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I sit back in my seat, and Gus gets up and wanders out onto the deck, where he flops onto his side with a big sigh.
I return my attention to Mack, and we study each other for a moment. Today he’s wearing a dark-gray suit, a white shirt with a stylish black-and-silver-striped tie, and black Oxford shoes. His haircut is so sharp I could cut myself on it, as if he visited the barber five minutes ago. His jaw looks as if he’s shaved with a cutthroat razor, it’s so smooth. His hands are big, his nails short and neat. As he leans forward to take another sausage roll, I smell the scent of his aftershave, warmed through by his body. When he leans back, he sits in the typically male fashion with his legs wide open, and it’s all I can do not to stare at the way his pants are pulled tightly across his impressive thighs.
Instead, I find myself staring at his eyes. They’re sky blue, but one has patches of light brown and a touch of green, like our blue planet as seen from above.
“It’s called heterochromia,” he says, lifting a hand to point from one eye to the other as he sees me looking at them.
“It’s very unusual,” I murmur.
“Yeah. My optician offered me colored lenses, but I thought what the hell, I’m flawed, I might as well flaunt it.” He smiles.
“It would be a crying shame to cover them up. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
His smile stays. I think he likes the compliment.
I swallow hard. What the hell am I doing? I should excuse myself and run a mile. Every second I’m here, I run the risk of him discovering what I did and calling the police.
Or am I being foolish? Even if he has cameras in here, I’m guessing nobody was watching them, or he would definitely not be as friendly as he is right now. I don’t think he has a clue what I did in here last night. I think he called me in only because he found the poem.
Oh yes, the poem. Fuck.
I drop my gaze to the platters, full of beautiful bite-sized pieces of food, vegetables, dips, fruit, and cake. I’m starving, and I’ve got to be back at work soon.
“Go on,” he says. “Or I’ll have to eat it all and run a few extra miles to burn it all off.”
“I’m vegetarian,” I say. “I’m just wondering which bits don’t contain meat.”
“None of it does,” he says. “I’m vegetarian too.”
“Oh! Even the sausage rolls?”
“Yep. Sweet potato and kidney beans are the main ingredients, I think.”
I take one and try it. It’s really nice.
“The baby quiches are great, too,” he says, “and so’s the sushi. Fill your plate, please.”
I take a few pieces, then have a sip of water. This feels so surreal. I know I should run, but this guy fascinates me. He’s so big and… well-scrubbed. His nails are neat and clean. I bet he has a manicurist. His teeth are white and perfectly straight. Energy and power radiate from him as if he’s the sun. I’m not surprised he eats a lot; something must feed the furnace.
“You left your motor running,” I say, gesturing at his knee, which is constantly on the move as he bounces his foot.
He chuckles. “I find it hard to sit still. Neurodivergence for the win.”
“You have ADHD?”
He nods, taking another veggie roll. “Great for energy levels at times. Lousy for sleep.”
“The hyper focus must be good for a guy in your position. My brother has it,” I explain at his querying look.
“Oh yeah. Fourteen-hour days or more are normal around here. I’ll work flat out for a fortnight, then crash and sleep for a whole day.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about you. What’s your surname, by the way?”
I hesitate, and as he meets my eyes, my lips curve up.
“What?” he says.
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why?”
