Emerett Has Never Been in Love (Love Austen 1) - Page 5
Harry dug into his shorts’ pocket and Lake rested a hand on his elbow. “Hold that thought, Harry.” Lake leaped to his feet and raised his arm for a hug as Philip approached.
Philip gripped him firmly back with a joyful hello. Such enthusiasm. He’d fit nicely with happy Harry.
Lake pulled back. “Philip, this is Harry, a friend of mine. An actor.”
Harry laughed nervously. “A hopeful actor.”
Philip clapped. “Nice. A lot of acting opportunities around here, is there?”
“I’m from Wellington, but my grandma lives in Port Ratapu. And Martin . . .”
Lake clasped Philip on the shoulder. “Sit down, I’ll get us drinks.”
Grinning enthusiastically at Lake, Philip immediately sat and busied himself in conversation with Harry.
Good start. Very good start.
Lake smirked at Knight as he picked his way over the stone path to the gazebo.
“The drinks station is under the apple tree,” Knight said.
He’d overheard it all, then.
Lake snuck nearer to Knight until the grill blasted heat at his front; he felt every miniscule shift Knight made as he flipped his burgers. “Not right away,” he murmured under his breath. “Gotta give them time. Do you think they can see me hiding?”
Knight stepped one foot back and pivoted toward him. Another potent wave of heat blazed into Lake, and that squeaky laugh reappeared. He cleared his throat. “That should do it, thanks.”
Knight shook his head. “Dare I ask how it’s going?”
“I don’t know what new info you need, you’ve been watching everything.”
Knight turned an amused grin toward the grill. “Harry really loves his cousin.”
Lake snorted. “It’s nice that he looks up to Martin, but I think this barbecue is a good thing for him. He needs more friends.”
“Looks up to? Hmmm.”
“I’m afraid to tell him I don’t remember Martin from the wedding.”
“Slightly larger man, very neat. Cowlick.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Did you talk to him?”
“I did. He asked me some sensible investment questions.” Knight never used that impressed tone regarding Lake. It prickled to hear it now. Who was this Martin? “He’ll go far in life,” Knight decided.
“How can you know that? You can’t have spoken to him very long.”
“An enjoyable half hour.”
“When? I didn’t see you chatting with anyone that long. I’m sure I’d have noticed.”
“You always have had a good radar for my whereabouts.”
The base of Lake’s throat flushed. “It’s called survival instinct.” He pulled his ear, staring at the grill. “Something you need when climbing the trellis into your best friend’s room and sneaking to casinos.”
“You were both nineteen, and Taylor is sensible. You did nothing that I wasn’t aware of.”
Lake gaped. “What about the time on his eighteenth—”
“You flew him to Auckland for a night.”
“Easter, the year before—”
“You brought home a stolen chicken and hid it in the shed.”
“University graduation—”
“I replaced the vase.”
Lake smiled grimly. “That’s frightening. How on earth do you tolerate me?”
“Practice.”
Lake grinned, grabbed a bun, and pried it open with his thumbs. “Thirty minutes with Martin and you know he’ll go far in life? No one can judge a man that quickly.”
“Can’t you? Isn’t that why Harry’s your new best friend?”
“He’s not my best friend. Not like your son.” Lake frowned. “And I don’t know everything about Harry. I just have a good feeling.”
“As I have with Martin.”
Lake nudged Knight with his arm, eliciting a twinkle-eyed laugh. “You’re so curiously annoying.”
Knight slipped a sizzling hamburger inside Lake’s bun and met his eyes. “You’re so charmingly blind.”
A series of dings burst from Knight’s pocket. Knight set the spatula down and pulled out his phone. He smiled, and Lake wanted him to lift that smile over the phone to him.
“Who’s messaging you? Can’t be Taylor, or my phone would have dinged too.”
“Taylor might message me outside our group chat, Lake.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
Lake tried to peer at Knight’s phone, but Knight held it against his chest.
Lake gasped. “Is it a man? Your secret lover?”
“A man, yes. My secret lover?” Knight’s gaze grew more impatient than usual. “Not him.”
“I’ll find a way to your phone, Knight. Telling me now would make this easier on both of us.”
Knight snorted. “It’s Josh.”
“Josh from down the street? Josh with the curly blue hair? Josh who’s at Oxford?”
“Josh, who graduated from Oxford.”
“Oxford?” came another voice behind him. Lake shifted to the side—Cameron, their neighbor. He was a regular at Knight’s barbecues and brunches; twenty-five, freakishly good-looking, with thick-rimmed glasses and an unfortunate taste in clothes. Knight, wearing a cooking apron, looked like a fashion God next to Cameron.
“Are you talking about Josh?” Cameron asked, trying to push up his glasses while holding two drinks. “Did he invite you to his coming home party?”
Knight flashed his phone. “He did.”
“He didn’t invite me.” Lake scowled and took a large bite of his burger.
“To be fair, Lake,” Knight said, “you hogged the karaoke machine at his farewell. And his high school ex ended up kissing you . . .”
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