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When she’d refused to spoil Game of Thrones for him, he’d laughed at her and told her the only way he’d ever watch the show was if she watched it with him. She’d agreed without thinking. So nightly Thrones viewings were now going to be a thing, and Tina wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Maybe she could wriggle her way out of it at some point, but for now, she was just really enjoying his company.
“I learned the basics of cooking from Auntie Stella,” Harris said. “Libby wasn’t the only one paying attention when she cooked, you know?”
Tina’s jaw dropped at the information. “Auntie Stella,” as Harris—and only Harris—called her, was Libby’s mother. Not even Tina—who had spent a lot of time during her formative years with Libby and her family—had ever felt comfortable enough to call her friend’s parents anything other than Mr. and Mrs. Lawson. But Harris had called them Auntie Stella and Uncle Roland as a sign of familiarity and respect. Tina wasn’t sure what—if anything—Greyson called them. She couldn’t recall the other man ever addressing them directly.
“I didn’t think cooking interested you?”
“It doesn’t, not as much as it did Libby, but I watched and I asked questions and I learned. I enjoy cooking my own meals. What about you?”
“Me? I hate cooking. I cook because I have to. And I’m not particularly good at it.” She laughed bitterly. “I’m not particularly good at anything.”
“So no passion for food, then?”
“Beyond my obvious love of eating it?” she asked with an amused snort, brushing her hands down her “childbearing” hips . . . which had the unanticipated effect of making his breathing a lot heavier as his eyes followed the movement of her hands.
“I like that you love your food,” he said, his voice taking on an added dimension of gravel, and she tilted her head as she watched him assessingly, trying to figure out if he actually meant that.
“I exercise regularly, you know?” she said. Wanting him to know that there was more to her than the obvious and resenting the inexplicable desire to tell him this about her.
“Okay?” He looked baffled by her non sequitur, and Tina cleared her throat awkwardly, committed to this pointless cause now.
“People always assume that if you’re overweight, you have to be a lazy, unhealthy person who doesn’t take care of yourself.”
“I never assumed that. You glow with good health,” he said sincerely before his eyes went flat and his voice went cold. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with these other ‘people,’ though.”
“It’s hard not to, Harris,” she said, her voice low, her eyes somber, and even though the topic was taboo for the day, they both knew she was thinking of a time he’d allowed what his peers thought to rule his actions.
He nodded regretfully. “I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Jesus, don’t apologize, Tina! You have nothing to apologize for. Ever.”
She did, though. A secret so huge it was starting to drive a wedge even between her and her best friend.
“So . . . ,” he said with determined cheer, pushing himself away from the tiny excuse of a dining table and leaping to his feet, “what do we do now?”
“The dishes?”
“Nah. Those can wait. Let’s check out the town. I haven’t really been anywhere yet, just drove through it to Knysna yesterday.”
“I don’t think there’s much to see,” she said doubtfully, also getting up.
“Nonsense, there’s the beach . . .”
“It’s pouring,” she pointed out.
“We could just drive by? And after that, we could go to the pub.”
“It won’t be open today. Apparently, this town is super traditional, very family oriented. People go to church and have big Sunday lunches, followed by afternoon naps. That’s why the restaurant is closed today—it wouldn’t be economically viable to open on Sundays. And I know for a fact that the liquor license doesn’t permit the selling of alcohol today. So no pub.”
“That’s a fucking bummer,” he said, sounding so disgusted that she couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
“Let’s go for a drive anyway.” His restlessness was almost palpable. “We could go and check out that cheese festival.”
“That’s half an hour away,” she pointed out, and he shrugged.
“You got anywhere else to be today?”
She thought about her laptop, sitting unopened on her kitchen table. She had spent most of the morning finally unpacking those boxes, finding a productive way to dodge the accounting. She had finished just as Greyson had left in those jeans, and now she had no more procrastination boxes to unpack. Decision made. She was definitely not in the mood for being a responsible adult today. She shook her head recklessly in answer to Harris’s question.
“Great. Grab a coat and meet me on the porch in three minutes.”
She grinned, abruptly excited about this unplanned excursion. She’d been living in Riversend for over a month and hadn’t done anything but travel between MJ’s and this house. She hadn’t met anyone beyond her staff, and there was a certain formality between her and the people she employed. The prospect of going out and just being normal for an afternoon was unexpectedly appealing.
