, keeping steady on his horse. "D'ya not like Americans?"
"I can't say I particularly care for them." The skin at the back of Arthur's neck prickled pleasantly. "But perhaps you're different."
Alfred's grin bloomed even further. "Really? Then maybe it's a good time to admit that I'm pretty fond of the British. Or, uh, Bri'ish."
Comically quickly, Arthur's slight smile faded into a frown. "I take back whatever I said."
"Hey now!" Alfred's horse whickered as the American protested; out of the corner of his eye Arthur could see his cowlick bouncing. "That was just banter, wasn't it? I've been living here for a few months, still trying to get the hang of it. You can't be crazy prickly, then say sorry again, then say somethin' sweet, then be all prickly again! That's mean, don'tcha think?"
"That's rather average English banter, I'd reckon," Arthur snorted. How could someone with such a perfect poise when it came to horses, such a strength with them, turn into a blustering idiot when it came to light teasing? He couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern about what would happen if someone came to speak to Alfred about more complex issues such as complaining about the weather.
"Oh really?"
"Yes, really." Then a thought occurred to Arthur, so shocking, so forward that he would have not believed it had come out of his mouth until much later. "Perhaps you would need someone to show you the ropes?"
Alfred's mouth fell open, nearly as taken aback by Arthur's forwardness as he was. "I, uh," he stammered, foot shaking in the stirrup, and for one horrid moment Arthur had thought he'd made a mistake. "You mean. You're asking me out?"
"I wouldn't go so far as to say asking you out, it's...I do fancy, erm, well." Arthur cleared his throat, squeezed his right fist, and forced himself to push the attack. "I was just...wondering. If you were interested in...meeting outside of work."
"Yeah," Alfred said. His voice wobbled a little on the final syllable. "But not as, uh, friends, y'know. I mean I guess we could, but, I like dudes, too. So I just wanted you to know that."
Arthur darted his eyes nervously to the front of the pack, then to the side where Seamus was taking a photo of a squirrel on a bench, then hurriedly thumbed open his phone and tapped on the Contacts button, then the plus mark. A blank screen opened.
"If you may," Arthur looked away as soon as he handed off his phone, but couldn't resist taking a glance and being impressed about how smoothly Alfred added his phone number to his phone while atop a horse.
"So what's all this, then?" Mrs Kirkland demanded, brandishing the prints. The three Kirkland brothers hung their heads in shame in comical unison. "The eldest goes off wandering doing Lord knows what on his phone, the second goes and seduces one of the staff, and the third can't even take any bloody proper photos!"
"There's some nice ones, Mum, swear," Seamus sifted through the photos in protest, fishing out what was, in all fairness, a sweet photo of Rhys on the pony with a toothy grin. "It's just that the ones with squirrels were the ones we took-"
"We?" Arthur spluttered in protest, "there was no we, it was just you all day-"
"There's no use pointing fingers Seamus, you had the thing around yer neck for the entire time!" Alistair cried, equally as annoyed as Seamus scowled at the two of them. The three brothers erupted into petty squabbling as Mrs Kirkland, rolling her eyes, leafed through the photos, tossing out the dozen or so 'squirrel in a tree' photos, setting the ones that actually had Rhys looking adorable in them to one side.
"If the three of you won't zip it, I'll have to seal your mouths over with Sellotape," she resumed her remarks after a lull in the arguing. "I'll let you off, Seamus, but only this once. Next time this happens, you'll owe me a good five quid for the print shop, you hear me?"
Seamus rolled his eyes as he leaned his arm against the back of the dining room chair, in the same fashion that Mrs Kirkland had. "Yes, mum-"
"And who's this fancy lad?" Mrs Kirkland plucked out a photo of a very familiar face, making Arthur freeze. "Looks quite dashing, I'd reckon. Perhaps, is this the staff member you've gone ahead and seduced, Art?"
Arthur felt himself blanch. "It's not - I did no such thing as seduce!" he complained loudly. "I was just showing him the ropes of English culture, that's all. Had a bit of banter. There was absolutely no seducing involved!"
That statement held true for all of four days (Arthur resisted until after Rhys's birthday party), after which Arthur tumbled head over arse into bed with Alfred F. Jones, and a lot of seducing was certainly done.