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He blinks them all back, as if he just remembered we haven’t shared anything for months. A sad look crosses his face, the same look I’ve been wearing for months whenever our paths cross.
I want the light in his eyes to shine again.
“Can I . . . come in?” I ask.
He blinks a moment, and steps back with a welcoming gesture. I follow him to the lounge.
He looks uncertain as he sits on one end of the couch. He’s bronzed, his hair glittering even inside, and he smells faintly of ocean and aftershave.
“I’m going to be frank.”
His head snaps up.
“I want us to be friends again.”
He sinks into the couch and lets out a long breath. “I thought I’d fucked it up forever.”
“You? I fucked up.”
He shakes his head. “I was wrong to say you should’ve told me. Wrong to make you feel guilty about that. I’m embarrassed. Sorry.”
I flop onto the couch next to him and lean my head back to stare at the ceiling, like he’s doing. “I’m sorry too.”
“What for?”
I turn my head and look at him. “I should’ve been clear. I’m not interested in surfing. I’m definitely not interested in swimming.”
“My reaction is to say ‘but’ right now,” Robin admits.
“There are lots of great reasons to learn to swim. If you want to. I don’t. I’m not ready, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”
Robin looks like he wants to interject again, but he swallows it down. “I won’t push you again.”
A smile tips my lips along with a relieved sigh. “Thanks.”
Robin’s gaze skims to my face. “I miss you.”
A lump punches into my throat at hearing those words.
He continues, his hands rubbing up and down his shorts. “I miss hanging out, making dinners together, watching movies, shooting the shit . . . being your mate.” Tool jumps onto the couch between us and we each pet an ear. “Will you . . . will you come for Christmas lunch? I invited Lyle, but I want you both there.”
My voice comes out raspy, and I clear my throat. “Scott and I would love to come.”
“Scotty’s down?”
“Mum won a cruise. I’m picking him up from the station in an hour,” I say. “We’d love to come for Christmas lunch.”
“It’s a date.”
And though it pleases me to hear it, the words don’t hit home in quite the same way they would have earlier in the year.
I collect Scott and head to Cole’s Nursery. I’m selecting the final fir for Robin’s gift when my phone, left on a fence post, rings. I call out to Scott to answer, but he’s run off, deep into the rows of baby trees.
I dust my hands of dirt and race over. “Lyle?”
“You really snuck off this morning.”
“As promised.”
“Not sure how I feel about it.”
A breeze carries the scent of pine needles and the rush of rustling leaves hopefully masks my baffled “Huh?”
I try again. “I was trying to avoid misinterpretation.”
“I feel . . . like that failed.”
“I’m confused.”
“You didn’t have to go without saying goodbye to me.”
“You were sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
He’s quiet a moment, then he lets out a tired chuckle. “I thought, maybe, after getting all snotty on your t-shirt last night . . .”
“No, no. Do that to your heart’s content. Besides, turnabout is only fair.”
“Jase?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I talk to you?”
“We aren’t already?”
“Face to face. In person.”
“Sure, when do—”
“Now.”
“I’m at the nursery, what if I—”
“Wait for me.”
I hang up and jolt as I find Scott standing right behind me. He flashes his pearly teeth at me. “Was that Lyle? Are we hanging out with him and Jordy again?”
I wag a finger at him playfully. “Don’t hog all the gaming equipment next time.”
“Jordy didn’t mind.”
“I did. You acted like you’ve been starved of any fun your entire life. Makes me look bad.”
“Your friends are so much fun. I dunno what they see in you.”
“Gremlin!”
He ducks away from my chastising swipe at the back of his head, and I chase him around the dense rows of conifers. I shake my head at his distant joking laughter and let him hide while I return to the firs, and to—
“Lyle.” I wave, catching his attention.
He spots me and his eyes light up. He’s dressed nicely, as always. Spotless jeans, sleek t-shirt, bright blue shoes. His gaze shifts to his feet and up again. The slight smile on his face fades as he takes in the field of Douglas firs around us. He soaks it all in as he approaches, and frowns at his shoes again. He’d said he wanted boots better suited for gardening, and I had fun last week secretly sleuthing his shoe size to buy him a pair for Christmas.
I grin at him at pat the bark of the fir tree I’ve chosen. “It’s been a good day.”
He glances at the fir and me.
