Page 20 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
Twenty minutes later, jeans matched with a white T-shirt, he was ready to go. Or almost. Peering into the mirror, he groaned. “I’ve really, really got to get a haircut.” He ran the palms of his hands over his hair, trying to push down the lightly curling ends. Wild and untamed was a generous description, but maybe a mess was the more honest. Fumbling for a tube of hair serum, he pumped once, twice, three, and four times for luck, into the center of his palm, and rubbed it through his hair.
He stared into the mirror. Oh, fuck. He looked like he’d stuck his head into a deep-fat fryer.
Rushing to the tiny bathroom, he grabbed the shower attachment from the wall in the shower and attempted to wash it out, getting more shampoo in his eyes than in his hair. Scrubbing hard with a towel, he peered through stinging eyes into the cabinet mirror. Bloodshot eyes, wet hair — and a spreading damp patch on the front of his T-shirt from the shower spray. Oh great. Terrific. Wonderful. A wet T-shirt Arlo would think was sweat soaked. Back in the bedroom, he ransacked his way through his closet again.
“Ooh, forgotten all about this.” He held up a soft lilac T-shirt. It was a bit creased, but once it was on… He gave it a tentative sniff. Clean. Stripping one off, and tugging on the other, he snatched up his keys and wallet, slamming his door closed and locking up before thundering down the stairs, waving at Mr. DuPont, peering out from a crack in his doorway.
Running his fingers through his wet hair, he all but sprinted to meet the man who was definitely, absolutely not his date.
Out of breath and skidding to a halt outside the coffee shop, Lucian’s apology burst from his lips.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I had a run-in with some hair product which resulted in a drenching. It’s not…” Lucian’s rushed apology fell silent. The ever popular CC’s should have been buzzing with life, but instead was very quiet, and very closed.
“I was going to call and tell you, but we didn’t swap numbers last night.” Arlo pushed himself away from the door as he turned to the taped up sign on the door. “‘Closed today due to unforeseen circumstance. Business as usual tomorrow,’’’ he read.
“Oh.” A crushing disappointment pressed against Lucian’s chest, making it hard to breathe. No coffee shop. No brunch. No certainly, absolutely not date. But there were plenty of other places, there was even Randy’s, but Arlo wasn’t suggesting any of them. The bright Sunday morning seemed to turn as gray and cloudy as an English summer’s day as it stretched endlessly in front of him. “Perhaps we can rearrange, for when it re-opens?”
Arlo said nothing as his brows creased and his shoulders hunched as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
No, let’s not rearrange… but a small bubble of annoyance burst in Lucian’s chest. Arlo had suggested brunch, not him, and if he was now squirming for a way out of his hastily offered invite—
“If the thought of having brunch, lunch or dinner no longer appeals, just say it,” he snapped. “A few beers can make the best ideas regrettable in the morning light.” Yeah, and didn’t he just know it.
Arlo’s jaw dropped, and he tugged his hands from his pockets, holding them palms out as he stepped back. It was an exaggerated response, and would have been vaguely comical if Lucian’s sharp snap of annoyance hadn’t already crumbled to dust, leaving him fed up and dejected. His stomach hollowed. He’d thought the man who now really, truly wasn’t his date was better than that.
“The idea appeals very much. Believe me, if it didn’t, I wouldn’t have suggested it. But how do you feel about turning brunch into lunch? Not in town, but out at my place?”
Lucian blinked. Arlo was gazing at him through calm green-gold eyes, his face serious, his shocked surprise of seconds ago tucked away. Lucian groaned and flopped against the coffee shop window. His outburst had been too much; he felt like a tit because he’d reacted like a tit, ergo he was a tit.
“I seem to have developed a well-honed habit of having to apologize to you. I thought… Well, I think you realize. But yes, please, if the offer still stands?”
“Sure it does. And just for your info, I don’t have any regrets at all. Come on. My car’s in the parking lot.” Arlo set off with his long-legged stride and Lucian, a wide grin breaking out on his face, followed in his wake.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
“What a lovely house. Modern yet traditional, if that makes sense.”
Arlo smiled. It made perfect sense, and he felt a tickle of pride in his chest. He locked his car, though just beyond the far reaches of town and with no other houses in sight, he had no genuine need to. The years of living in large, teeming cities would take more than a few months to undo.
“The house I grew up in needed a lot of work if it was going to be anything like how I wanted.”
A lot of work was an understatement. The place had been a wreck by the time he’d inherited. Uncomfortable memories nibbled at him. Parents who’d not had the funds to get the much needed repairs done, pride steadfastly preventing them from accepting his offers to take care of the bills. The gloomy memories faded as soon as he opened the door to the cathedral ceiling and wood beamed room that formed the house’s central space, flooded with warm, buttery light.
“Oh, my god. That view. It’s, it’s… stunning. It’s the only word I can think of, but that doesn’t do it justice.”
Lucian was rooted to the spot, staring wide eyed and slack jawed at the mountains framed like a picture in the floor to ceiling glass wall.
“If I woke up to that every day, I honestly don’t think leaving could ever have been an option.”
Arlo shrugged. “This view didn’t exist when I was growing up, or not from inside the house, and even if it had, I was so intent on moving away I don’t think I’d have noticed. Anyway, let’s get some lunch. Any preferences?”
“Oh, I’m very easy.”
Arlo opened the well-stocked refrigerator and peered inside. “Whatever you want, I think I can satisfy your needs.” He stifled the groan straining to escape him.
Had he really just said that? His own needs, when Lucian had rushed up to him, flushed and breathless, had made themselves known. Thank god for the blast of icy air cooling his pulsing face. Seconds later, all his mortification was swept aside as a distant plaintive whine from the other side of the glass wall nabbed his attention.
“Peanut!” Lucian strode across to the glass and grinned down at the dog. “He’s got one of those faces that always looks like he’s smiling. I love dogs. In fact, I love all animals. I have quite the menagerie at home, and I think I miss them more than my family, which is dreadful when you think about it. I asked Mr. DuPont if I could have a cat, but the answer was a flat no, so I asked about a house rabbit or even, at a push, a guinea pig. The old boy was horrified. He took a puff on his inhaler and wheezed his refusal. I think that’s why he spies on me, to catch me out smuggling in a pet.”
