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Okay, more water, but seeping out of the pipes.
Time to call in a plumber.
Elliot sighed, and gave up on the shower. He turned it off and tied a towel around his waist, opening the window wide. Last thing he needed was mould.
Mary, watering her garden, looked over the fence and waved at him. Honey yapped from inside her house.
“Sounds like Honey wants to be let out,” he called.
“It’s impossible to garden with him racing around.”
Elliot stifled his tight reply at the chime of his doorbell. He strode toward the door. It’d be Finley and Ethan with Noah—
With a whoosh of air, the door opened, and Elliot’s hand immediately doubled its grip on the knob.
On his shady porch, looking heart-poundingly handsome in jeans and a crisp white shirt undone at the collar, stood Wentworth. His hair was a little mussed, and his sunglasses suggested he was a little hungover.
He lifted the sunnies to his head. The stare Elliot received was surprised, punctuated by rapid blinks.
“Wentworth,” Elliot said. There was one obvious reason why he was here; Elliot scanned Wentworth for his phone. Not on him anywhere obvious. A pocket perhaps.
Wentworth’s gaze hovered over Elliot’s damp torso, his towel. “I caught you in the shower.”
Elliot barked a short laugh. “Not quite. I wanted to shower but my leaky pipes are playing up. At this point they get more showering than I do.”
“Have you called a plumber?”
“It’s on the To Do list.”
Wentworth unzipped his thin jacket, hung it up on the hook, and removed his boots. “I’ll take a look.”
“Okay,” Elliot said, following after him.
He felt off-kilter. Not because Wentworth was surely here to return his phone. Not because Wentworth had seen him a twitch away from naked for the first time in fifteen years. Not even because Wentworth was moving through his place like he’d never been away from it.
He felt off-kilter because Wentworth was humming and his eyes, if hungover, had been soft. Whether Wentworth was aware of it or not, he looked like he wanted to be here.
Elliot took up leaning against the bathroom wall, trying to keep his limbs arranged nonchalantly as Wentworth climbed into his bathtub and started doing manly things to the pipes.
“. . . Elliot?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have a toolbox? I need a wrench. Or pliers if there’s nothing else.”
When Elliot returned with a dusty toolbox, Wentworth was testing the water. “I think the issue is—”
Water sprayed out a crack in the pipes, blasting a shocked Wentworth and rendering his shirt translucent, showing off the tight lines of his stomach, his hard nipples, a nest of chest hair.
A grunt. Wentworth gripped the pipe, at the crack, dulling the spray. “Can you grab the—”
Elliot went for the tap. It was too awkward and the tap was stiff. He climbed into the tub, eyeing Wentworth’s grip on the pipes above. “Can you still reach if you’re behind me?”
“I’ve got a grip on it.”
Elliot yanked at the stiff knob and inched it right, tightening it.
Wentworth sighed, relieved. He shook his hand.
Elliot twisted in the tub, still on his knees, and grabbed Wentworth’s wrist. He hoped the red line over Wentworth’s palm was from holding the pipe so hard and not a burn. He glanced up to find Wentworth staring down at him intently, a flicker of recognition in his eye. This wasn’t the first time they’d been in this position.
Water dripped onto Elliot’s face and he swallowed.
Wentworth jerked his head away and climbed out of the bath. He found a fresh towel and held it out for Elliot, then stripped his wet shirt and jeans and stuffed them in the dryer in the laundry room next door.
The doorbell chimed and Elliot swore. “Brunch!”
Wentworth appeared again. “You’re busy?”
“You’re welcome to join us. But be aware,” Elliot gestured to their mostly naked bodies, “there will be questions.”
Wentworth hesitated, and the bell chimed again.
“I need underwear.”
“You answered the door in a towel before.”
“I’m not against answering the door in a towel—except when that towel is beginning to tent. Underwear will suck all this into place.”
A laugh jumped out of Wentworth, and he hurriedly reined it in, clearing his throat. “I have a go-to image for controlling myself.” The way he said it . . . his look. “I’ll answer the door.”
They headed to opposite ends of the hall and just before Elliot reached his bedroom, he heard Wentworth’s booming voice.
“Neighbour Mary! How can we help you?”
Mary?
Her voice sounded particularly shrill. “Will you and Elliot cease . . . banging so loudly?”
A pause and Elliot pictured Wentworth eyeing her carefully, possibly with narrowed eyes. Definitely with crossed arms. “We’re not finished yet. There’ll be lots more banging.”
“Can’t you wait until I’m out of the garden?”
“Nope. We need to do it now.”
“Quieter, then?”
“It’s as loud as it is. Elliot’s pipes need a lot of attention.”
She gasped.
