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Just too stubborn to voice it.
“Lake?” Harry called from the distance, splicing the tension.
Lake rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Poor Harry awaits.”
He shot out the shed door, and Knight’s deep sigh followed him.
Harry trundled toward him with a beaming Philip, who was dressed for church rather than an afternoon in the garden. An elegant shirt and black socks under black slacks. Though anything might look elegant next to the pineapples . . .
Philip embraced him with an excited squeeze and a croaky “Can’t wait to hear this monologue” in his ear.
Lake drew back, smiling hard. “No point drawing out the suspense. Harry, let’s do this.”
Harry jumped to his spot on the gazebo. “Okay, but I only agreed to this because Lake has a flair for the dramatic.”
Lake pulled Philip down on the bench next to him. “The bigger, the better.”
Philip clapped, “Let’s hear it, then.”
Harry bowed his head and sucked in a deep breath. When he raised his head, Harry was gone, and Shakespeare’s Demetrius stood before them. “To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?”
Under his breath, Philip mused, “Not my monologue then?”
“An answer to it.”
Philip’s eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed. All his attention honed in on Harry and his spectacular performance.
“Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
“Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
“That pure congealed white, hight Taurus’ snow,
“Fanned with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
“When thou hold’st up thy hand. Oh, let me kiss
“This prince of pure white, this seal of bliss!”
Philip rubbed his knees nervously. “What an answer,” he murmured.
Lake gave himself a metaphorical pat on the shoulder. “Note the tweak from ‘princess’ to ‘prince’ in the final line.”
Philip’s eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed. “For me?”
“Who else?”
Philip looked at Lake, astonished, touched, a little like he might burst out into a yippee.
When Harry bowed, Philip stood, clapping loudly.
“I messed up one line,” Harry said regretfully, cheeks pinked.
“Sounded perfect to me. Would you do it again?”
“Again? Oh, uh, sure.” Harry stretched, shaking himself once more into character.
“Are you okay, Lake?” Worry creased Philip’s brow.
Lake blinked up at him. “Huh?”
Philip gestured to Lake’s finger. “You keep touching your lips.”
Lake jerked his hand to his side, then sat on it for good measure. “Just a little ticklish.”
A sparkle hit Philip’s eye and he resumed his seat, angling toward Lake. “I might have something for that.”
Water sprayed over the back of their heads, and cold droplets glided under Lake’s collar. Lake swung around. Knight—who’d put on his shirt but left it unbuttoned—adjusted the sprinklers behind them. “Sorry.”
He looked anything but.
Lake had left that shed too early. Too many frustrations festered between them. Three hours of Knight’s unhappiness with him was agony. Lake couldn’t take it anymore.
“Enjoy the monologue, guys. I’ll be back.”
Lake launched himself out of the gazebo, curled a hand around unsuspecting Knight’s, and towed him into the house.
Taylor’s bedroom had the best view of the backyard, so that’s where Lake headed.
The second he stepped inside, awkwardness flooded him. He breathed in the familiar mustiness, looking from the foosball table to the massive oak bed where Lake had spent countless nights talking to Taylor about stupid frat boys. And lying assholes. And whether he’d ever find true love.
His fingers, clutching Knight’s, pulsed wildly.
Knight removed his hand, clearing his throat. “Is there a reason we’re in here?”
Lake fought the guilty rise and fall in his belly and sat on a bench by the large windows. “We’re here to talk.”
Knight quietly absorbed his son’s room. “I see. This room gives you the necessary perspective.”
The best perspective on Cameron’s pool next door, and the gazebo. “It does.”
Lake stared down at the lovebirds and sighed. Knight slipped beside him, a foot away. Buzzing energy stirred over his entire body.
Lake halted his fingers in their journey toward his mouth, and cleared his throat. They were there to overcome their disagreement. “I hate this awkwardness between us.”
Without meeting his eye, Knight inclined his head. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“I’ll back off.”
Lake should have been happy that Knight wanted to withdraw his criticism, but he rarely experienced it with anyone else. Even Taylor sugar-coated the truth.
Knight was superiorly, annoyingly honest with him.
And it was impossible to confess how much he liked it. “Back off, good. Good. Really good.” He extended a hand. “Friends?”
Knight shook with a warm parting squeeze. “As you wish.”
Tremendous pressure lifted off Lake, and he bubbled with laughter. “We agree to disagree regarding Philip and Harry?”
“We agree to disagree. But for the record, I’m right.”
Lake slapped his arm. “That’s not how it works—and you’re totally not!”
Knight laughed. “I’m older and wiser, remember.”
“Without the wrinkles to show for it!”
Their amusement faltered and Lake flushed, ears ringing. An uneven breath left him, and at Knight’s gentle frown, Lake looked out the window. “Pass me Taylor’s binoculars? On the bookshelf, next to the globe.”
