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Josh moved toward Knight, and Lake found himself jogging over. No idea what he was doing, except being a slave to his gut.
His gaze snagged on Knight’s and didn’t let go. “Um. West had the best idea . . .”
Knight listened patiently, gripping a pole like a staff. “Doesn’t excite me, but then I won’t be taking part. Not that I ever intended to dance.”
Lake gaped at him. “It was your idea to get the dance floor.”
“It was your idea, and I agreed. I’m no good at the grinding stuff.”
Lake held his tongue.
“But I’ll happily watch you bounce about,” Knight continued.
“I hope you change your mind.”
“Maybe. If there’s a slow dance, and the right partner.”
Josh filled Lake’s peripheral vision and his stomach crunched. “Know what? Sitting out is good. It’s fine. You should do that. Now,” Lake curled a hand around the pole above Knight’s. “Where does this go?”
Cameron returned home twenty minutes too early.
Lake shoved the last box of champagne into the kitchen and ran to stop Cameron opening the door—
Voices outside on the porch.
Cameron and . . . Knight.
Knight sounded determined to hold Cameron’s attention. “How was your day? I’m glad I caught you, I had a few thoughts on rebranding your channel. I wrote them down. Can you pop over for a few minutes?”
“Really? Great! Let me drop my bag inside and—”
“No! I mean,” Knight cleared his throat, “you’ll need your laptop to write notes.”
“Duh. Of course. Excellent.”
Lake sagged against the door, relieved at their retreat, and pulled out his phone.
Lake: You actually have notes? Ideas on rebranding? Or did you make that up?
* * *
Knight: I’ve left him in the lounge while I sort something out.
* * *
Lake: You’re the hero of the hour.
* * *
Knight: Yes.
Lake grinned, earning an arched brow from West, who was busy stringing up streamers. He flopped onto the couch in the empty living room.
Lake: Make sure to pat yourself on the back.
* * *
Knight: After I do what has to be done.
* * *
Lake: What about naming it Austen Studios? It sounds professional and instantly recognizable.
Minutes later, the doorbell rang and Lake handed over the task of welcoming the guests to Taylor. Then locked himself in the bathroom.
It was ridiculous. He should be out there helping, and Knight was busy distracting Cameron, but . . . it itched in him. Burned. He wanted to keep chatting. About anything. Trivial or . . . not.
Lake: You know, it’s almost been a week since Karaoke . . .
His finger hovered over send. He rubbed his phone against his forehead, wanting to remind Knight of the incredible passion they’d shared.
Knight: Austen Studios. Fantastic idea, Cameron loves it.
A heavy breath left him. He deleted his message. Stupid to bring up that night over text anyway.
Lake: Good. Great. The guests are arriving. Bring him over in twenty.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Cameron said, hours later, voice raised against Classic Hits blaring from the outdoor speaker.
Lake steered him and pineapple-shirt Harry around the back of the marquee, where he could hear them talk. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am. Love the game, too.” Cameron tugged his tiny pencil from his back pocket. “You still haven’t given me a clue who you and Knight are. Where is Knight, anyway?”
Lake wished he knew. Every time he spotted him, someone whisked him away into conversation. Riveting conversations, no doubt.
“He’ll be around somewhere,” Harry said, eyeing the dance floor longingly, like he’d been doing all evening. “Are you sure neither of you can swing dance?”
A figure slunk past them, steering for the trees at the back of the property. West?
Pencil and paper at the ready, Cameron towed Harry along to chase after a couple pinching martinis, and Lake stole after West.
West paced, speaking tightly into his phone. “. . . I told you everything you needed to know this morning. This is my life . . . No, you made the ultimatum. You have to respect my choice. I don’t care what Dad has to say . . . No . . . Will you change your mind?” West craned his head skyward. “Fine. I’ll come around tomorrow. But this is the last weekend I’m hiding like this.”
Lake stood frozen halfway between the marquee and West. He’d wanted to solve a mystery, but overhearing this conversation felt wrong.
He started to turn back, but West pivoted around, startling at the sight of him. Realization clouded West’s expression. West sighed and sagged against a knotty tree trunk.
With a sympathetic smile, Lake joined him.
West ran a hand through his hair. “You probably had your suspicions already.”
Lake didn’t know what to say. What he’d heard had sounded serious. And saddening. “Taylor mentioned your family is conservative.”
“I don’t want to hide who I love . . .” West stared out toward the shimmying couples on the dancefloor and the pockets of guests laughing around the garden. “I won’t. Not after tomorrow. Not once I’ve finally severed these ties.”
