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“Uh.” The friction between their upper arms intensified, and Lake inched away. “That’s such an opportunity. Really cool.”
“Hey, did you ever get an invite to Josh’s party?” Cameron always knew what to say.
Lake jerked a finger toward Knight from a safe distance, earning a raised brow. “Knight’s taking me along.”
“Oh,” Cameron said, “Josh probably forgot to tell you about it.”
Lake wasn’t sure which was worse, being uninvited because he was a little too memorable, or overlooked because he was not memorable enough.
“He’s too nice to do it on purpose,” Cameron continued. “He’s staying with his parents all summer. I’m sure you’ll be friends by the end of it.”
Wonderful. “Oh, shit. Josh from Oxford.” Two pairs of baffled eyes landed on Lake as he smacked his forehead. “I forgot to text West.”
Cameron brightened. “You mean Taylor’s old best friend? He’s around? He went off the radar.”
“I thought you’d had a close history together?”
“Not much. West and Taylor went to a different high school, they barely came around. West headed to London for the big overseas experience, and when Josh got into Oxford for post-grad, I asked Taylor for West’s number so Josh had another Kiwi contact over there. That’s the extent of it.”
Knight’s frown deepened. “You’re in touch with West?”
“I should have been!” Lake pulled out his phone out and finger-punched a message. “I promised Taylor I’d invite him to the party—by the way, what are we doing for Taylor and Amy’s arrival?”
“Preparing their home. Making them dinner.”
“Okay, sure—of course—but later that weekend?”
“What about another barbecue?”
Lake nodded. “With Karaoke this time, and someone else manning the grill.”
“Is that an offer?”
“It is a nice grill, but you probably don’t want just anyone touching it.”
Knight snorted. “Good thing you’re not just anyone.”
Lake scowl-groaned. “Fine, I’ll man the grill.”
“I’ll help,” Cameron offered. “Another thing. We need to rebrand our channel, and I wanted to ask—”
“Oh damn,” Lake said, taking Knight by the elbow and ushering him toward the car. “My appointment’s in fifteen minutes. We’ve got to go, sorry.”
As soon as the doors slammed shut, Knight gave him a silent reprimand.
Lake snapped his seatbelt in. “I know, I know. But he has a dream. He’s actually making it happen. And the worst part? He’s like you.”
“How is being like me a worst part?”
“If there’s a checklist, he’s checking things off it.”
Knight started the engine and looked at him, bewildered. “That’s a bad thing?”
“A very good thing.” He was happy for Cameron. Should support him more, but—“I’m jealous.”
Knight hummed in agreement.
Lake folded his arms tightly against the uncomfortable truth. The fact was, everyone around him had veered into better jobs and found loving partners, while Lake didn’t have a goal in his professional life, and in his personal . . . something was definitely missing.
Knight eyed him and chuckled. “You could always make a list of your own.”
“I have a list. I just don’t have someone to complete it for me.”
Knight’s hand shot off the gearstick and clasped his shoulder. “If you need help, Lake, you can always ask.”
The pressure at his shoulder was comforting, and the accidental drift of Knight’s finger over the base of his throat . . .
He raked a hand through his hair. “How do you feel about Chinese?”
Twenty-five minutes later, following Lake’s instructions, they parked in the secluded lot of Lakewood Bourbon Distillery, boxed takeout heating their already warm laps.
They slurped delicious hot noodles. Lake dove his chopsticks into Knight’s box for a wonton and Knight returned the favor, pinching a battered piece of sweet-and-sour chicken.
The brick facade glowed in the last stretches of light.
“How often do you come here?” Knight’s question was quiet. So was the drawn beat after.
Lake pinched more noodles, then dropped them back into the box. “Couple of times a week, after work.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Lake shook his head.
“Does Taylor know about this?”
“Coming here? No. That I take every opportunity to pity myself? Yes.”
Knight didn’t laugh. “He’d be there for you.”
Lake swallowed. “I know. I should. It’s just . . . there’s no big story. He died. I’m sad. I don’t know what else I’d say.”
Knight cupped the back of Lake’s hand and squeezed, and Lake closed his eyes at the comfort rolling through him. “Whenever you want to talk about it, Lake. Taylor’s there for you, and so am I.”
Lake blinked back tears and his throat tightened. He nodded, then reached over and swapped their takeout boxes. “Yours tastes better.”
“Every time,” Knight said.
When they’d finished their food and bottled water, Knight bagged the boxes and settled them behind Lake’s seat. His breezy, fresh scent washed over Lake and he breathed it in.
“Want to go someplace?” Knight asked, one hand drifting lazily over the steering wheel. “We could grab a drink.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“As much as I am here for you while you stare at your distillery all evening . . .”
