Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Carl trundled along, asking, “Weren’t you working at the pub? It was you on the bike, who stole my jacket. I thought you had a ute?”
“If I’ve got the surfboard or work equipment, I take the ute. Otherwise, biking’s the way to go. As for the pub, I was filling in. The boss was running late.”
“What’s your actual job?”
“Bit of everything.”
That wouldn’t help Carl determine how best to avoid him. He let go of Grayson’s elbow. In the future.
Grayson opened the “Closed” Over the Raindough, and Carl made a point of lifting his foot over the high threshold as he crossed it. Now they were away from prying eyes, Carl decided one last try would be acceptable. After that, goodbye. Adios! Have a good life.
He crossed close to Grayson and with fast and furious fingers started wrangling off Jason’s jacket, jerking his hands under the lapels and over firm shoulders—
Grayson snapped himself away, holding Carl back by a palm to his shoulder. “I hate to always be the heartbreaker, but—”
Heartbreaker?
Carl didn’t hear the rest. He scrambled back with an incredulous laugh. “You can’t break my heart. It’s already broken!” Once Carl heard the words that’d flown out of his mouth he added hurriedly, “I mean, I’m not into you to begin with! That’s my jacket.”
Grayson buttoned back up with a mischievous gleam in his gaze. “It flew into my face. I might’ve fallen off my bike. The shock . . . Wearing this tonight seems like fair compensation.”
In fact, Carl had been mightily relieved that jacket-flying thing hadn’t caused an accident. It might’ve been quite serious. Best not push his luck too hard; he’d replace the jacket before Jason returned. With that matter sorted, he should extricate himself. “I’ll be off then.”
“Wait a moment.”
Carl sighed and braced himself for the warning and/or misplaced rejection.
Instead, Grayson moved around the empty bakery counter and came back with his red helmet. “Here.” He pressed it against Carl’s chest. “This’ll keep you safe. Stop you getting any more fines.”
“Wait. How do you know I got fined?”
“Saw you helping Leo home yesterday. You didn’t look thrilled to see that cop.”
“You really are everywhere.” Carl stepped towards him—instinctive curiosity. “What’s your secret?”
Grayson stepped closer, a tickle of breath against Carl’s cheek. “What’s yours?”
Carl gave a fidgety-sounding laugh, heart racing rampantly. “What do you mean?” What did he mean? Did he . . . Had his terrible pronunciation of Giuseppe given him away? Or his unseemly cowering behind the fence?
Grayson watched him carefully. His look said I’ve got my eye on you.
Well, that was just . . . Carl prodded a finger into that firm chest. “You’re always looking at me like that. Sure you aren’t into me?”
Grayson rocked on his heels with a startled laugh. But before he could say something mildly scathing, the bakery door swung open and Sage wandered inside with a curious can-I-come-in smile.
“Saw you two take off. Neither of you have eaten.”
Ideally, Carl would’ve bolted. But Sage experienced far too many people giving her excuses, and he didn’t want to make her feel like she’d maybe done something wrong.
Smiling and nodding, he dragged out a chair and plunked himself into it. Grayson seated himself opposite, and Sage planted the plate she’d brought with her between them then hurried towards the kitchens. “Start with the sammies. This quiche is best warmed up.”
Carl bounced his foot and bit into a sandwich, and calculated how many minutes before he could politely leave.
Grayson kept watching him. “We can talk, if you like.”
“Ah, no. I’m good, thanks.”
“You keep falling over me. We’ve felt each other in places reserved for third dates. What’s the harm in sharing words?”
Carl snapped his eyes to Grayson’s, trying not to recall the swoops each time those places had . . . met. “Fine. How many groupies do you have?”
“Sorry?”
“Girls and boys who fawn over you?”
Grayson leaned over the table with a curling lip. “Including or excluding you?”
Carl tossed his bread crust at him, and Grayson picked it up and ate it. “You should eat these.”
“Why do you keep looking at me like that, all judgy?”
“You make me curious.”
“That’s curiosity?”
“Where are you from?” Grayson asked.
A bolt of panic shot through Carl’s middle. “What?”
“Your accent confuses me. First it was very Aussie. Now it’s . . . like you’ve watched a lot of Shortland Street.”
Carl rang out a high-pitched laugh. “I . . . well . . . actually, if you must know, I’ve been practicing different accents. Additional to being a pianist, I dabble in voice acting.”
An arched brow. “What have you narrated?”
Nothing. “Nothing you’d know. Sage!” He stood abruptly and moved towards her and a hot plate of quiche. “Let me help.”
He shuttled the plate to the table while Sage thanked him—Jason Lyall—for coming along today. Carl stuffed a slice of quiche into his mouth and gave her two thumbs up. When it looked like Grayson might say something else, Carl picked up another quiche slice and popped it into his opening mouth. “Delicious. Try it.”