After a moment or two, Gwyn realised that Mal had gone out through the other kitchen door. He blinked a bit. His eyes were hazy and he felt a bit odd.
“Ow,” he said, poking at his nose again. “Arsehole,” he said aloud.
He looked around. The other kitchen staff were staring at him with various expressions of alarm, concern, and confusion. They didn’t know about the Caernarvon deal. Mal...no, Reagan, he’d be damned if he’d call him by anything but his surname now—Reagan had wanted it kept under wraps.
He definitely wasn’t going to cry in front of them all.
“Come on,” Darren said quietly to him, appearing at his side as Reagan and Chef left the kitchen. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Your nose is an effing fountain.” He took his elbow gently and began to guide Gwyn through the kitchen units a
