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Sparks – Coldplay
“You’ve been gone ages,” a voice complained as Malcolm marched ahead, ducking his head in order to make it through the low door. Peering over his shoulder, I was surprised to find a gangly boy in his early twenties—hair as red and curly as my own—dripping with sweat while clutching a rake like a lifeline.
“Had something to sort,” Malcolm’s deep baritone replied, giving me chills.That voice. When I ignored the words that came with it, that voicedidthings to me. Delicious things. He should narrate the smutty audiobooks I loved to listen to. It would be like having a sexier James McAvoy whisper in your ear. And James McAvoy was exceedingly hot.
Then his meaning registered. Was Ithesomethinghere?
The young lad was clearly thinking the same thing, because his eyes shot to me and screwed. When I smiled, he blinked.“You’re… you’re April Sinclair.”
My expression faltered and I knew Malcolm caught it. Hating feeling caught out, I pushed as much cheer into my voice as I could muster and held my hand out.“The one and only.”Christ.Even my eyes wanted to roll.“I usually smell better than this, I promise.” My free hand picked at the grey overalls that swamped my frame.
He took my offered hand, squeezing my fingers as he pumped it enthusiastically.“I know… I mean, you look like you’d smell wonderful.” His cheeks turned cherry red.“I mean…”
I laughed, I couldn’t help it.“I know what you mean.” I looked back to Malcolm but he was already halfway into the large vat, spade in hand, pretending we didn’t exist.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the boy.“Our surly overlord neglected to tell me your name.”
“Ewan… Ewan Davies,” he replied eagerly.
“Nice to meet you, Ewan.” I meant it, his features were kind. Oversized in a way that made him look younger than he likely was.
“Now the pleasantries are over, how about some work gets done? It’s why I pay you after all,” Malcolm grouched, not even looking up from his shovelling.
Beside me, Ewan jolted and threw me an apologetic glance.“Right. Sorry, boss.”
And I—I just stood there. I wasn’t going to let this grumbly giant intimidate me in my own establishment. I knew it was bold to come in after twelve years away and swing my metaphorical dick around, but it was literally the single piece of leverage I had.“You’re going to pay me?” I said, turning to him fully.
He paused, taking a moment to fold his hands atop the spade’s large handle. Fine dots of sweat covered his nose and sharp cheekbones.“I can’t pay you.”
I pouted in a way I knew would irritate him.“What if I need to buy a new handbag?”
Grey eyes flicked to my lips. The look didn’t feel critical this time.“I’m certain you can find a lonely islander to buy one for you. If the rumours are correct, you love a sugar daddy.”
I held back my flinch. The rumours werenotcorrect.“Been reading up on me, boss?”
I’d suspected the second the nickname left Ewan’s lips moments ago that Malcolm hated it. The flexing of his jaw confirmed it. That,or I’d hit a little too close to the mark with my accusation. His gaze fell.“Don’t ask stupid questions, princess. Just get to work.”
My hands went to my hips.“It’s a little hard if I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Ewan,” he snapped, and the boy practically fell over his feet in his haste to help me.
“Here, grab a rake off the wall”—he pointed to the rack of equipment—“you’ll probably want to start with a small one.” Once I’d selected a small rake with a smooth wooden handle, he motioned for me to follow him.“Bossman is pouring the chitted barley, that’s the hardest bit. It’s our job to rake it into parallel lines. When it’s warm like this you want to rake it thin, aim between eight and twelve centimetres deep.”
I observed the work Ewan had already completed, a neat line of golden grain.“How hard can it be?” I could have sworn I heard a snort from the other side of the room.
Ignoring him, I threw myself in.
As it turned out, it was pretty freaking hard.
After the fourth grunt of“rake instraightlines, princess,” I was ready to throw myself on his back and finish the job I’d started in the kitchen three nights ago.
I was sweaty. A knot the size of Glasgow had lodged its way between my shoulder blades and I had a splinter that stung every time I gripped the damn rake. We weren’t even halfway finished.
Other than a fine sheen across his forehead that only served to make him look more appealing—objectively, y’know, if you were into grumbling Gruffalos, which I most certainly was not—Malcolm looked exactly as he had two hours ago. It made me seethe inside.
At least Ewan was in as bad a shape as I was. He paused every five minutes or so to complain that“it never gets any easier” to whoever was willing to listen.I was two complaints away from shrieking“shut your damn mouth, Ewan,”butinstead,I settled for biting my lip and keeping my head down. Ewan seemed like a crier.
