Jonathan dropped a hand to his pocket, but his phone didn’t start jumping against his thigh. Who was O’Hara calling? Was he trying his dad?
He grimaced.
After a long minute, O’Hara gave up and stared at the phone in his lap; Jonathan clenched his fist, preparing to charge over and take him back home.
A wolf whistle caught both their attention; Jonathan recognised Jacquie’s saunter at once. She was always finding Jonathan here. Tonight, she’d be surprised.
O’Hara called out to her, and just as Jonathan expected, Jacquie startled. Her reaction didn’t last long though; she was soon charmed into conversation.
O’Hara waved his book. “Came out here to read. I missed this tree . . .”
“Hmm, it’s someone else’s favourite too.”
Jonathan stole to a closer tree. He couldn’t help himself; each step was a compulsion. He needed to hear.
It might have been the leaves shifting shadows over his face, but it looked like O’Hara smiled.
Jacquie hauled herself up next to him and peered at Symposium. “How long are you back for?”
“That depends on Jonathan.”
“Hmm. Maybe I can help.”
“Are you my guardian angel?”
Jacquie snorted. “You really are a bit of a flirt.”
“I’m not a flirt,” O’Hara said, chuckling. “I’m playful.”
Maybe he was being playful with Jacquie, but with others . . . with Mira, he’d moved with design. He’d wanted into her hotel room and he’d achieved that.
Jonathan sagged against his tree, briefly shutting his eyes. He tried to force back the images of that twirling red dress; O’Hara humming that song, and the dizzying sense of dysphoria.
“He’s so serious,” Jacquie said with a sigh. “He needs more playful in his life.”
O’Hara cocked his head.
“He’ll be expecting you to leave,” Jacquie said.
Jonathan. She was talking about him now.
“You’ll have to work hard.”
“I’ll do anything.”
A twig snapped under Jonathan’s foot, and O’Hara’s gaze flashed in his direction. Jonathan froze, breathing hard behind the shelter of his tree trunk, cursing himself for . . . for whatever he was doing right now.
“Anything,” he said again.
Jonathan shivered.
Enough. O’Hara would be over this whim by tomorrow and Jonathan would resume his old life. Easier to manage. And didn’t make him feel . . .
He balled his trembling hands and retreated quietly.
Chapter Five
A leaky boat, a big hat, and a bigger question
Last Sunday of the month. Jonathan rose early, before dawn, and stole out of the cottage. O’Hara wouldn’t be awake for hours.
Within minutes, he was at the docks untying his rowboat. The water stretched into the distance, deep and calm, darker shadows marking the islands peppered around their cove.
As he yanked at the last stubborn knot, the sound of creaking wood had him glancing down the jetty towards a familiar tricorn hat.
Mr Cranky.
He never tired of trying to get Jonathan to “Soulmate Island”. So intent on proving its magic.
“Excellent. Preparing us a boat already. I brought breakfast, too.”
He raised a small basket.
Jonathan freed his rowboat and jumped into it, grabbing at the oars. “Maybe next time, Mr Crank.”
The bulky wheelchair rumbled toward him across the boards, sending birds flapping into the sky with fright. “One of these days you’ll see I’m right about that island.”
Jonathan pushed off, lowered his oars, and pulled. He waved a hand at Mr Cranky’s diminishing figure.
“Jonathan! Wait!”
A lean, graceful figure was jogging down the jetty.
O’Hara came to a stop beside Mr Cranky, his soft laughter carrying on the breeze.
With his usual magic, O’Hara had soon won Mr Cranky over and they were bowed together, thick as thieves, no doubt catching up on their life-stories. The next time Jonathan looked up, Mr Cranky was lifting his hat and settling it over O’Hara’s tousled hair. And pointing out a second, older rowboat—
Jonathan froze as O’Hara settled into the boat and saluted Mr Cranky before chasing madly after Jonathan.
O’Hara rowed like he’d never been in a dinghy before. Oars improperly angled, pull too shallow and quick. But his eagerness showed, and he never grew tired—
He stopped, laughing, and started splashing handfuls of water out of his rowboat.
Jonathan slowed his pace.
“Hey, Jonathan?” O’Hara called out. “How far today?”
He slowed further.
“Jonathan?”
O’Hara squirmed around on his seat; God damn it, he’d lose an oar.
Jonathan closed the gap between them, gliding next to O’Hara and locking their boats together with his hand.
“This is much better.” The tricorn hat had slipped low on O’Hara’s head; he raised his chin high to peek out from under the brim.
Jonathan shook his head slowly. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping still?”
“Not this morning.” O’Hara pointed across their boats. “Are we headed for Soulmate Island? We can picnic on the old veranda like we used to. Look,” O’Hara picked up a basket from the seat beside him. “Mr Crank even gave us his breakfast!”
“Soulmate . . . what has he been telling you?”
O’Hara flicked his nails one by one.
“O’Hara . . .”
“Jacquie told me.”
O’Hara and Jacquie, trading secrets in his tree . . .