There were a few differences between him and Carl, of course. Carl kept his hair shorter and had developed more bicep, judging by the fit of his shirt. And their styles were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Carl’s was casual: baggy jeans, T-shirt, an open flannel shirt over that. Sturdy workman’s boots. Jason preferred tight jeans, cashmere pullovers, colourful scarves. Ankle boots. Suits, when he was performing.
Carl hummed and finally strolled to the kitchen island. He took up one of the wineglasses like it was a pint and chugged half of it down.
Jason raised a brow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Carl said “I had to get outta Earnest Point” in his mildly Australian accent.
Okay . . .
“Earnest Point” was Carl’s small hometown in Tasmania, but there were hundreds of places he could have escaped to. Flying two connections to Wellington . . .
Jason stared, waiting.
Carl tossed back the second half of his drink. “My ex is spontaneously getting married in three weeks. He wants me at the wedding.”
He. Carl had mentioned a boyfriend before; every time, a little shot of something curled around Jason’s belly.
Carl’s brow furrowed as he stared at his empty glass. Jason sensed pain under the intense glare and poured him more wine. “Sounds like an uncomfortable situation?”
“Small community, y’know? Everyone knows everyone. Pete and I ended things pretty neat. And Nick’s a good bloke. I’ve been keeping it together in front of them, so if I suddenly said no, it wouldn’t look good.”
“Could you make something up? Work related, maybe?”
“Well, I sorta said I’d be the best man, didn’t I?”
Jason groaned. “What . . . why?”
“Put on the spot, y’know? Slipped out.”
There was something beseeching in Carl’s expression that had Jason’s pulse ticking wildly.
He pinched the stem of his wineglass.
No way.
Surely that wasn’t why Carl had come here.
Carl cleared his throat. “So I was thinking—”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I didn’t finish.”
“I can read your mind.”
Carl’s eyes sparkled with momentary humour. “Twin thing?”
“Hardly.” Jason gestured wildly with his finger. “It’s all over your face. You want me to go to this wedding in your stead.”
“Not quite.” Carl flashed those deep dimples, and Jason suddenly knew what it felt like to be on the end of his own foolery. “More . . . swap lives. For three weeks.”
At the bottom of the bottle, much head-shaking later, Jason once more exclaimed, “You’re out of your mind.”
“Am I? I’m thinking this the most ingenious idea I’ve ever had.”
Jason paused and stared at Carl over the kitchen island. “That doesn’t bode well for you.” He opened another bottle—unusual for him, since his tolerance was only so-so and he preferred his head clear. But . . . this . . . All the details Carl had already planned out . . .
It was ridiculous.
And yet . . .
That niggling curiosity about his ‘other family’. He wondered who they were, what they were like, whether they would like him . . .
He sploshed more wine into their glasses. “Isn’t this the kind of situation where you’re meant to find a fake boyfriend and make everyone think you’re managing fine?”
Carl pounded out a horrified laugh. “In Earnest Point?”
“Oh, but you’d fly four hours over here to ask your twin to pose as you in your nosey little town for three weeks.”
At least Carl had the grace to grimace. “Look, I can’t be there at all. Every sight of him is a punch. He needs me helping with stuff every other day, and I can’t tell him to back off. We all live in the same curtain-twitching little community. It’d be easier if ‘I’—you—were there acting super cool with everything on my behalf.”
“How would I even pass for you? Surely your family would figure it out? My accent’s a bit off for starters. Hell, I don’t know enough about animals to run a pet shop, and I can’t stop playing for three weeks! I have to be ready to join rehearsals for a concerto in June. Erwin Schuloff.”
“It’s a corner shop—like a bigger dairy. A convenience store, with a couple of aisles for pet stuff.” Carl straightened on his stool. “I could spend the weekend prepping you—a few tweaks here and there and not a soul would know. I have a piano at my house, you can play that. They’re pretty much all the same, right?”
All the same? Jason stared at him for a moment, incredulous, then shook it off. “Doesn’t Pete know about me? Surely he’d notice I’m not the real Carl?”
“He won’t. You know no one knows I know about you.”
Jason got whiplash following all those knows.
But he did . . . know. The first time they’d talked about this, Carl had said it didn’t feel right to let his ‘mum’ know he’d found out—she’d never brought up adopting him, let alone ever mentioned a secret brother. Carl figured it was important to her that he accepted his family as it was. So he kept mum, so to speak.