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 frowned and shook himself back to the conversation that’d somehow jumped to New Zealand’s Great Walks. Another trivia question perhaps? Carl heard as much as ‘Abel Tasman’, then spied Grayson pushing his bike back from Carl’s road.
Returning so soon and slightly deflated like that . . . could it mean he had wanted to see Carl?
Something warm fluttered in Carl’s stomach. He sat straighter and waved to catch Grayson’s attention.
Grayson caught the movement, looked his way, and visibly paused with his bike for a few dark-gazed seconds before he continued towards them.
The table rattled as Carl leapt to his feet. “Grayson!” He gestured to the spare seat at their table, “Join us.”
Poppy sighed beside him and a look his way confirmed a grimace.
Grayson locked up his bike and seated himself, adjacent to Carl, opposite Poppy. The air suddenly tensed, and a muscle twitched in both their jaws.
The weirdness from last night returned. Did they have some kind of history? In the kitchen, Grayson had told Carl he shouldn’t have come. That he’d told himself not to. That he couldn’t help it.
Maybe . . .
But Grayson was Berhampore’s heartbreaker. Had he broken Poppy’s heart and that led to this strange atmosphere between them? Grayson had been rather dismissive of Poppy’s photo at the beach.
But what did it mean that he ‘couldn’t help it’? Despite however they’d left things, did Grayson like Poppy?
Was the whole being protective thing an excuse to stop Carl and Poppy getting closer, because Grayson wasn’t finished with him yet?
“What are you frowning for?” Grayson asked. Carl quickly threw together a taco and handed it to him.
“I thought you had work.”
“I said I wasn’t feeling so great. I’ll make it up another time.”
“You threw a sickie?”
Grayson looked at him, their gazes connecting. The softness in those pools of black had Carl’s stomach jumping so hard he almost hiccupped.
“I had more important things to do today.”
Don’t think those important things are related to you. There could be plenty of things Grayson wanted to do. Perhaps after checking in on Carl at the villa, he’d always intended to catch Poppy . . .
Poppy cleared his throat, and Carl swung his head around to eyes that were suctioned intently on Grayson. Too intently. Like Poppy had unfinished business there too. Carl didn’t like it.
He slapped together another taco. “Poppy,” he said, drawing the man’s attention away from Grayson. He smiled and placed the taco on Poppy’s plate, then put his elbow on the table and propped his chin on it, cutting into some of Poppy’s view of Grayson. He even fluttered puppy-dog eyes. “Taste good?”
Poppy smiled brightly and tried to fling Grayson another look; Carl intercepted with a hand reaching for the iPad of trivia. “History questions.” He ignored the lurch in his stomach and continued distracting the two from intensely gazing at one another. “Who was the first human to travel into space?”
They answered simultaneously. “Yuri Gagarin.”
“Wow,” Carl murmured under his breath. These guys really had history. Light a match and something would start burning here.
“Bet I can answer five before you can,” Poppy said, goading Grayson.
Grayson looked at Carl. “Go on.”
Yay. Great. Wonderful. He’d intended to distract them from flirting and now he was conducting it.
He forced up a smile and surreptitiously jabbed the screen to ‘difficult’ questions.
“Poppy: In the fifteenth century BC, who was the first female pharaoh of ancient Egypt?”
“Hatshepsut.”
“Grayson: Who was the first female physician in Japan, who made huge contributions to public health and education in the 19th and 20th centuries?”
“Ogino Ginko.”
“Poppy: What Russian mystic and faith healer was advisor to the Romanov family and murdered in 1916?”
“Rasputin.”
“Grayson: In 480BC, although vastly outnumbered, the Athenians defeated a Persian fleet and altered the course of the Greco-Persian Wars. What was the name of that battle?”
“The Battle of Salamis.”
Their answers continued, quick and correct. Grayson got particularly obscure questions, to Carl’s mind, and hadn’t batted an eye before answering.
. . . “The Righteous and Harmonious Fists, known as the Boxers.”
Carl blinked at him. This had to be why the Green Gruffs thought they’d win Quiz Night. Yikes.
A bubbly “Yoo-hoo” had all three of them jerking their gazes to Sage, hair tucked into a net; she jogged across the road to their table with a bright smile and a wave.
“I’m after a wee bit of help at the bakery, I wondered—”
“Helping? I love helping!” Sage, you absolute saviour. Get him away from this weird flirting. He jumped to his feet.
The two idiots either side of him did not take up the opportunity to bond one on one. They rose swiftly from their chairs. “Of course I’ll help,” Grayson said, while Poppy said, “Helping is my middle name.”
“Wonderful,” Sage exclaimed with a happy clap.
Poppy charged eagerly over the road with Sage; Grayson started a quick stride too, but Carl grabbed him by the elbow, holding him back. “Stay with me a sec.”