Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“What? I thought we’d have the day together.” I glance out the windows. Scott’s on his phone, taking his sweet time to get inside. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
He snaps his gaze to mine.
I grin, leap up to the door, and call for Scott to hurry up. I hook an arm around his neck and haul him to Lyle. “Lyle, this is my bother.”
“Brother!” Scott says.
“Bother.”
Scott attacks my side with tickles and I break apart from him in quick surrender. We fall into our seats and turn to Lyle. He’s smiling, his lips gently, comfortably curved. “So you’re the gremlin.”
“Not for much longer.” Scott glances at me. “I’ll be something else once I stop eating sand. Which might be this weekend. When are you seeing him?”
My stomach sinks and I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat.
Scott grabs my upper arm and tugs. “Don’t tell me it’s still weird from last time.”
“It’s still weird from last time.”
“What? Why?”
I rise. “What do you want to drink? I’ll order.”
I head to the counter and leave Lyle to pick up the mess I’ve left. I hear him calming my frustrated brother, telling him friendships sometimes need pauses, time to settle. That he could still visit Robin with him to see Dusky or go surfing.
I buy another coffee for Lyle, too.
I pay and wait near the counter, cringing when I overhear Scott ask Lyle if he thinks about Robin that way.
Lyle chokes on a gulp of coffee. “I met someone more suited to me.”
I swing around. He has? The last few Fridays he’s cancelled on me in favour of after-work drinks with his colleagues. Could one of them have caught his interest?
The barista holds out two cups. “Decaf vanilla mocha and a latte.”
I return to Scott and cut his prying questions short. “How about Scott tries your video game after this?”
“How long are you here?” Lyle asks Scott.
“The weekend.”
Lyle looks at me. “Jordy’s coming this afternoon, for the night.”
“Right, we shouldn’t disturb—”
“If that doesn’t bother you, I’d love it if you both came over.”
I grin. “How about I run to the supermarket for some steaks and sausages and we crank out that barbecue from your garage?”
Scott slaps the table in excitement. He’s crazy for barbecue. Always has been. “Christmas has come early.”
Lyle looks startled, and laughs.
Chapter Thirteen
On one of the many Fridays Lyle is busy with his ‘afterwork drinks’, I take Mr Cole out for a fish and chip dinner. We bundle the hot parcels into our jackets, poke a hole in the paper at our throats, and eat at the beach. It’s already quite late after a long day working on an estate garden. The sun is sinking, and so are we into soft sand.
Mr Cole is off to Australia tomorrow to meet up with a woman he chatted to for a few hours on a long-haul flight.
“You really jump into new relationships,” I say, reaching down my jacket for a hot chip.
“At my age there’s no time to waste. Are you still pining after the fir guy?”
“I just want to patch things up with him.”
“Why not jump back into the dating game?”
I shrug. “I’m good right now.”
My phone rings in my pocket and I fish it out with greasy fingers. I prod the screen and hold it to my ear. “Lyle?”
His voice is barely audible over the rowdy voices and music in his background. “Can you pick me up?” He sounds off. Worry spikes through my stomach. “King’s, down on the wharf—”
The line dies.
“Lyle?” I stuff my phone in my pocket and pick myself up off the sand. Mr Cole lifts a questioning brow. “Gotta go.”
“Ditching me for a man.”
“I’ll make it up to you another time.”
He laughs, shooing me away.
I toss the paper remnants of my fish and chips into the nearest bin, jog to my truck, and head around the bays to the harbour. I park with a screech of brakes and hoof along the pedestrian waterfront towards the restaurant.
The sun has set, and thousands of lights set the surrounding city aglow. The seawater is dark, lapping rhythmically against pylons. My footsteps slap urgently.
Why would he—
I careen around a corner and halt abruptly. Lyle is a couple of hundred metres before the restaurant. He’s leaning against a bollard, palm pressed to the top, head bent. It looks like he’s struggling to stay on two feet. I call his name, racing towards him, and he lifts his head.
His eyes are shiny and so is his smile. “You came,” he cheers.
“You asked.” I lift his chin and inspect his smiling face. “How much did you drink?”
“Christmas drinks. Got carried away. Wallet at office. Phone died.”
“So I’m your Uber tonight?”
He nods.
“Your colleagues left you like this?”
“I left. Didn’t want them to see . . .”
I smirk. “Only I get that pleasure?”
He attempts to smack me, but he can’t get any strength into it; his fingers land softly against my chest. He sways and I catch him around the waist.