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“He was totally into you.”
“He was?”
“Good looking guy too, don’t’cha think?”
Harry almost dropped his bundled towel again. “Um . . . yep. Philip was nice.”
Lake read the text again. It seemed like Philip was fishing for clues that Harry had enjoyed meeting him too.
Lake: Want to join us for a movie tonight?
* * *
Philip: Harry will be there too?
Lake suppressed a surge of premature triumph. “He sounds eager.”
Harry blushed, and Lake’s grin deepened as he replied. He’d find an excuse to bail at the last minute. Leave the two alone.
Philip: I wish I could! Would be great to see you, but my boss just requested I stay late. Another time?
“Disappointing.”
Harry agreed, but cheerfully picked up when Martin and Knight emerged from the back yard.
Martin waved awkwardly to Harry, who eyed him longingly from the kitchen. He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, thanked Knight again for his help, and left.
Harry raced after him, and Lake wasn’t sure he liked it.
Knight, wearing a beetle-brown T-shirt that matched his hair and eyes, steadied a cautioning look at him from across the room as if he knew what judgmental thoughts rocketed through his mind. Lake felt appropriately chastised.
Not that he’d ever admit that to Knight.
“So, Knight . . .”
“Lake . . .”
Lake lifted his glass of carafe water, winked, and downed it. “Why are you single?”
Knight sat quietly in the car next to Lake, perhaps confused that Lake had invited himself. He couldn’t say exactly why he’d done it, but after chasing Garfield into her carrier, it seemed logical for him to attend her annual checkup . . . in case he had to help Knight again.
Finding a parking space was a pain in the ass until Lake suggested his dad’s—his—distillery grounds. The fern-dense valley dipping behind the vet clinic led to a few hidden Port Ratapu treasures—a huge Victorian manse fenced in stone and shrouded with native bush, a large pristine estate on the far end near the coast, and their destination: a rundown brick warehouse with boarded windows, wildly growing vines, and a peeling Lakewood Bourbon sign.
The car stopped, and Lake fought a wild ache. He remembered playing outside that detached shed next to the tree. Remembered piggyback rides and tours through his dad’s struggling but beloved distillery.
He slicked on a smile and quickly climbed out of the car with his shoulder bag.
The smell. So familiar. All that dank brick and dust and kowhai pollen.
Knight studied him over the roof of the car.
Lake pivoted away from his inheritance and strode down a long gravel path to the main street.
Knight followed, hefting the carrier. Garfield mewled at the stray droplets of rain leaking through the air vents, the swaying motion, and the unfairness of being dragged from the comfort of home.
Lake agreed. “I make a similar whine every day I head to work.”
Knight glanced at him. “Have you thought about changing jobs?”
“I think about it a lot.” A sneaky raindrop weaseled under Lake’s collar. “Another thing for the to-do list.”
“If you ever need help . . .”
“You’d definitely be the one I ask.” Lake meant that from every crevice of his heart. “Even before Taylor.”
Knight beheld him with a quiet frown that made Lake swallow.
“You have more experience,” Lake explained, although that didn’t feel entirely honest.
They walked on, curious silence once more descending over Knight. His strong nose, heavy eyebrows, that mouth that curled into a grim smile. What was he thinking?
Knight had been suffering in this contemplation since Lake had asked why he was single. God, he almost wished he could take it back.
Except . . .
Maybe Knight needed a reminder to open himself up to the possibility of meeting someone.
Knight caught Lake staring, and shivery electricity jolted through him from the back of his nose to the balls of his feet.
Beautiful shops lined the street. Tranquil Café, Poise Art Gallery, the barber shop . . .
He couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s on your mind?”
Knight answered swiftly, “I have a bad feeling about you meddling in Harry’s love life.”
Lake frowned. Not what he’d been expecting. “A bad feeling? Why?”
“You have a compelling personality, Lake. People like to have your attention.”
“What’s wrong with that? I’m giving Harry attention.”
“Just be careful.”
Lake straightened, gait lengthening. “Harry and I are friends. I’m helping him find romance.”
Knight easily matched his step. “You mean well. You always do.”
“What does that mean?”
Knight didn’t hold back. “You get excited about a project, do copious research, and dream how amazing it will turn out. Remember your photographer phase? You bought a two-thousand-dollar camera, stands, lighting gear. You turned my gazebo into a set.”
“I still use that camera.”
Knight raised a brow.
“I do!”
“Is that why it’s clogging up my attic?”
Dammit. “That was one project.”
“I also remember your chef phase—though I thank you for leaving those knives behind—and then there was the time you rearranged all of my bookshelves into alphabetical order, asked me what each book meant to me, and vowed to read every one of them.”
