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Drix smiles ruefully, trying to ease the tension growing between us. “Told you I’d fill up that jar in no time.”
“That’s not what I meant. Is he really that bad?” I ask, knowing that he probably is both a rogue and a terrible manager given my short interaction with him earlier today, and everything Daisy has told me.
Drix blows out a breath. “He’s not for everyone, that’s for sure.”
“But I’d really like to try and get a job. Aside from being able to pay towards my keep here–”
“Lia, I’ve already said, I don’t want your money.”
“I want to keep busy,” I push on. “I want to show Toby that whilst your generosity is something to be thankful for, grateful for, that’s it's important to earn my own way. Can you understand that?”
“Okay, look,” Drix concedes. “I do understand your need to take care of yourself and Toby, and I don’t want to prevent you from doing that. Let me think about it, there might be a solution that doesn’t involve you having to look after my sorry arse or work for my obnoxious friend.”
“You know someone else who might be able to give me a job whilst I’m here?” I ask, hopeful.
“Possibly. Leave it with me, yeah?” he replies, just as the timer dings on the oven letting us both know the cherry pie is ready.
“I appreciate it,” I reply softly. “I’ve made so many bad decisions, Drix. I just want to do right by Toby.”
“You, Lia Pearson, have done nothing but do the right thing. Every decision you’ve made since I’ve met you has been for your son’s well being. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I, for one, think you’re an incredible woman,” he replies, his voice raw with honesty as he cups my face, stroking my cheek gently. It’s an instinctive move, one born on the back of his kindness and need to comfort me. Yet, still I question it.
“Drix…” My voice is quiet, edged with caution, but this time I don’t remove his hand, and neither does he.
For a brief moment as I look up at him, and he down at me, I allow myself to relax into the intimacy of his touch. Call it a moment of weakness, a deep sense of gratitude, even. Either way, I can’t seem to break the spell even though my head is telling me to spare myself the heartache I know will come, because it always does.
“Did I hear the timer go off?” Daisy asks as she steps into the kitchen with Toby hot on her heels.
Drix draws back his hand, and I turn away from him, grabbing the mitt and pulling open the oven, my cheeks flaming with heat. I daren’t look around at Daisy, feeling acute embarrassment. What must she think of me? Here I am in her home, eating her food, sleeping in her guest room all the while looking like I’m making a pass at her wealthy brother. She doesn’t know me, and even though she doesn’t seem like someone who would judge, my anxiety doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.
“It’s ready,” I say, averting my gaze as I pop the pie on the island. The crust is a perfect golden brown, the juice bubbles between the gaps of the lattice scenting the kitchen with memories of a time before Martin. A time when I was a brave woman, someone open to making new friendships. Not this terrified shell of a person I am now.
“Oh wow, look at that,” Daisy exclaims, helping Toby climb back onto one of the chairs before grabbing some clean plates. “Looks even better than the pies Daphne makes at the cafe.”
“It sure looks delicious,” Drix agrees, grabbing a knife and cutting us all a slice.
“Cold or hot custard?” I ask, opening the fridge and grabbing the jug I prepared earlier.
“Cold!” they all agree in unison.
As I pour the custard over everyone’s slice, Drix’s mobile rings. He reaches into his pocket and glances at the screen.
“Sorry I need to take this call,” he apologies. “Don’t eat my portion whilst I’m gone.”
“Then you’d better be quick or I will,” Daisy jokes.
By the time Drix returns, we’ve all finished our slice and Daisy is eying his greedily. “Everything alright?” she asks.
“All good,” Drix replies, striding over to the table and digging into the cherry pie with enthusiasm, and even though his expression is relaxed, there’s no hiding the fact that his body language seems to tell a whole other story. He’s hiding something, and I have this terrible sinking feeling that I’m not going to like whatever it is.
ELEVEN
DRIX
“You, motherfucker, need to explain yourself,” I growl, the breath whooshing out of Fraser’s chest as I pin him against the wall of his workshop an hour after eating the best meal of my damn life.
“Drix, I–” he stutters, panic seizing him.
“You can imagine my surprise,” I continue, cutting him off, “When I arrive here to have a word about Robert Blade’s upcoming wedding, and find my friend’s car trashed instead!”
