Page 12 of Not So Happily Ever After (British Bad Boys)
“Will’s been marvelous,” Dad says. “Popping round during the past year to look after the garden. I really do appreciate your help,” he adds, smiling at Will, who appears to find his battered boots the most fascinating thing ever.
I glance at Dad, before staring at Will. Again. It’s like I can’t tear my eyes from him. “You’ve…” I hesitate, sure I’m misunderstanding something. Except I know I’m not. “You’ve been doing the garden since Mr. Fletcher died?”
Mr. Fletcher, our neighbor who was elderly even when I was a little kid, loved gardening more than life itself and had kept our garden in check for as long as I can remember.
Whenever I came home from Uni why didn’t I realize the grass wasn’t overgrown and the flower beds weren’t turning into a jungle? I guess, in the back of my mind, I assumed Lucas and Harry were doing it.
Get real.I just didn’t think about it atall.
But why didn’t Dad tell me?
I know the answer already. Why would he? He wouldn’t tell me if one of my brothers were keeping the weeds under control, and as far as Dad’s concerned, Will is part of the family.
He grunts in response to my question and continues to scrutinize his boots. Is heembarrassed? At least I’m not the only one.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Dad says, before ambling back to the house, and I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer.
“Butgardening?”
He screws the cap back on the bottle with enough concentration to man a rocket to Europa. “I like being outside.”
I’m practically speechless. I mean sure, I know he loves being outside. He’d have to, with all the different sports he’s played over the years. It’s hardly the same thing. “I’m kind of shocked, that’s all.”
Finally, he grins and catches my gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I let out a disbelieving huff. I don’t know why I feel so wrong-footed. “Do Lucas and Harry know?”
He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “Don’t know. It’s no big deal. I’m just helping out your dad.”
For a whole year. Because underneath his wild party rep, that’s the kind of great guy he is. The one I fell for, and never quite got over.
It’s not his fault that for one incredible night I thought there could be more between us.
“Well, thanks.” I smile.I’m so glad we had that friends-again talk yesterday.Otherwise I’d have no clue how to handle this right now.
You still don’t.
“I don’t need thanks.” His grin is hypnotic, and I have the scary urge to move closer to him.Don’t you dare.“There’s no garden with my flat. I miss getting my hands dirty.”
“Aha.” I cross my arms so I’m not tempted to give him a friendly prod on the shoulder.Or think about what else his hands could do.“This is therapy for you, is it?”
“Cheaper than a shrink.”
I don’t want to go back into the house. I want to stay out here while he works, trade mocking insults the way we used to, and secretly drool over the sexy splendor of his biceps.
We’re friends again now. I could do that. Exceptfriendsdon’t fantasize over perfectly structured musculature.Guess I need to work on that.
“See you, then.” I sound nonchalant, which is a huge relief, and I stroll back to the house. But my skin prickles with awareness, and I just know he’s watching me.
It doesn’t mean anything.And even if it does, it’s not like we’re going to jump overthatline again. It takes all my self-control not to give in to the clawing need to glance over my shoulder. Just because I discovered a different side to him today doesn’t change the facts. But the scent of freshly mown grass drifting in the breeze is always going to remind me of today.
Brooklyn’s already at The Swan when I arrive, perched on a barstool by one of the artistically crumbling brick walls, and greets me by dramatically pointing at the two enormous cocktails on the table.
I sit on the stool opposite her, lean my elbows on the high bar table between us, and take a long suck of the blush pink drink, which is topped off with a couple of chocolate sticks and greenery.
“Uhh.” I blink to stop my eyes watering. “Okay, that’s pretty foul.”
“Undrinkable?”
