Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I ring the bell, and after a long pause, Lyle yanks open the front door.
“Oh. Jase. I thought Robin would be here first.”
I blink. Is that the reason he’s in nothing but a towel? Trying to lure Robin in with his finely chiselled swimmer’s body?
I shake my head and readjust the bag strap sitting heavily on my shoulder. “He’ll be twenty minutes.” My lips twitch. “Plenty of time for you to get dressed.”
Lyle grins and finishes tucking in the end of the towel around his waist. Rivulets of water dribble lazily down his chest towards his navel. “Right. Come in.”
I look down at my mud-caked workboots and back up at Lyle, whose skin is pebbling with goosebumps. His towel slips a notch at one hip, revealing more of the V leading to his crotch. I lose my train of thought. Something. Muddy shoes. Yeah. Let Lyle get dressed before Robin arrives. “I’ll just . . . get going on the garden.” I turn abruptly and stride back to my truck, shaking my head. Focus.
I haul a shovel and a bag of sheep pellets I hadn’t planned on bringing out until later off the bed of the truck. Then I beeline down the side of the house, right to the back of the yard, where I’m planning a row of fruit trees against the back fence.
Not much later, Robin and a (thankfully) dressed Lyle find me in the farthest corner of the garden.
There’s a twinkle in Lyle’s eye. Maybe it’s the way the sun is shining.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Lyle says.
Robin nudges him. “I swung by the bakery first.” He smiles widely at me. “You want to join us for a bit?”
If it was just Robin and me, I’d jump at the chance. As it is, I don’t particularly want to be reminded of how charming Lyle is, especially since I’m already dusty and sweaty after barely twenty minutes out here.
“Nah. I’ve got a fair bit to get done.”
“Fine,” Lyle says quickly. Too quickly. He reluctantly adds, “If you need a hand later . . .”
His eyes glimmer with the hope I’ll decline.
My smirk disappears the moment Lyle slings his arm around Robin and leads him to the picnic table.
I work on, but soon I need to head back for the bag of manure I’d rested against the side of the house. As I come closer, Robin’s voice slows me down.
“I’m torn between trying to work out how he does it, and marvelling at the result.”
Lyle hums. “Sounds like magic.”
“The best kind.”
Lyle glances at the yard and misses me standing behind the old lemon tree. “What do you think of him?”
I almost snap the branch I’m holding back to peer at them, and hold my breath as Robin turns away from me.
“How do you mean? He’s a solid guy. He cares about animals. He’s a great brother. He’s been a good friend.”
Lyle visibly relaxes at “friend.” He reaches out a hand and settles it over Robin’s. Robin starts, sweeping his gaze to their hands, but he doesn’t move his. Just looks up at Lyle, whose hair glistens with strands of red in the sunlight. He swallows hard and flushes a bit.
“Lyle?” Robin asks carefully.
“I . . . I—”
I can’t watch anymore.
I drift back to the yard, but instead of digging in the pellets I carted down here, I toss the spade on the grass.
Shite.
With a sting in my eyes, I collect my gardening tools into the duffel that has journeyed the length of the garden with me, and brace myself as I walk towards the deck. I’ll tell Lyle I’m not feeling well and come back during the week.
Their hands are no longer joined. I have no idea what that means, and I’m not hanging around to find out.
“Lyle,” I say, glancing briefly at Robin, whose eyes are on me. I run a soil-covered hand through my hair. “I ate something dodgy this morning. You mind if I head off?”
Robin straightens. “Are you all right?” he asks, while Lyle runs an analytical eye from the top of my head to my feet. He raises a gentle, disbelieving brow.
I give Robin a quick nod. “I’ll be fine.”
Lyle looks between the two of us. “Take whatever time you need to get over it.”
Nice subtext, Lyle. I attempt a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I’ll call.”
Robin grabs his jacket. “I’ll drive you home in your truck.”
“That’s not necessary—”
Robin isn’t paying attention. “Lyle, can I leave my car here and pick it up tonight?”
“Of course.”
Of course, because when he comes to pick it up later, they can continue whatever it is they’ve started. There’ll be more midnight surfing, and this time there’ll be no ocean involved.
I’m left with no other choice. I drop the keys onto Robin’s outstretched hand, and we move to my truck. I jump into the passenger seat while Robin takes his time slipping behind the wheel and belting up. He inserts the key, and the truck rumbles to life around us. More carefully than I’ve ever done, Robin eases out of the park and onto the street. He changes gears, and it grates a bit. “Sorry,” he says as he tries again with more success.