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Knight’s gentle expression almost stole Lake’s voice. “Less pathetic?”
Eyes twinkled. “Well . . .”
Lake bubbled with a laugh. Knight always had a way of eliciting one. “I might manage a drink after all.”
“Good.”
“We can talk about rent. And . . .”
“And, what?”
Lake took a deep breath. “Maybeyoucanhelpmesellmycottage?”
Lake begged Knight to wait until nine before heading to Josh’s party. Not seven on-the-dot. No way could Lake seem desperate.
He paced the gazebo, peering down the line of backyards, scrutinizing Josh’s. He could hear music, faintly. Was it busy enough yet?
From the bench, Knight looked up from his Kindle. “Don’t worry. Josh won’t think you’re desperate.”
“I’m not—fine, let’s go.”
On their way through the house, Lake knocked at Harry’s door, opened, and winced. Poor Harry was bunched up in his bed with a stuffy red nose, used tissues carpeting his blankets.
“’Ake.” Harry tried to smile, and it hurt to look at it.
“If you need anything, we’re three houses down—”
Harry blew his nose, the sound trumpeting around them.
“—and it might be better if you stick to texting.”
“I wish I could come. Tell Philip I’m sorry?”
“Sure, I’ll—Philip will be there?”
He whipped his head toward Knight but he’d walked ahead, his flexing calves turning into the kitchen.
Lake glared toward Harry—the world—“Did everyone get an invite except me?”
Harry’s voice crackled. “Philip went to high school with Josh.”
“He did?”
“He told me on the way to Grandma’s. He wondered if he should tell you he’d be there or keep it a surprise.”
Why would he want to keep it a surprise?
Hairs at Lake’s nape prickled, and he rocked back on his heels. Projecting unlikely what ifs into the universe was making him antsy. Philip expected Harry to meet him at Josh’s. He’d shared parts of his childhood history with Harry.
Lake was fretting over nothing.
“It was so nice of him to take me there last weekend. He even bought me a Coke when we stopped for gas.”
See, nothing.
“I’ll tell him you’re sorry you couldn’t come. Should I send him here?”
“Not looking like this.” Harry sighed, and then coughed into the crook of his arm. “Plus, I’ve taken something to knock me out.”
Lake wished him goodnight and found Knight waiting at the front door. The corrugated brown gift box under his arm contained a bottle of Lakewood Bourbon, a gift from the both of them that Lake had picked. Totally without ulterior motives . . .
Knight had eyed it earlier—even withheld any criticism. Told Lake to do what he felt was right.
Which—no, it was a fine gift. It was.
Porch light glowed warmly over Knight and his nice sneakers, pressed navy shorts, tight white T-shirt under that soft-looking unbuttoned shirt. He looked crisp and fresh, with a pleasant hint of aftershave that reminded Lake how close they stood. Lake’s throat tightened, along with his nipples, which he hoped didn’t show through his thin green T-shirt.
Instinctively, he reached out and touched Knight’s shirt—just as soft as he imagined. His grin felt lopsided. “Earthy tones have never looked better. Really complements your eyes.”
Knight returned the slow-sweeping favor, and when their eyes met, nodded. “You work your colors, too.”
He turned on his heel and kicked toward the street.
Lake smirked, and chased after him. “Are you admitting to making them stand out on purpose? Why, Knight. I never took you for vain.”
A tight look. “By now you should know I’m full of vices.”
“And sixteen virtues. Amending that to seventeen, since you spent most of the day fixing my cottage.”
Knight waved the compliment away. “Just a few repairs that’ll help it sell.”
“A few?” Lake ticked off his fingers. “You replaced the broken towel rack, exchanged the sink and the master bedroom door handle—oh, and tiled the shower.”
Shirtless.
But Lake wasn’t replaying that in his mind or anything.
“Tomorrow we’ll replace those dated light fixtures with something modern.” Knight seemed to be mentally checking off boxes. “The house is nicely decluttered, except for your room.” A couple of quiet beats passed. “You could move your things here?”
Lake cast his relief to the sun-setting pink above them. “God, I love you. Yes to everything.”
Knight’s step slipped.
Stupid gravel from the neighbor’s driveway. Lake kicked it off the sidewalk and continued discussing the logistics of the next day, including breakfast. How could he ever repay Knight for being there? For that sympathetic, compassionate hug he’d given him on his brick path to bolster his confidence before heading into the Lakewood family home.
Knight frowned gently at the bourbon. Shit. The bourbon. Had Lake overdone the passive-aggressiveness? It’s not like he enjoyed the thought of Josh forced to remember him whenever he drank from it . . .
Who was he kidding?
Lake was a terrible person. He should never have agreed to Knight censoring his criticism. He needed Knight telling him he was overstepping. Telling him that making a point was really a mimed bitch-slap.
Oh God, was it too late to change the gift?
