Emerett Has Never Been in Love (Love Austen 1)

“I did not ask for that kiss.”

“Nevertheless.”

Lake swallowed another ripped bite and grinned. “If Josh is having a party, I’m going. One of you will take me as your date.”

Knight cleared his throat. “Please tell me one of those drinks is for me, Cameron?”

Cameron handed one over; Knight thanked him and sipped, glancing at Lake.

“Cameron is about to update me on my investment in his and his brother’s channel. He’s hoping to recreate famous period dramas with a gay-romance slant.”

“Including Jane Austen’s works. My favorites.” Cameron added with a bright chuckle, “‘The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.’” An expectant stare. If he was waiting for Lake to guess what book that came from . . .

Cameron shrugged. “Northanger Abbey.”

The guy’s passion for Austen had always been palpable. Now that he’d teamed up with his older brother to produce LGBTQ+ period-dramas, his dream was within reach.

Cameron straightened his glasses. “Everything is progressing nicely except for the hitch in location.”

Lake smiled widely and inched away. About time he got back to his goal, anyway. . . . He dropped by the drinks station, and quietly returned to Harry and Philip—wow those shoes were shiny!

Huddled close on the bench, Philip was nodding to Harry’s story about . . . Martin.

Lake refrained from palming his forehead. What was his fascination with the man? It was almost like Harry was—

Oh God.

Harry had a crush on his cousin.

Heated from scalp to toe, he peered over at Knight. That’s what he’d meant when he said Lake was blind.

Knight did a doubletake, realizing Lake had figured it out.

Great. No doubt he’d hear more of Knight’s thoughts regarding his failure to observe crucial details later.

Which wasn’t the rule, dammit. Lake just missed this one connection. That’s all.

He studied Harry’s enthusiastic retelling, hands waving about.

So. Harry like-liked his cousin. That was . . . well, to each their own.

But . . .

Perhaps Harry fixated on Martin because he didn’t know any other gay men?

Maybe meeting Philip would show him there were more fish in the sea. Good idea for Harry to see the extent of the buffet before he filled his plate with the first dish he saw.

Philip spotted Lake and beamed. “Lake, thanks for the drinks. Harry was just telling me the funniest story about a tortoise.”

Harry’s neck brightened, and Philip’s smile grew.

Those were some happy details.

Lake winked at Philip as he passed him a beer. Give him a couple of weeks. He’d make sure Philip wasn’t alone in his big apartment for long.

Parked outside Knight’s picket-fenced yard after clocking eight hours editing a boring toothpaste commercial, Lake scrolled through the most recent volley of honeymoon pictures.

He paused on Taylor and Amy gazing dreamily at one another at the Arc de Triomphe.

He should be responding with heart-eyed emojis, not swallowing the tightness in his throat because he missed Taylor.

No, that was selfish of him. Amy was wonderful; she made Taylor happy.

Maybe Taylor’s absence wasn’t the problem.

Lake scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. Did he want love for himself?

“Stop it.”

Much more rewarding helping others fall in love. Muddling about trying to figure it out for himself never worked. He lacked the necessary objectivity.

Sunshine streamed through the windshield, cooking Lake in his semi-formal workwear. He dragged himself and his silly heartache into the house and moped into the dining room, where Knight had taken to working all week. He instantly felt better. Lake thrived on other people’s energy, and Knight exuded quiet, calm energy.

“There’s a carafe of chilled water in the fridge for after your run,” Knight said, without looking up from his laptop.

“You did that for me?”

Knight scrutinized his screen. “Flatter yourself if you like, Lake. But it’s mostly for my benefit.”

Quiet, calm, deeply honest energy.

Lake cracked a grin—the first all day. “Yours?”

Knight gave Lake a swift sideways glance, brown eyes piercing him with a dose of unfamiliar self-consciousness. “I can’t stand watching you suck water straight from the faucet.”

“Tastes better like that.”

Lake stood still, gripping his shoulder bag, staring at Knight purposefully tapping at his keyboard. A prominent vein ran over the back of each large hand to agile fingers. Agile and practiced and—

He pivoted away.

God, he needed a run.

“You might want to convince Harry to go with you,” Knight called after him as he headed upstairs. “He hasn’t left his room all day.”

Lake changed course and approached the guest bedroom. He knocked on the paneling. “Harry?”

A thump sounded—along with an oof—and then the door opened, sucking at the hallway air.

Harry wore an oversized hoodie and jeans. He’d parted his hair down the middle and sprayed himself with an ounce too much peppery cologne. “Yeah?”

Lake blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing my comedic monologues for auditions.”

“You certainly look comedic. You’ve been doing that all day?”