AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I must’ve looked like an idiot standing there. “Just marveling at how the two Irish lads get along famously.”
He grinned. “Maybe it’s more than that.”
I handed him his stuff. “What do you mean?”
“You said you got him from a shelter, right?” When I nodded, he said, “Maybe he senses something in me. I know what that feels like, to be tossed aside.”
My breath caught. “Tossed aside?”
“That’s not technically accurate, but you get the idea.”
“Not really,” I replied, sipping my coffee and averting my gaze so he didn’t think I was prying.
“Honestly, I’m the one who tossed him aside—Clint, my ex-boyfriend. I finally got brave enough to leave. But he’d stopped caring about how he made me feel a long time ago. That’s where the tossed-aside reference fits in. I just didn’t see it. Or didn’t want to.”
“I’m…” I dislodged the boulder in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“I’d choose living on the street than with him any day.”
My gut churned. There was more to that story, I was sure of it. I crouched down to scratch behind Oscar’s ears while what he’d confessed registered.
“I left my boyfriend as well,” I admitted. “It was long distance and just wasn’t working anymore. I’m way better on my own too.” It was just as well because we were pretty different. Robert was way more outgoing than me.
His eyes met mine. “I bet you’re wondering how I got from there to here.”
“Even if I was, it’s none of my business.”
He swallowed thickly and focused on my dog instead. “His coat is so shiny. You must be getting him groomed. I considered that line of work once but decided to groom people instead.”
“Wait, what?” I blinked. “Is that what you did in your former life? You were—”
“A stylist at a posh salon.” He squared his shoulders. “And I was damned good at it.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I tried to picture him in that other life, but it was hard to reconcile with this one because he seemed so different, so humble. Yet there was a proud, stubborn streak in him too. Listen to me, acting like I know him well enough to cast judgment.
He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Don’t let my own grooming habits fool you. It hasn’t been a priority. Plus, the beard keeps me warm.”
“It would,” I replied, trying not to stare. “Though I’ve never been much good at growing any facial hair.”
I brushed my knuckles beneath my chin, feeling my five-o’clock shadow. That stubble was as far as I’d ever gotten, but the flip side was that shaving came easy.
“A beard might ruin your nerdy-librarian status,” he said, and I barked out a laugh.
“Is that how you see me?” I held my breath, awaiting his answer. Why it meant so much, I couldn’t unload right then.
“Brainy guys with glasses used to be my type,” he finally said, not meeting my eyes. “Until I met one who took advantage—used it to manipulate and twist things. Made me feel like the bad guy.”
“Fuck him,” I bit out, and his eyes widened. “I’m sorry he made you feel that way.”
“Never again,” he replied, determination in his tone.
God, I wanted to throat-punch that man, and I’d never had violent thoughts like that before. Did he even realize what he’d put this fragile, kind man through?
Well, fragile wasn’t exactly the right word. Strong and brave was more like it. Maybe only his heart had been fragile, and I could totally understand that.
“Anyway, I used to tell customers who had trouble growing facial hair that it might be genetics,” he said with an air of authority, giving me an insider’s view of his former profession, “but stress and mental health can do a number on you too.”
My breath sputtered out, and I had to look away because he’d come too close to my truth. My battle with depression had affected lots of things in my life.
I went for a change of subject. “I see you’ve got some gray in your hair too—just like me. Maybe we’re around the same age?”
When he studied me, from my forehead down to my chin, my face warmed. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Forty-one.”
“I’m thirty-nine. My dad went gray early too.”
“Do you look like him—with your coloring?”
“Yeah…unfortunately.”
That response likely explained some things. Maybe he really didn’t have anyone to turn to. He must’ve felt so alone. And it could’ve had everything to do with his ex. Damn.
Lachlan said, “The Irish roots come from my mother’s side. She died when I was a teen.”
I frowned. “And your father?”
“He’s still the same bastard he always was.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He gave a curt nod. “Your parents?”
“They live in Chicago—that’s where I’m from. They’re still married, and always super involved in my personal life.”
“When will you finally meet a nice man to marry?”
“So they’re accepting? Of your sexuality, I mean.”
