On Thursday, an offer came in for his cottage, and on Friday afternoon—stealing away early from work—Knight and the agent they’d hired agreed that Lake should accept the offer.
Of course, they still had to finalize it, but he was finally selling. His childhood home wouldn’t be his anymore. He paced before the fireplace in front of Knight, who spent more time watching him than reading the Kindle sitting on his lap.
“Are you having second thoughts?” Knight murmured.
“No. Absolutely not.” Lake’s sock squealed as he marched the length of the room.
Knight gave up the pretense of reading and set his Kindle down. He clasped his hands between parted thighs. “Something’s going on.”
“I couldn’t stand being in the cottage.”
“And yet?”
Lake halted and his voice came out strangled, “Why does it feel so hard to say goodbye?”
Knight strode swiftly to the hearth and wrapped comforting arms around him. Lake buckled immediately, forehead resting at the intersection of Knight’s neck and shoulder. He breathed him in, and sighed. “You smell clean and woodsy and so together.”
Knight squeezed him warmly.
Lake sniffed. “Thank you for being here.”
“Do you want to drive over there? Say goodbye properly?”
“Was that a suggestion? Or are you offering to come with me?”
Knight kissed the top of his head. “I’ll drive.”
He made to untangle them, and Lake protested. “Just one more minute.”
Saying goodbye was cathartic and exactly what Lake needed. He led Knight around the property, telling him all the stories he could remember. The happiness, the cheekiness, the sorrow. The tree he’d climbed to spy on the boy next door, where he realized he was gay. The rooftop he’d fallen from and broken his nine-year-old arm. His bedroom where he’d slept under glow-in-the-dark stars.
When Lake was exhausted, Knight drove them home and insisted he rest, while he visited Taylor.
A nap revived Lake, and when he woke, he swatted the grogginess from his eyes, picked up his phone and keys, and headed to Taylor’s.
The late afternoon was sunny without a cloud in the sky. The scent of burning charcoal carried on soft breezes. A cat raced across the road. Most people knew one another here—at least by sight—and Lake loved it. Particularly how short the walk to his best friend’s place was.
Taylor was bent over the trunk of his car, and he greeted him with a swat to his ass.
Taylor turned around—
“Oh, shit. You’re not Taylor.”
The man before him had a similar athletic build, but he had a tattoo of a rose at his throat that disappeared under his collar, and he sported a three-day beard. His bright eyes were humorous and currently laughing at him. Lake recognized the guy from pictures over the last few weeks.
West reached out a hand. “You must be Lake.”
Lake shook it. “What gave me away?”
“Green-eyed and gorgeous—and you fit the bill.”
That was coming on a little strong, but that smile—cheekily playful, wasn’t it?
Lake dropped his hand and laughed. “A green-eyed, gorgeous groper, apparently.”
“No harm, no foul.” West hauled a duffel bag out of the trunk and slung it over his shoulder.
Curious. “Planning on staying awhile?”
“Just the weekend,” West said, shutting the trunk, “while I’m sorting out some . . . things.”
They headed inside to Taylor and Amy setting up their telescope wedding gift, and Knight reading a newspaper and sipping tea.
“I love how at home everyone is here,” West murmured. “I’ll just drop this into the room.”
He hiked toward the guest room. He was a good-looking guy. Nice height, warm and easygoing.
Lake should probably like him.
Knight glanced up from the business section, surprised. “Lake. I thought you were resting.”
His shirt, now unbuttoned, revealed a turquoise T-shirt underneath, and the lighting flowed over him, illuminating threads of gold in his hair and eyes. He was laughter and hugs ready-and-waiting. Lake folded himself into an adjacent chair. “I rested, and now I’m here.”
“If you’d move your elbows . . .” Lake drew them off the newspaper, and Knight turned the page.
Lake took a section of the paper; the tingly feeling at his cheek told him Knight was studying his profile. Air stirred as Knight leaned in. “Lake, what are you doing?”
“Reading an article.”
“It’s the Classifieds.”
“Best part. Are you interested in a tall, gently-muscled man, who can appreciate a garden and has a good sense of humor? Because you have competition.”
“I’m interested in the way you keep glancing at the career-opportunities column.”
Noticed that, did he? “Now the house is sold, I have to start fixing the rest of my life.”
“Read on.”
Two job descriptions later, West returned, now wearing a neat Henley; the stem of his rose tattoo stretched to his chest. Armored with chocolates and a gift for Taylor and Amy, he thanked them again for letting him crash there for the weekend.
Lake watched the bearded man intently.
Was this really the same man who’d failed to show up for Taylor? His parents must have pressured him tremendously not to socialize with Taylor’s family. He seemed too sincere for anything less. He leaned toward Knight and lowered his voice.